"What happens happens. If Telhami's gotten away with disobeying the guardian before, maybe she'll get away with it again. Maybe she's wiser than the guardian."
Dwarves stood shorter than humans. The top of Yohan's bald head barely cleared the middle of his chest. It wasn't easy for Yohan to launch a backhanded clout against the side of a taller man's skull and land it before that taller man sidestepped the danger, but Yohan got the job done with a resounding crack.
"That's your old yellow robe talking!" Pavek swung wide, and Yohan ducked out of harm's way. "Forget the bureaus. Haven't you learned anything since we hauled you out of Urik?"
"I've learned Telhami runs Quraite the same way Hamanu runs the Urik templarate."
Yohan struck his lower jaw again, and his teeth rammed together. He just missed taking a bite out of his own tongue and lost all desire for persuasive conversation. He squatted down in a brawler's ready stance: one fist guarding his face, the other ready to jab any available target. But there weren't many more futile things than a human man trading punches with a solid, healthy dwarf. Yohan's squat was deeper, his fists were huge, and his guard was impenetrable.
They wove on swaying, trading feints, taking each other's measure until Yohan announced: "You're a waste of my good time, Just-Plain Pavek."
The dwarf retreated, brushing one foot along the ground in a reverse arc as he spoke. The level of his fists and shoulders remained constant; no targets flashed before Pavek's eyes to draw a foolish attack.
"I've tried to befriend you here. You've got a few good qualities, but they're worthless because you're the lying sort. I don't keep honor with liars."
Pavek accepted himself as many unsavory things, but he wasn't a liar, at least not when it counted. "I've never lied to you. I've kept my mouth shut when I had to, and I've said what had to be said to keep the peace-" he thought of Ruari and the kivit poison' "-but you know bloody well that's not lying."
"You lie to yourself, Pavek. You just plain lie to yourself all the rime. Yes, you're honest with everyone else, and honorable, after a templar's fashion. That makes it worse! You've got a better life here already than you ever hoped to have in Urik: Regulator of the Third Rank! Scraping from the bottom of the civil bureau barrel. Quraite would listen to you, but do you talk? Do you even listen? No! What happens, happens! Death happens, Pavek. Death is what happens to us all, but I'd like to put mine off a little while longer. What about you, Regulator Pavek? Do you want to die? Do you want Akashia to get caught on Urik's streets? Do you want her to die in Elabon Escrissar's interrogation chamber? Do you want to see Quraite's fields and groves laid waste by the Lion's pet? I'm sure Escrissar will arrange it, Just-Plain Pavek-unless you die first. But you're not a lucky man, are you, Just-Plain Pavek? And templars don't fight for principles, do you, Regulator Pavek? Have you seen a free village when the templars are through with it' It's not a pretty sight, I can promise you that, no lie there."
"Back off," Pavek snarled, taking his own advice. "I told you: I'm no liar and I'm no persuader, either; they're one and the same. Last night I told Akashia what I thought. It did no good; it did worse than no good. She wouldn't listen."
"You gave up. You didn't try. You walked away."
"I told her what I thought. What more could I do?"
"Try again. Go into Grandmother's hut right now and repeat what you said last night. Remind them both what Elabon Escrissar is and what he'll do-"
They were four paces apart now, too far for a punch or jab, far enough to think clearly about what was happening.
He narrowed his eyes. "You know Elabon Escrissar, don't you? From where? Where are you from, anyway? You're no fanner. You wore a medallion and a yellow robe once yourself, didn't you?"
"Mind-bender?"
Another shake of the head.
"You know the templarate. You know the way templars talk, the way templars think. You know Escrissar-know his type, at least. Maybe not Urik, but Raam? Tyr? Which bureau, which city?"
"No city. Not from around here at all, not that it matters. Quraite's been my home since your grandfather was a pup. It's what I care about, I've forgotten most of the rest."
"Quraite's your focus?"
"Maybe. Are you going into that hut now, or are you going to keep lying and running until I plow the ground with that hard skull of yours?"
Yohan pointed toward Telhami's hut, where he'd been, unconsciously and accidentally, retreating. Through the open door, he could see the light cloth of the druids' robes fluttering in a gentle, unnatural breeze. He couldn't see Telhami but she was undoubtedly there, doing things the way she'd always done them. She'd gambled before with Quraite's guardian-or so Yohan said-but the stakes were higher now that the Dragon was gone and Athas had changed.
And because the stakes had been raised to their highest, Yohan said he should speak his mind. Him: ten years in a templar orphanage, ten years a templar. He didn't trust his own judgment. Why should anyone else?
His gut churned over: he'd drunk last night, but never eaten.
"If I did persuade them-" he said, for his own ears, not Yohan's "-if they listen to me, and I'm wrong... They'd be fools to listen to city-scum like me."
"What are you if fate proves you right and you die knowing you could have kept Quraite alive-kept Urik alive, if that's what you care about? What happens, happens, Pavek, right? You play the game once, and you play it widi your life. Are you brave enough to let Grandmother and the others make up their own minds?"
When the matter was stated that way, in that tone, by a leering dwarf, it really wasn't a question. A man either took an unhesitating step across the threshold, or a man wasn't a man at all. And as he wasn't ready to concede that much he. tightened his jaw and entered the hut.
Telhami sat on her sleeping platform, a bowl of tea on her left and Akashia on her right. Other druids-about eight of. them, not including Ruari-stood along the walls or sat on the floor with a handful of the farmers among them.
Every face turned toward him, smiled, and greeted him with a name or nod, as if he hadn't kept them waiting for who knew how long... as if they hadn't heard the tag-end of his discussion with Yohan. Akashia herself offered him tea. If it had been anyone else, he might have accepted, but he couldn't meet her eyes or trust himself to take the bowl from her hands without dropping it.
A shadow fell from the doorway to his shoulder: Yohan stood beside him, one hand pressed against his ribs, pushing him forward. He thought-hoped-it was a signal for him to move aside, take a more inconspicuous place in an outside corner. But those hopes died. He took one step, and his shirt tightened as if an inix had clamped its jaw over the cloth.
"Pavek's ready to talk," Yohan announced. "Aren't you, Pavek?"
So he talked, softly at first. Telhami's face was calm. Her eyes, seemingly focused on some other time and place, were unreadable. Akashia, he discovered after a moment, was no more able to look at him than he'd been able to look at her. But everyone else was staring at him, none more pointedly than Yohan, himself.
He told them about Laq: what he'd seen of its making, how it killed, and then, for no good reason at all, he told them about Zvain.
"He lost his father to that poison-" Never mind that the boy had said the raver wasn't his father "-and his mother. He's an orphan now on the streets of Urik. A common person of Urik, one of those you say you're helping. What good does your zarneeka do him? He can't afford to buy Ral's Breath; it can't cure the emptiness in his life. It won't protect him from the slavers and worse that haunt Urik's streets, looking for orphans like him. Picture him in your mind, then ask him how important your precious zarneeka is to him when he's not going to get Ral's Breath, he's just going to have to live with the havoc and destruction Laq wreaks on his world-"