"I'll stay," he agreed. "We'll manage."
He expected the image to smile. Oelus's image would be bursting with an ear-to-ear grin, but the druid of his imagination did not change expression. Pavek's anger surged at her, at himself. He barely knew how he was going to manage, much less manage for himself and a boy. Raising children was women's work-not that Sian had mastered the art. Then inspiration came to him on a cool breeze.
Women's work indeed, and a woman who faced down templars without breaking a sweat should be willing to do it. Perhaps he had been corrupted, had no hope of learning a purer sort of spellcraft-but here was Zvain, orphaned by Laq, which had been corrupted from the druids' precious zarneeka powder. She couldn't turn her back on an orphan, wouldn't turn her back on a man that orphan trusted, even if he were a dung-skulled baazrag.
"We'll manage," Pavek repeated more confidently. "I have apian-"
Zvain shifted within Pavek's hands. His face tilted upward, the dark eyes glinted with unshed tears. "I'll help, Pavek," he promised. "I'll learn whatever you teach me, I swear it. I'm ready now. Look-" The boy squirmed free, rummaged through his blankets, coming up with a vicious object slightly longer than his forearm. Bent obliquely in the middle, it had a lump of dark stone lashed to one end and an obsidian crescent at the other. "I stole it from a gladiator. I'm ready, Pavek. We'll hunt Laq-sellers together."
The boy mimed a move that in the arena might have split an opponent from gullet to gut.
"Damn King Hamanu and all the templars." Zvain slashed again. "Damn the Veil who let him kill her to save their own precious hides! You and me, Pavek, we'll do what needs to be done!"
Zvain's eyes were still bright with tears, but otherwise the fragile, grief-stricken orphan had vanished.
"We will, won't we?" Zvain paused with the weapon cocked above his shoulder.
Words failed.
"Won't we?"
"We'll try, Zvain," Pavek answered softly. His attention was fixed on the jagged, sharp curve of the obsidian crescent. The druid's face had returned to the depths of his memory, and where was Oelus when he was needed? What would the pious cleric say to a reckless, vengeful child?
"We will, Zvain. We'll do something, I promise you that." It wasn't a lie. Pavek believed the druids would refuse to trade at the customhouse once they knew about Rokka, Escrissar, and the halfling. Without zarneeka, Laq would have to disappear. "Give that here. You can't kill all of them, Zvain-why even start?" Pavek held out his hand and held in his breath.
Zvain's eyes narrowed beneath thoughtful brows. His fingers rippled along the bone shaft, making the weapon wobble in rhythm with his own doubts. Then the decision was reached. He lowered his arm; the weapon slipped from his grasp. Pavek snatched it with one hand and the boy with the other. He lifted Zvain into a snug embrace while he stowed the weapon on the highest shelf.
"You listen to me, you hear?" He gave the clinging weight a gentle shake. "You do what I tell you to do. No more stealing from gladiators. No more talk about hunting men, no matter what they sell. This is Urik-King Hamanu's city. Break his laws and you die."
"Templars break his laws all the time. They don't die. You broke his laws. You didn't die."
Pavek scratched his itchy scalp with his free hand. He'd forgotten what little he knew about children the day he donned the yellow robe and ceased to be one himself. "Don't argue with me, Zvain," he said wearily, letting the boy slide back to the floor. "Just do what I tell you, or I'll leave. You understand that?"
The boy went wide-eyed and passionless again. Nodding solemnly, he hid his hands beneath his shirt. "I understand that, Pavek. I'll do what you tell me. I promise."
Zvain tried, but he wasn't the half-grown boy Pavek had taken him for. Though slight and slender, he was on the cusp of adulthood. One moment he'd be clinging to Pavek's arm as they walked familiar streets. The next, he'd spin away, all snarls and hisses, determined to have his own way, whatever the cost. He was too clever by half and suspicious by nature. Pavek still judged the Veil harshly for leaving him to fend for himself-if that's what they'd done-but before they'd eaten breakfast and made their way to the western gate, he could understand their reasoning.
He didn't dare tell Zvain what he had in mind, why he wanted to scout the gate or why, when he learned that it was the 160th day of the Descending Sun, he approached the inspector.
"The boy and me want to work, great one," he said, meeting Bukke's eyes, putting Oelus's assumptions to their hardest test.
Bukke seized Pavek's arm, giving it a brutal wrench. Pavek dropped to his knees. "Big, strong man like you-why haven't I seen you before? Why don't I know your name? Don't you know what happens to runaways, scum?"
"No runaway, great one-just down on my luck, a bit. Heard you could always get work with a strong back loading and unloading at the gates. That's all, great one." Pavek hung his head 'til his beard brushed his chest and let his fear show as well.
His medallion was stowed in the bolt-hole beside the weapon, nothing else could give away, unless Bukke made an association between the crude, weathered drawing on the wall and the man kneeling in the dust at his feet. Actually, the gate inspectors wouldn't care whether a man was free, slave, or runaway, so long as he could stand the pace, which on the appropriate market day could be brutal. Bukke gave his arm a final twist, then released it.
"What's your name, scum?"
"Oelus, great one." It was a common enough name in Urik.
"Well, Oelus, you're too late for today, but come back at dawn, and we'll put you to work."
He rose slowly to his feet, draping his hands over Zvain's shoulders, grateful that the boy had kept quiet. The disparity in their sizes and coloring was great.
"My boy, great one? He can run water, great one. I'm a bit down on my luck, great one."
Bukke laughed coarsely. "More than a bit down, if he's the best you've got, scum. What's your name, little scum?"
"Inas, great one. Can I run water, great one?" Zvain asked with a quavering voice. "Please-O great one?"
He pinched the narrow shoulders hard; no good could come from overdoing things. Bukke laughed at them both but entered their names on the roll for the morning, Inas at one-quarter wages. Zvain remained docile and obedient until they were out of sight and earshot of the gate, then he kicked Pavek's ankle and would have punched him in the groin again-if he hadn't been expecting the move.
Chapter Six
"What's it going to be today, Pavek? Some more groveling and toe-kissing at the west gate-or are we going to do something worthwhile?"
Pavek had been dreaming about sleep when Zvain's whine awakened him. He lay still, giving nothing away. Veterans of the templarate orphanage learned to lie still with their eyes closed until other senses had measured the moment.
"Sun's already up, Pavek. If you don't hurry, you won't be the first belly-crawling, toe-kissing, yellow-loving groveler on the west gate sand. Yes, great one; no, great one; kick me again, great one... I thought you were a man, Pavek. Some man. Some forty-gold-piece fugitive. You can't do anything 'cept lick dust from yellow-scum feet-"
"That yellow-scum Bukke-o wouldn't believe me if I told him who you truly were."
Pavek didn't need his eyes to see Zvain's face shrivel into a sour pout.
If the boy were right about that one last point... If neither Bukke nor any other templar could recognize him through his laborer's sweat and grime... If he could have convinced himself of that, then he could have confided in his young companion.
But Pavek couldn't, and so he told the boy nothing about his plans and endured the abuse that only youth and innocence could generate.
Zvain wasn't the most irritating man-child to raise his breaking voice within Urik's walls. Pavek remembered himself too well for that sweeping judgement. The mul taskmaster at the orphanage had taught him the errors of orneriness with daily demonstrations. His jaw still ached when the wind blew low from the northeast. An urge to teach Zvain the same lesson the same way stiffened the muscles of his right arm.