The Brazen Gambit
The Brazen Gambit
“Some more groveling and toe-kissing at the west gate-or are we going to do something worthwhile?" Pavek had been dreaming about sleep when Zvain's whine awakened him. He lay still, giving nothing away.
Veterans of the templarate orphanage learned to lie still with their eyes closed until other senses had measured the moment.
"Sun's already up, Pavek. If you don't hurry, you won't be the first belly-crawling, toe-kissing, yellow-loving groveler on the west gate sand. Yes, great one; no, great one; kick me again, great one... I thought you were a man, Pavek. Some man. Some forty-gold-piece fugitive. You can't do anything 'cept lick dust from yellow-scum feet-" "That yellow-scum Bukke-o wouldn't believe me if I told him who you truly were." Pavek didn't need his eyes to see Zvain's face shrivel into a sour pout.
If the boy were right about that one last point... If neither Bukke nor any other templar could recognize him through his laborer's sweat and grime...
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