Lynn Abbey - The Brazen Gambit

"You're new here," she said, narrowing her eyes and turning the statement into an insult.

Elves had very keen eyes and memories for outsiders. Pavek didn't bother answering. Or sticking around. He retreated to the edge of village, where the young elves and Ruari had also retreated, now that their competition had expanded to include javelin-hurling and an acrobatic contest in which two youths ran full-tilt at each other until one dropped to his knees and the other attempted to avoid a collision by leaping over his shoulders. Once again, Ruari played the loser's part, always trying leap when he should have ducked. Everybody had a blind spot. Ruari's futile ambition to be an elf blinded him to the strengths he did possess. If he'd stuck one hand up while he was bent over and grabbed an elven ankle as it soared overhead, he'd've had one bruised elf who wasn't going to leap or run for a while.

Sometimes people were only interested in what they couldn't have: a flashy obsidian sword instead of a serviceable flint-studded club. A graceful, acrobatic leap instead of a ground-hugging tuck-and-roll...

Druidry instead of something simpler, something for which he was better-suited?

Yohan was in Telhami's hut, making decisions, so were some of the peasant farmers. A man could be important here even if he wasn't a druid. If he'd wanted to be important. But Pavek wanted spellcraft. Whether it was in the templar archives or in a druid's grove, magic was all that he lived for, all that made his life worth living. He'd cheat everywhere else, if he had to, but not there. He memorized those scrolls down to the smears and inkblots. When Telhami said Seek the guardian, he held nothing back. He'd master magic on magic's terms, not his own.

The same way Ruari played elven games.

Games that Ruari could never win.

Magic that he could never master?

Pavek stared into his ale-mug, telling himself that the brew was like broy and led a drinking man into the quagmires of his mind, places he'd never willingly go sober, or drunk on some more reputable liquor. Never mind that his post-hammering peers were red-faced and happy, or that a second barrel had been tapped and euphoria was spreading. For him honey-ale was the same as broy, and he emptied his mug into the roots of the nearest tree.

An offering, perhaps, to the guardian. A prayer that he was not as foolish as that half-wit scum, Ruari who leapt short again, and landed in a groaning sprawl of arms and legs.

If the honey-ale was truly like broy, a few hours should see him clear of its melancholy. He could wait until his head was clear before he let another thought wander between his ears. The sounds of Quraite, from bargaining traders to Ruari stumbling and the distant drone of a grazing kanks lulled him into a pleasant, muzzy mindlessness.

"Pavek? Pavek-what's wrong?"

Nothing, he thought, but the thought got lost in the dark on its way to his tongue. The sky was brilliant red when he opened his eyes, and filled with bobbing, faintly green spheres the size of the setting sun. That was Akashia kneeling beside him, her voice full of feminine concern and her face lost in the shifting chaos of his vision. He'd slept through the entire afternoon.

"Must've fallen asleep."

The silhouette nodded. "You're lucky you're not blind, falling asleep with your face into the sun like that. You're sure nothing's wrong? We were worried. No one knew where you'd gone."

Ruari'd seen him, he was sure of that, but Ruari might have his own reasons for not speaking up. Assuming the scum had survived the afternoon himself. The scrub where he'd been losing regularly was deserted and, come to think of it, the air was thick with the smells of what might be a memorable supper.

A nap and the honey-ale had done him good. His stomach churned with healthy hunger and for the first time since Ruari'd poisoned him, his mouth didn't taste of kivit musk.

"I'm hale and hearty. There was nothing to do. so I fell asleep. Templars do that, you know. It's part of our training. Keeps us from killing each other when there's no rabble-scum around to harass."

His eyes bad adjusted to the sunset light. He watched as Akashia rocked back on her heel with her brows pulled into a sharp-angle over her eyes and her lips pursed in a frown. She must think he was sun-struck-and maybe he was: he couldn't come up with another explanation for that eruption of yellow-robe humor. He wasn't known for his quick wit.

With a hapless little shrug that only deepened her frown, he tried to stand. But he'd slept all afternoon with his legs crossed in front of him. His knees were stiff, his ankles were numb. He got halfway up, then collapsed again with an embarrassing thud.

"You're sure you're all right. You didn't eat anything, again, did you?"

He swore under his breath-another thing he'd managed not to do in front of her since they'd arrived in Quraite. She scrabbled backward with a hand pressed against her mouth. Pure reflex, he swore again and, more carefully this time, hauled himself upright. One foot felt like it was buried in hot coals. He leaned against the tree, waiting for the agony to subside.

"I haven't eaten enough to feed a jozhal since you know when. That's the problem, Kashi-" he swore a third time and turned away. It was true: he was light-headed from the ale, the sun, and not eating, but that was no excuse. He didn't call Akashia by her familiar name, any more than he called Telhami Grandmother. "Just forget it. I drank too much. Forget everything I've said since I opened my eyes."

"Flandoren says he only filled your mug twice-"

She reached for his mug and had it in her hand before he made a move to stop her. She ran her finger along the rim, then held it tentatively to her lips.

"Ruari's got nothing to do with this! He spent the whole day playing the fool for his mother's respectable relations." The mug rolled out of Akashia's limp hand. Pavek considered finding a rock and bashing himself into unconsciousness. But that would have involved walking, and his deceitfully burning foot wasn't ready to bear his weight

He dangled a helping hand arm in front of her face. She ignored it, and all he could see was the top of her head and her shoulders, which were shaking.

"What happened? Did that half-wit scum get his fool self hurt?" he was too frustrated for false compassion.

"He was with the elves when Grandmother asked if he knew where you were. It was the wrong question to ask, I guess. Not really a question, an accusation. He was dirty and battered. She thought-we all thought-the elves he was with started laughing, and he just ran off."

Pavek swore again, and this time Akashia echoed his words. She took hold of his wrist, but got to her feet without his help.

"I'll find him and apologize. I should have known better. Maybe if you-?" She raised her eyes to meet his.

He shook his head, there'd be nothing but disaster if he took her well-meaning suggestion. "Leave him be. Let him nurse his anger and his pride awhile; he's earned the right."

"You're sure?"

Pavek shrugged; he wasn't sure about anything, but when he was that age, and even now, when things went sour he preferred to be alone.

"You understand Ruari better than the rest of us together -because you're... If only he didn't hate you so much. If he could talk to you-?"

"Tomorrow," he said instead of another bitter oath. "I'll talk to him tomorrow morning."

There was a whole night between now and tomorrow. Anything could happen. He might bite off his tongue, but first he desperately wanted to eat. The smells of supper were growing stronger with every breath, and the nerves in his foot had calmed enough that he could walk without limping, which he began to do.

"No!" Akashia said urgently. "Not tomorrow morning-"