The half-giant clamped his great hands on either side of Pavek's skull and began to squeeze.
"Not here!" the interrogator said quickly. "Take him outside. Take him where no one will notice another corpse."
Pavek wasn't as resigned to death as he thought. His mind was racing as Sassel carried him through the catacombs to the street. The problem with half-giants wasn't their lack of intelligence, but their single-mindedness. In Sassel's mind "outside" might be outside the customhouse, or it might be outside the city walls. If it was the latter, there might still be hope for a battered and bleeding regulator.
"There's no need to get rid of me, Sassel. Take me outside the city walls, and I'll get rid of myself. You'll never see me again, and neither will anyone else in Urik."
"Not going outside the walls. 'Take him where no one will notice another corpse.' Corpses get noticed outside the walls. Going to the boneyard. No one will notice another corpse in the boneyard."
One failure: Sassel combined loyalty with his single-mindedness. Pavek tried another tack. "You're not a templar, Sassel. Only templars can leave corpses at the boneyard without paying the knacker at the gate."
Sassel scratched his beard, leaving only one arm wrapped around his captive's waist. Pavek held still, not wanting to disturb the half-giant while he thought his way through the complication.
"Sassel has money. Sassel pay. Lord Escrissar pay Sassel again, for obeying orders so well."
"Does Elabon Escrissar always reward Sassel when Sassel obeys his orders?"
"Always. Sassel always obeys his orders, always gets a reward."
"In gold, Sassel?" Pavek said, fighting to keep the desperation from his voice as Sassel started walking again, carrying him toward the boneyard, which was, in fact, a very good place to lose a corpse, and where the knacker accepted all donations, no questions asked or coins required. "You've got to pay the knacker with gold, Sassel, if you want him to keep his mouth shut."
The half-giant stopped short. "Gold? No gold. Sassel has silver, no gold."
"Then Sassel can't obey Elabon Escrissar. Escrissar will be very angry. He'll punish Sassel instead of giving him a reward, Sassel should listen to Pavek. Sassel should put Pavek down and listen to him."
Half-giants could change their most unswerving loyalty with alarming speed, but Pavek had overplayed his position.
"Pavek the templar should listen to Sassel. Templar talk nice to the knacker. Templar get Sassel into the boneyard for nothing."
"Pavek the templar will do nothing of the kind."
"Then Pavek the templar dies right here. Sassel tells a lie to nice Lord Escrissar; Sassel says Pavek's corpse is in the boneyard. Maybe Lord Escrissar learns the truth tomorrow. Maybe Elabon Escrissar never learns the truth. Sassel gets reward tonight anyway."
Pavek conceded defeat. He'd never expected deceit worthy of any templar from the mouth of a half-giant. Athas truly was changing. "But you can't carry me to the boneyard. I can't 'talk nice' to the knacker if I'm tucked under your arm. He won't listen to me."
The half-giant changed his grip, setting Pavek gently on his feet. "Sassel didn't think of that. Pavek walk now."
Pavek didn't walk; he ran for the shelter of the nearest dark street. He had a twenty-step lead before Sassel collected his wits.
It wasn't enough time to hide: Sassel had the same low-light advantage over him that Rokka had, but there was enough time to look for a weapon. The little metal knife wouldn't damage a half-giant. He hoped for something he could use as a spear or a club, but Urik's scavengers were thorough. The best he saw was a chunk of glazed masonry large and heavy enough to crack a half-giant's skull if-a big if-he could get close enough to use it effectively. Pavek hid the masonry behind his back.
Half-giants were too big for Urik's intersections. Sassel had to stop completely before he could enter Pavek's street.
"What's Elabon Escrissar going to say when he finds out that you've lost me, Sassel?" Pavek retreated while he taunted the half-giant. The street was wide enough that he should be able to side-step and get clean shot at the back of Sassel's head, when the half-giant lost his temper and charged. "What kind of reward will Escrissar have for a clumsy oaf? Maybe he'll take Sassel to the boneyard himself. Maybe he'll find something worse. Poor, stupid Sassel."
Sassel bellowed and charged. Pavek held his ground until there was no way the half-giant could stop or turn, then he launched himself to one side. Sassel had the templar's arm for a scant moment. Pavek made a spinning escape, but he lost his balance for a heartbeat. His elbow led the rest of his body into a collision with coarse stucco wall. White agony exploded behind his eyes, but fortunately for him, he'd only wrecked his left arm; and, conquering the pain, he managed to hurl the masonry with his right hand at the base of Sassel's skull with sufficient force and accuracy to drop the half-giant to his knees, then to his face on the cobblestones.
Pavek let his head hang a moment, until his heart beat less furiously. He couldn't move his left arm from the shoulder down. Something was crushed, and he'd need a healer, but other things came first. Wobbling on jelly-filled legs, he staggered to Sassel's side.
Blood flowed through the half-giant's matted hair. He was still alive, but unconscious and wheezing. There'd be more mercy in running his metal-blade knife across Sassel's throat than leaving him to die like an animal, but Pavek couldn't afford mercy. While Sassel lived, he would lie to stay alive. Let the dead-heart slay his servant, if he wanted to read the truth from the last images in his memory.
"A templar and a half-giant. Down here! Down Customs Row!"
Half-giants were unmistakable, but so was a templar in his sulphur-yellow robe; and, given the templars' reputation, anyone answering that alarm would take Sassel's side. Pavek tore off bis robe. He mopped Sassel's wounds with the cloth, adding the half-giant's blood to his own. Then he looped it over Sassel's fingers.
Eventually, whether Sassel lived or died, the robe would wind up in Escrissar's hands. Maybe it would be enough to convince the interrogator that an inconvenient regulator had bled to lonely, unobserved death.
Footsteps echoed near the customhouse. Cradling his left arm with his right, Pavek escaped into the night.
Chapter Four
Pavek's first hours of fugitive exile within Urik were the hardest. Panic clung to his shoulder, whispering dire warnings after every sound, glimpsing the sulphurous yellow of the robe he no longer wore in every half-seen movement, His entire body protested the beating it had taken; his elbow protested loudest. Escrissar's cuts on his cheek seeped fresh blood each time he swallowed the panic; they burned as sweat, hot and cold, mingled with the blood.
He didn't know where to go, wasn't even sure where he was. Streets and quarters that he'd known all his life had gone suddenly strange. Crouched in an airless alley, he beat his head gently against the wall, hoping to loosen something useful from his panic-bound thoughts. He'd been among templars for twenty years, always above Urik's laws, never outside them.
Finally his mind produced a coherent thought-a long-forgotten memory from his early childhood: a horrible day when he'd gotten separated from his mother near the elven market. Tears leaked from his eyes, stinging sharper than all the sweat.
Shame seized Pavek's gut, forcing him to choose between nauseous surrender and a fight against his burgeoning fears. He chose to fight and broke panic's siege. He recognized the alley where be cowered and heard the night sounds for what they were: ordinary and nonthreatening.