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No great loss, he thought. What the elves brought to Urik, the city could do quite nicely without. But he was puzzled that Escrissar had chosen Nibenay as his first target among the city-states. He'd assumed the interrogator would loose his poison against Raam, which was closer, without a sorcerer-king, and mired in anarchy since the Dragon's death.
The Shadow-King still ruled secure in Nibenay, with a templarate composed entirely of women. He and Hamanu were familiar adversaries, testing each other's mettle and defenses every decade or so. The last time the two kings harried each other through the wilderness, a pox broke out in the Nibenay camps and spread through both armies like fire. More Urikites died from disease than combat, but those that came back alive spoke respectfully of Nibenay's female-led army.
But Elabon Escrissar wasn't King Hamanu. He and his halfling alchemist weren't interested in conquest. They wanted nothing less than the destruction of every city-state in the Tablelands. And for that, setting two surviving sorcerer-kings at each other's throats (and they'd be at each other's throats if Nibenay accused Urik of exporting a deadly, intoxicating poison) was a very good strategy indeed. Any war with Nibenay always attracted the attention of Gulg. That would put the three surviving sorcerer-kings at war with each other.
He couldn't think of a better recipe for complete anarchy and collapse.
"You've thought of something?" Akashia inquired. "Elabon Escrissar knows what he's doing, or his halfling does. I wonder how much Laq they make from one of your zarneeka shipments. And how much they've already got in reserve."
'Don't you know? We thought-I thought you did. You said you'd seen them making it. You described the halfling. We-I thought you'd know what we should do with our zarneeka."
"That's simple enough," Pavek said, taking a step toward the cookfires, then another. "You keep it, and pray that Escrissar doesn't have all he needs in reserve, doesn't know how to make more Laq without your precious seeds, and doesn't know where it comes from. Second thought: you burn it, every last seed, bush, tree, and stalk-then, even if he finds Quraite, it doesn't help him. You do that, or you might as well put his name on your amphorae next time you take them to Urik, because he's going to get them."
"You'll tell that to Grandmother tomorrow?"
He stopped and turned to face her again. "If she asks. If I'm not chasing after Ruari-"
"The commoners of Urik can't afford
healers, but they can buy Ral's Breath. We harvest the seeds for them. It's not right that they should suffer; there's got to be another way." "Here, maybe, but not in Urik. Ask the rabble which they want: a bitter yellow powder or war. That's what Escrissar and his halfling want, and what they'll get. If they've got enough Laq to start selling it in Nibenay, it may already be too late." "I thought you'd know a better way. I thought that's why you left Urik and why you wanted to master druidry. So you could help."
"You are a templar. You're a templar in the blood and bone. You're broken and will never change."
He walked away in silence, got himself a bowl, and got on line for supper.
Chapter Twelve
"It's morning," a voice announced, accompanied by a sandal-shod nudge in Pavek's floating ribs.
He groaned, a deeper and more painful sound than he expected. His eyes opened grittily to light streaming through the bachelor hut's reed wall and to a flood of memories: Last evening he'd made a fool of himself with Akashia, first with his oafish templar humor, then by arguing with her about druid affairs: zarneeka and Urik. After that, he'd plopped himself down within reach of the Moonracer's barrel and drunk too much honey-ale. Not as much as he would have when he'd done his drinking in Joat's Den, but too much for a man no longer accustomed to it. He remembered everyone else leaving for their beds, even the elves, and rising oh-so-carefully to his feet for the treacherous walk to his bed.
But, if he could remember all that and bear the light without cringing, then he could probably roll over without his blood sloshing painfully from one side of his skull to the other, the way it did after a night at Joat's.
So he rotated, and the face of the man who'd awakened him resolved into Yohan's leathery features.
"How long past dawn?" he asked working his mouth to get rid of its sour taste.
"High time for you to get your lazy bones off the floor. The Moonracers have folded up their tents and raised a cloud of dust over the salt flats. Sun's two hands above the trees.".
Now he remembered exactly why he'd taken refuge beside the ale barrel. With a single syllable oath of despair, he sat up. "The meeting in Telhami's hut. Is it over? What did Akashia say? Did she convince the others to keep on taking zarneeka seeds to Urik?" His tongue still tasted like the inside of a slop bucket, but there was nothing he could do about it until he got to the well, which seemed, suddenly, a long walk away.
"They're waiting for you," Yohan informed him, dropping a hide-wrapped travel flask into his lap. "You're the one who knows Urik and its templars."
He unstoppered the flask and passed the opening quickly beneath his nose: old habits, again. Mention had been made of Urik and templars, and when Urik was in a templar's mind, no amount of caution was excessive. But the piercing scent of bitterroot filled his nostrils, and he took a full-mouth swig. The days-old taste vanished. After another pull, he returned a half-emptied flask with a grunt of thanks.
Yohan tossed him a freshly washed and still damp shirt. Six days' of unshaved beard snagged the cloth as he tugged it over his head. He stroked his chin with a thumb. If he didn't want to face the druids looking like squatter-scum, he needed a lengthy session with a razor and lump of pumice.
The veteran dwarf extended his arm and made a fist, having apparently read his thoughts. "No rime for that. They're waiting."
"I don't understand why they're waiting," he complained. I've got nothing to say. Akashia knows what I think."
"And what do you think, Just-Plain Pavek?" The question held a hint of challenge.
He grasped the dwarf's wrist and gained his feet with a clean jerk. "Burn it all, every last bush and seed, then pray no one comes looking. Same as I thought last night. Akashia thinks otherwise. I told her I won't argue with her. I'm not getting myself caught between her and Telhami."
All the bachelor bedding was neatly rolled against the outer walls as they walked down the center of the long hut. All except his own, which needed airing, and-he counted twice to be certain-Ruari's, which hadn't been touched since someone spread it out the previous evening. "Where's he this morning?"
"You won't get caught between Akashia and Grandmother," Yohan ignored his question completely. "They agree with each other."
