Part 18 (1/2)

”In my dreams, great one.” The invocation for fire was written clearly in his mind's eye. The power to transform the very air around them into a wall of flames throbbed beneath his feet. Telhami knew it; he could look into those ancient, unblinking eyes and see the knowledge there. And power far greater than any he could hope to command.

Your choice, Pavek. Her voice was clear, but her lips hadn't moved. Her voice was clear, but her lips hadn't moved.

The tips of his fingers touched; the guardian's power surged within him, then ebbed. He wasn't a druid. He couldn't choose to hide in a grove. He could choose between understanding and incineration: a familiar sort of choice for a man who'd worn King Hamanu's yellow. A comfortable choice.

Ruari meant nothing to him. Less than nothing. The sc.u.m simply hated him to the point of poison and beyond, because of his father, not zarneeka. Let Ruari hide in his d.a.m.ned grove. Let him stay there until he rotted, if he couldn't starve. He was more trouble than he was worth; the world wasn't losing anything- Except justice: a balance of rights and wrongs between him and Ruari that could never be redressed with one of them hiding forever and a day. The invocation erased itself; the power evaporated.

”I don't understand, and I refuse to make your choice. I will will find him.” find him.”

The cool, guiding breeze from a druid's grove blew only when the druid willed it to. The air around the ruined stowaway grew still as Quraite's druids, one by one and following Telhami's example, inhaled the essence of their groves.

”There is nothing to follow,” Telhami said triumphantly. ”It cannot be done.”

But druidry wasn't the only magic in Quraite. A small, ceramic lump had entered the guardian's land with Pavek. He had taken it directly from King Hamanu's hands when he was still a boy living in the templar orphanage. The memory of the king's stale breath, his sulphurous eyes, and the burning heat of his flesh would never fade. Nor, King Hamanu had a.s.sured him and the dozen other youngsters inducted into the templarate that day, would his memory of each of them. A Urik templar was linked to his medallion.

Though the crude ceramic might be exchanged for fine carved stone or precious metal-if a templar rose high enough through the ranks-the unique impression made on Induction Day endured.

The medallions could only be used by the templar into whose hands it had been placed by the king. Woe betide the forgetful templar who lost his medallion, and greater woe betide the fool who, finding a stray medallion, tried to use it.

Pavek could have selected his medallion from a hundred perfect forgeries. Even here in Quraite, where the guardian averted Hamanu's prying eyes, he felt its absence as a nagging hole in his consciousness, stronger or weaker depending on the medallion's actual location.

Depending on Ruari's location, since Ruari had the medallion.

Without the competing influences of twenty-odd breezy groves to confound him, Pavek needed only to close his eyes and turn his head to determine the direction in which his medallion could be found. There was a chance the half-wit sc.u.m had left it in the bachelors' hut with his bedding, but Pavek found himself looking away from the village when he opened his eyes. He started walking without saying a word.

Akas.h.i.+a called him; Telhami also-and voices he didn't recognize. If Yohan's had been among them, he might have reconsidered. But the dwarf held his peace and soon the only sounds were those of his own sandals on the dry ground.

He expected something odd, something sudden or frightening, but Ruari's grove, when it came into sight, was a low-lying tangle of briars and saplings, far smaller than Telhami's or Akas.h.i.+a's, but otherwise essentially the same. A s.h.i.+mmer of druidry hung about the place, which from the outside seemed no more than few hundred paces across. There certainly was no sign of Ruari himself, though the ache of the missing medallion was a palpable force in Pavek's mind. He hesitated before wading into the rampant shrubbery, and held his breath until his lungs burned once he entered the grove. Thorns carved b.l.o.o.d.y tracks into his legs, but that was the true nature of thorns and nothing magical.

”Ruari!” he shouted loudly enough to penetrate every shadow. ”Stop hiding.”

There was no answer; he hadn't truly expected one. He thrashed and cursed his way to what seemed to be the visible center of the grove. The medallion felt close enough to touch, but Ruari was nowhere to be seen.

”She says this hiding-thing is your choice. You may as well come out where I can see you. I'm not going anywhere until you know you did the right thing, wrecking the stowaway.”

Something cracked the base of Pavek's skull. It might have been a nut or a small stone; he didn't turn around.

”Talk to me, street-sc.u.m.”

”Go away!” a familiar, anger-filled voice shouted, followed by another pellet striking his flank.

He stayed right where he was, looking straight ahead, out of the grove. ”We can't let Telhami settle this for us, street-sc.u.m.”

”I'm not street-sc.u.m!” Another shout, closer by the sound, and another pellet flung hard enough to make him wince.

”You act like it: another dumb-fool, too-smart-to-think clod of street-sc.u.m. I know the type.”

”You know nothing!” nothing!”

But even in the absence of footfalls through the brush, the medallion told him when to turn around, where to grab himself an armful of street-sc.u.m. Ruari kicked and punched and clamped his teeth into Pavek's forearm-for which he clouted him hard behind the ear. Then dropped the stunned fool into the thorns.

”You want to hate yellow-robe templars, sc.u.m, that's all right with me. I hate a few myself. You want to hate your father or your mother, that's all right, too. I didn't have much luck with my parents, either. We're even. But you want to take your hate out on me, and that's just plain foolish, street-sc.u.m.”

”That's what you say!”

Fists forward and teeth bared, Ruari surged out of the briars.

They grappled for no more than a moment before Pavek got the upper hand and hurled him into the thorns again. ”That's what I say because it's the truth. You-”

Ruari took a deep breath and launched himself again. Pavek had enough time to step aside, which would have allowed the youth to dive head-first into the underbrush. His mind's eye showed the gouged and bleeding copper-skinned face that would result. He was tempted, but stayed where he was, taking the sc.u.m's charge full-force in his gut.

They both went down, with Ruari pummeling Pavek's flanks. Yohan had taught his pupil well; Ruari knew how to land an effective punch with his compact fists and where to aim them. Pavek roared and thrashed free. A wicked thorn caught below the corner of his right eye as he did, and he got to his feet with a finger-long gash across his cheek. The sight of his blood made Ruari bolder and more reckless than the sc.u.m already was. The thought that he might have been seriously injured brought out Pavek's coldest rage.

”You want to prove something, sc.u.m? Now's your time. Give me your best, and I'll give a better reason to hate templars-”

He settled into the brawler's stance he'd shown to Yohan, then he lowered a fist, daring Ruari to strike at his jaw. Ruari took the dare, leaving his right side undefended. Pavek was heavier, faster, and far more experienced; he beat aside Ruari's punch and struck twice, left-handed, on the sc.u.m's jaw and right shoulder before withdrawing.

Ruari's lips trembled and, hard as he tried, he couldn't hold his right arm steady.

”Had enough?”

The half-wit shook his head and charged. Pavek leaned away from the attack, stuck out an arm, and caught Ruari across the ribs, knocking the wind out of him. This time Ruari couldn't clamber upright. He lay awkwardly in the briars, gasping for breath.

”What's it going to take to get through to you that I'm not your enemy? I'm not your father and you're not going to prove anything by hating me as if I were. You've d.a.m.n near twice lost the only home you've got, and what have you got to show for it? I'm still here, and you're one gasp away from being meat.”

Ruari worked his mouth, trying to muster enough strength and saliva to spit.

”Fool,” Pavek muttered.

He thumped Ruari's still-heaving ribs with his foot. The youth began to choke. Pavek grabbed an arm and jerked him to his feet. Ruari's eyes were full of spite, but he couldn't talk, couldn't stand on his own feet, and didn't want to land in the briars again. He clung to Pavek's arm; the ceramic medallion dangled around his neck in easy reach. Pavek left it hanging there, knowing that so long as the half-elf wore it, he'd know where the sc.u.m was. And fearing that, short of killing Ruari, he wasn't ever going to convince the stubborn sc.u.m that there was no good reason for them to feud with each other.

They stood there a while, with Pavek keeping an ungentle hold on Ruari's arm. Ruari couldn't fill his lungs. He wheezed and trembled, leaning hard against him, because he could do nothing else.

Pavek knew, from long years on the practice ground, that elves could gasp themselves to death if their lungs collapsed. He didn't think he'd hit Ruari nearly hard enough, but it was always hard to gauge the vulnerabilities of half-elves. Sometimes they were weaker than either of their parents.

”Come on, Ru,” Pavek urged, forgetting himself and using the youth's familiar name. ”Calm down. Take it slow.” He felt something soft brush against the back of his legs: kivits, three of them, their ears twitching each time Ruari gasped, their large, dark eyes seemingly glazed with anxious tears. They rose up on their hind-legs and touched the youth's limp legs with dexterous forepaws.

Familiars, Pavek thought. Every half-elf was supposed to have them. His old nemesis the administrator Metica was rumored to sleep with a nest of poisonous snakes. He didn't want to think what sort of familiars Elabon Escrissar might keep. But the kivits were clearly Ruari's familiars, and just as clearly distressed by the sight of him.

”I'm getting tired of this,” he complained as he swept an arm under Ruari's legs, lifting him up. ”I'm no nursemaid.”

Now that Ruari had shown himself, the features of the grove were apparent. Pavek carried Ruari to the side of a small, bubbling pool and propped him up against a sapling willow tree. The kivits bounded onto Ruari's shoulders, nuzzling into his hair and against his face. Pavek raised a hand to chase them away, but Ruari's eyes had closed, and he was breathing easier.

He tended his own cuts and scratches in the pool, then sat on his heels, waiting for Ruari to complete his recovery. It didn't take long.

”Nothing's changed. I still hate you. You're still a lying, treacherous lump-of-sc.u.m templar, and I'm still going to kill you.”