The Brazen Gambit

The Crown's eruption-belch ended with another ground-swell. Its towering plume of ash tapered off, transforming itself into a creeping stain across the sky. In a matter of hours it might swallow the sun and bring its acrid shadow to the inspection sand. Templars and freemen alike bent their fingers into luck-signs, hoping the sun would continue to beat down on their sweating heads.

Not so long ago, every person in this comer of the Tablelands had known what to expect when the Crown belched: three days of misery with stale air, foul winds, and a layer of soot that turned Urik a dingy, charcoal gray, then thirty days of conscript scrubbing until Hamanu's city shone yellow in the sun again.

Urik still got three days' misery and thirty days' scrubbing, but twice since the Dragon's death Smoking Crown's eruptions had heralded fierce water-storms in between.

Some blamed the storms on Tithian, the lost tyrant of Tyr. Others blamed them on forces far more ancient and evil. Either way, Urik, built to endure heat and blinding sunlight, took a beating from the gritty, wind-driven rain. And the scrubbing lasted forty days or more. So the people prayed, as they had never prayed before. But not even King Hamanu could say when or whether an eruption would breed a storm.

Uncertainty, in a city where change was forbidden, was the heaviest burden of all.

Bukke cast judgment on the kindling without giving the sticks a second glance. "Put it all back in his damned cart." He swiped Pavek's shoulder again, but his aim was off: his fingers were still twisted into the luck-sign of fire.

Pavek prayed silently to the wheel. With that cloud wandering the sky and the memory of the previous storms etched deeply into his mind, he was having second thoughts about leaving the walled city for the empty unknown. It was no surprise, then, that moments after he started thinking he could survive another sixty days-or forever-the leather-capped veteran was tugging at his sleeve.

"I'll spell you here," he offered. "Get yourself a swallow or two of water, and ease your eyes down the line. I think I spotted your woman."

"Is she-is she alone?"

The veteran shook his head sadly. "Two men. Can't see why she'd throw you over for either of them: the dwarf's as old as the hills, and the half-elf's a scrawny lad. Maybe it's best to leave things where they lie-?"

"No-" This time the hesitation was real. "I've got to speak with her."

"Your decision, son, but have a care. Everyone's gone skittish on account of that cloud, even an old man like me,"

Pavek got the hint and unknotted his pouch. He dug out three bits then, after glancing at the pile of broken stone and seeing the empty shade around it, he dug out three more. "Tell the boy-"

Tell the boy what? he asked himself, raking his hair and staring at the cloud. "Tell him he should have listened, he should have stayed close. Tell him I'm sorry, that's all."

The trio stiffened as he approached. The half-elf moved his hands nervously over the smooth wood of his staff and the dwarf lowering the cart traces, flexing the stone-solid forearms typical of his kind.

The druid-he realized, with some dismay, that he had no notion of her name-stood at arm's length between her companions.

"Woman," he said when he was close enough for whispering. "Hire me to haul your cart through the city. Your zarneeka's being turned to poison, and you need my help."

Her eyes widened. She seemed about to say something, then Pavek felt myriad fiery needles pierce through his skin, and his mind was engulfed in blazing light. His world became timeless until, with a nauseating thump, his heart began beating again. By the time his sputtering mind had reconstructed itself, Bukke had joined them.

"What's going on here, scum?" the inspector demanded, flourishing his prod for effect.

Bukke glowered at each of them in turn, lingering longest on Pavek's bearded face, giving him enough time to wonder if, with all of them together in the same place, the younger templar would remember what had happened exactly sixty days earlier.

"No dishonesty, great one," the druid replied without a hint of deceit or indecision. "I was hoping to hire a man to haul our cart through the city.

Bukke scowled skeptically: even an old, leather-faced dwarf was stronger than a day-laboring human. The druid deflected Bukke's suspicion with lowered eyes and a fleeting smile.

"We were delayed, great one," she explained. "Poor Yohan exhausted himself getting this far-"

Poor Yohan had gotten the message. He was rubbing his muscles now, not flexing them. His shoulders sagged, and he'd developed a remarkably weary demeanor-all of which confirmed Pavek's original supposition: the woman was the one he had to deal with.

"Ah-you're all worthless scum anyway," Bukke decreed. He swung the prod to emphasize his judgment, striking Pavek's still-aching shoulder. "But he's more worthless than you. Choose another and begone."

A silent scream swelled in Pavek's throat. He'd placed all his hopes and faith in this moment, only to see them disappear.

"I see none better, great one," the druid said, sca

"As you wish, Lady," Bukke conceded, his voice slower and softer than it usually was. "Will you be looking for an overnight i

"No, great one. I'll be done with him by sundown."

'Tour name, Lady-for the records?"

"Akashia, great one. These are my servants. Their names are not important. I won't be trading in any market; my goods are already promised to their new owner, taxes paid and receipts recorded. There is no need for you to remember us at all, great one. Just send us on our way, great one." "Yes." Bukke spoke like a man in the midst of a pleasant dream. "Yes. Go on your way."

Pavek risked a tiny sigh of relief as he took the dwarf's place between the traces. She had believed him-surely that burst of pain had been the product of druid spellcraft as had Bukke's uncharacteristically mild and cooperative ma

He glanced at the debris. The shade was empty, and he was still thinking about Zvain when the dwarf's jagged fingernails pressed between the nerves and bones of his wrist.

"Whatever happens," Yohan hissed-grim hazel eyes meeting and breaking Pavek's determined stare-"your life belongs to me."

With his arm already weak from Bukke's prod, Pavek didn't doubt the old dwarf could finish him off, but if, by some remote chance, he survived Yohan, the half-elf s scowl promised another battle. He turned weary eyes to the dwarf.

"We're all meat if we don't get moving," be said, not loudly enough for Bukke to overhear.

Yohan released his wrist, and though Pavek would have preferred a moment to shake blood back down to bis fingertips, he hooked numbed fingers around the traces instead.

"Are you ready?" the druid asked, a hint of maternal impatience in her voice, for all that she looked several years younger than Pavek himself.

With Bukke still blinking in the dappled light, Pavek and his new companions walked past the gatehouse and the inspection sand. There were countless reasons to keep his head down as he pulled the light and well-balanced cart up the shallow slope to the open west gate of Urik. He rejected them all and stole glances in every direction, hoping to catch sight of Zvain. They were almost at the man-high feet of mighty King Hamanu when Pavek saw a dark, lithe shadow in the tail of his right eye. He turned his head toward it.