Kaavl Conspiracy (3 page)

It felt cooler than it had just a few minutes ago. Methusal walked faster for the entrance hall. Soon the sun would dip below the horizon, and the guards would close the gates and thrust the ceremonial sword through the center lock. The clanging screech would signal lockdown until dawn. In the past, the blade had warned off invaders. But after 200 years of peace, the only danger to Rolban’s security were the wild beasts.

An icy breeze brushed her cheek. She glanced left, toward the setting sun. Fingers of darkness sped from west to east across the lonely, flat landscape.

Only a cloud, covering the sun, but a shiver slid down her spine. She glanced over her shoulder. Bright swathes of sunshine still lit most of the landscape. The dark shadow only enveloped her body and the entrance to the Rolbani mountain community…and stretched west, in a straight line, as far as she could see.

One long, lingering swathe of darkness. Another chill rippled through her, reminding her of Renn’s death. Of the burial service.

The darkness felt like a bad omen.

Methusal gave herself a mental shake. Ridiculous. After all, she wasn’t empathetic, like her mother and sister were.

She slipped into the Great Hall, past the empty reclining day chairs used by young mothers and the elderly to soak up the warm sun, to the end of the Great Hall, where it curved right and led to wide, steep stairs hewn out of solid black rock. The huge cavern was naturally formed, as were all the caves in the Rolbani community.

Sounds of laughter and clinking dishes drifted down from the dining hall, and she quickened her pace upward. Her stomach rumbled, and she wished again that she didn’t have to visit Petr before supper.

At the top, she crossed the passage and glanced through the arched entrance into the dining hall. Tantalizing smells of savory cooked meat and freshly baked bread teased her nose. Gray streams of light illuminated the good natured, jostling scene. The dim light filtered down through carefully preserved cracks in the dining hall ceiling. When it rained, special leather tarps covered the holes and collected the rain water.

Methusal didn’t see her family at their table yet, and the line at the buffet was short. Maybe if her meeting with Petr ended quickly, she could still find a choice piece of meat for supper.

She turned right down the passage, and stopped at the third wooden doorway. A burnt image of a three-peaked mountain range, over-crossed by three stalks of grain and encircled by the outline of Koblan’s coastline, signified the Chief of Rolban’s office. Methusal knocked.

“Come in,” her uncle boomed. Then, when she complied, “Sit.”

Petr Storst settled his big bulk back in his chair, his white, bushy brows furrowed in a deep frown. Surprise, surprise, he wasn’t pleased with her. What had she done now? In her uncle’s vocal opinion, she was a stubborn, willful, outspoken young woman, all three of which were true, and all three of which he thoroughly disapproved. However, he most especially disliked her kaavl influence over his youngest daughter.

Petr lifted his hand. A silvery metal object rested in his palm, and a fine chain spilled between his fingers. “I suppose you recognize this.”

With a shock of surprise, she automatically reached for the familiar object. “Where did you find it?”

Petr let her take it. Smooth and flat, it was a fingerbreadth thick, and shaped like a rectangle, with the longest sides nearly as long as her palm. It was made of solid ore, and heavy. A carved border outlined the object and a large, flourished capital letter “M” was embossed upon the tablet necklace.

Her fingers rubbed its familiar lines and edges. “I’ve been searching for it all week.” She flipped it over and traced two familiar scratches on the back—a large, crude “M” in the center, and on the bottom right, a small “r.” Some ancient child ancestor of hers had scratched those in long ago.

“I found it on Renn’s body this morning.”

“On…
Renn?
” Methusal gasped. Why had Renn had her necklace? He’d known it belonged to her. Everyone did. After all, the necklace had been passed down to the oldest Maahr child for centuries. Why hadn’t he returned it?

Petr’s frown deepened. “Nothing to say?”

“What do you mean?”

“Fine. This might loosen your tongue.” He shoved a scrap of paper across the table. “Read it.”

She smoothed out the wrinkles and read the small, cramped handwriting, which looked messier than normal, as if Renn had written it in a rush.

4/10

Methusal, I found your necklace. I’ll have to tell Petr, but I wanted to warn you first. Meet me on the crop plateau tonight. I know you’ve been in the ore mine, because that’s where I found your necklace. Are you the ore thief? We’ve always been friends, so I wanted to give you the chance to explain to me first. Renn

The message left her speechless. At the same time, she couldn’t help but touch the parchment.

Renn had written this note to her. Why hadn’t she received it? Her bewilderment grew. “This doesn’t make sense. I’ve never been to the ore mine.”

“Mmhm. Then how did he find your necklace?”

“I don’t know. It’s been lost…”

“Lost in the ore deposits!”

“But how? I don’t even know where the ore mine
is
.”

“Don’t lie. Renn’s letter proves you’ve been there.”

“
No.
I haven’t.” Exactly what point was her uncle trying to make? Methusal scrambled to make sense out of something…
anything
…in this strange line of questioning. “Isn’t the mine closed? That’s why we can’t make more weapons, right?”

“No. We choose not to mine ore. It’s a condition of the Great War Peace Plan. Surely you know that. Just as you know the Rolban Mountains house the biggest deposits of ore on the Koblan continent. Maybe in the entire world.”

“Yes. But…”

“Don’t play dumb, Methusal. You
knew
Renn was an ore mine guard!”

“No. I didn’t. I thought he was Sims’ supply room assistant.”

“He had two jobs!” Petr’s fist crashed onto the table. She jumped. He lunged to his feet. “
Why
were you in the restricted area?
How
did you get back there?”

“I didn’t!”

“Obviously, you did. We have proof. You stole ore! Who did you give it to?”

Methusal gaped up at him. “
What?
I didn’t steal ore! What are you talking about?”

Petr leaned over the table. “We know you’re involved, Methusal. Renn found your necklace in the ore deposits. He sent you the note. You met him on the bluffs last night. He confronted you about your ore thefts, and you pushed him over the edge.”

“
No!
I would never,” Methusal exclaimed, horrified. “How could you
think
that? And…and I’ve never seen that note before, either!”

Petr sat down again. His hard eyes resembled gray stone. “We searched your compartment this morning. We found that note hidden under your pallet.”

Methusal felt overwhelmed, and more than a little scared. “I didn’t put it there. I didn’t receive it!” she insisted. “And why would you search my room in the first place?”

“Renn left a detailed letter in his compartment. Apparently he was afraid for his life. For good reason, it appears.”

“I didn’t receive that note. And I certainly didn’t kill Renn!”

Petr seemed convinced that Renn’s death wasn’t an accident.
That someone had murdered him. Her muddled mind tried to make sense of the facts Petr had just presented. Renn had found her necklace in the heavily guarded ore mine. How had it gotten there?

Petr glared. “I knew you would be difficult. Until we get to the bottom of this, you won’t leave the gates of this community. I should put you in jail, but I don’t have enough proof. Yet. And count yourself lucky you’re my niece. But know this: when we do find solid proof against you, you will be tried, and severely punished.”

“But I didn’t kill Renn! And I can’t stay inside. I have to practice for the Kaavl Games.”

“You won’t take part in the Kaavl Games.” He stood, dismissing her. “Consider these charges seriously. I want the name of your accomplice. Much as you’ve proven yourself to be a rebellious and undisciplined young woman, I don’t think you are stealing ore on your own. I want to know who’s behind it all, and where that ore is going.”

In a daze, Methusal stumbled for the door. “You’re wrong. You’re accusing the wrong person.”

“Prove it.”

Dehre

Koblan

Hendra sat at the supper table
in the Chief of Dehre’s tent. Through the open tent flap, daylight had faded into dusky nightfall. A lamp illuminated the food, as well as the only other occupant of the room: her cousin—the Chief of Dehre, Mentàll Solboshn (Mn tall’ Sole’ bah shn). Although he was her first cousin, he’d always behaved more like a brother to her than any of her natural ones.

The lamplight softened his harsh features, but its shadows emphasized the intimidating size of his lean, broad-shouldered body. He was only eight years older than she was, but the tenuous bond that had developed between them during childhood appeared to have broken when he moved away from home at sixteen. Although he protected her now, they weren’t close. In truth, Mentàll never let himself get close to anyone. Still, Hendra loved him as if he were her own brother.

She swallowed her bite of meat and tried to squelch the worry that had been eating at her over the last few weeks. Tonight she would ask the question.

Just not yet.

She cast a quick, apprehensive glance at her cousin. Their mothers had been identical twins, and although both she and her cousin possessed the same white-blond hair, and had grown up in the same house, there the similarities ended. Mentàll had grown into a hard man, and he’d become hard to read, too.

Although Hendra barely understood him anymore, she was grateful to him. Four years ago, when she was sixteen, Mentàll had given her one of his tents to live in after her father died and her real brothers threw her out of the house. Casting off a family member was an unthinkable act in Dehre, but Hendra would never dream of complaining to the elders. Her shame would only increase if the community learned the truth of who she really was.

Even Mentàll did not know. He had asked no questions; he’d just taken her in.

As Chief of Dehre, providing Hendra with a tent was a luxury her cousin could easily afford. Still, she felt grateful. Without his shelter and provision, she’d be dead now. Or wish she was.

At the end of the long table, Mentàll ate silently. He’d made little effort to speak to her tonight. What was he thinking?

Did she want to know? She bit her lip. Lately, her cousin’s attitude had become even more off-putting. He didn’t encourage questions, or idle chit chat. To Hendra, it seemed like a wall of impenetrable ice guarded him. The caring cousin she’d once known lived somewhere inside that ice. Or perhaps his heart had frozen solid within the cold and—she suspected—ruthless man he had become.

The worry that had nagged Hendra for the last month could be ignored no longer. Gathering her courage, she said, “I’ve been smelling smoke at night. Not the fires protecting the town,” she clarified. “It smells different. Bitter…like burning metal.” In the daylight, she’d seen no evidence of unusual fires. So the smell must be drifting to Dehre from the low lying hills to the north.

Mentàll sent her a cool look. “All is fine,” he said in his low, harsh voice. “Do not speak of it again.”

Still, she dared to press further. “What about the Alliance with Rolban and Tarst? Don’t you want peace?”

“I desire everything Rolban will offer me.” After a pause, he grimly finished, “And even what it will not.”

She softly gasped. “
Mentàll.
”

His ice blue gaze flayed into her. A warning. He would never hurt her, but she must heed him now. “I seek peace, Hendra. Do not be afraid. Everything will be safely delivered into my hands.”

What did that mean? She didn’t like the sound of it, but fell silent. Clearly, he would tell her nothing further. What was he planning? What burned outside the town at night? It meant nothing good, she knew it. Metalworking—except for fixing hunting and kitchen utensils—had been banned two hundred years ago by the Great War Peace Agreement.

Hendra was afraid for Mentàll. Although she barely understood him, she loved her cousin. Growing up together in that horrible house had bonded them.

She did understand one thing clearly, however. Fury simmered deep in her cousin’s soul.

Mentàll hated Rolban. True, Rolban always had plenty of food and Dehre usually had little, especially now, after the poor harvest last year. But she didn’t think starvation alone fueled his lifelong hatred for the Rolbani community.

Mentàll was plotting something. She knew it, and it scared her. It must have something to do with the upcoming Alliance with Rolban. Whatever it was, she hoped it wouldn’t end in bloodshed. Or his death.

Rolban

Methusal escaped
from Petr’s office. In a daze, she leaned against the lumpy rock wall and took several deep breaths. Renn was dead, and Petr thought
she
had killed him.

Had
Renn really been murdered? Plenty of other questions tangled in her mind.

After drawing a few more trembling breaths, Methusal entered the dining hall, grabbed a plate, and stood in line at the buffet. Without really seeing it, she stared at the counter, which was sculpted from an outcropping of rock and loaded with succulently cooked meats and vegetables. The freshness of the food normally would make her smile. The first spring logne leaves and wildberries, both harvested high in the Rolban Mountains, had arrived. For the first time in months, no dried food was being served. But she barely noticed.

Balancing her filled plate and drink, consisting of a nutritious mix of powdered tagma berries and water, she slipped to her family’s empty table. She picked at her food, her thoughts jumbled. She felt faintly sick.

Her parents soon arrived with loaded plates.

Her father’s plate clattered onto the table. “Petr is wrong, Hanuh! He’s desperate to win this election. He’s grasping for the wind.”

“Erl.” Methusal’s mother curled a slender hand around his arm. She stood a few inches shorter than her husband. Flyaway gray hair wisped about her tanned face. “I’m not sure how I feel about it yet, either. It’s the first we’ve heard of it. But an Alliance with Dehre could benefit us. Wait until you’ve read the treaty. Then decide.”

He scowled. “Tell that to Petr. He hasn’t read it yet, but he’s ready to sign. How can he trust a Dehrien?”

“The Great War ended two hundred years ago,” Hanuh reminded him. “Perhaps it would be wise to hear out Dehre’s Chief.”

Erl snorted. Methusal had never seen her calm father so upset before. “Petr is afraid Liem will win the election. So he thinks a big move now with the Alliance will win him votes. What he needs are good ideas. Liem knows that.” Erl’s frown eased when his gaze fell upon Methusal. “Thusa.”

“Hi, Papa.” She glanced at her food again. It didn’t look any more appetizing than it had a moment ago. And she couldn’t summon up interest in her parents’ argument, either. Her problems seemed far more urgent than a hypothetical alliance with Behran’s home village, which was their closest neighbor and only a half a day’s run from Rolban.

“Methusal?” A small frown drew Hanuh’s brows together. “What’s wrong?”

Her throat felt tight. Swallowing didn’t help matters. “Petr just accused me of murdering Renn.”

“
What?
” Erl exclaimed.

Her mother gasped. “
Why?
Why would he think such a horrible thing?”

“It’s a long story. Apparently, Renn found my necklace in the ore deposits.”

“Really?” Behran slid onto the bench across from Methusal. Since their parents were friends, they frequently ate together. “How did it get there?” Suspicion sharpened his gaze.

She frowned. “How am I supposed to know?”

“Thusa.” Her mother’s warm hands covered Methusal’s cold ones. “Tell us the whole story. Start from the beginning.”

“Petr found a note from Renn in my room.” She searched her parents’ eyes. “Did you know? Did you receive it? Or put it there?”

“No.”

Erl shook his head. “I’ve been on the plateau all day.”

“Petr searched my room. He found the note under my pallet.”

“What did the note say?”

Methusal explained the main points. “Now Petr thinks I met Renn on the crop plateau and pushed him over the edge.”

Hanuh’s grip tightened on Methusal’s fingers. “That is nonsense!” She glanced at Erl. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, won’t we?”

“I will definitely talk to Petr.” His tone was grim.

“He won’t listen. He hates me, you know that. In his mind, I’m already guilty.”

“He doesn’t hate you. He’s raising your twin sister, Deccia. He cares for you both.”

“No. He thinks I’m a bad influence. Especially on Aalicaa. He doesn’t approve of girls learning kaavl.”

“He doesn’t hate you for knowing kaavl,” her mother said. “That’s silly.”

“Well, he doesn’t like me. He never has. And he’s convinced I’m guilty.”

“Be logical, Thusa,” Behran said. “He’s found evidence…”

“
Planted
evidence. How else could that note get in my room?”

Behran said, “Renn is dead, and Petr needs to solve the case. Especially if it was murder.”

“Right. He wants to close the case as quickly as possible. Then he’ll look good. Maybe it’ll help get him reelected as Chief.”

“Prove him wrong, then.” Behran forked up a logne leaf.

Methusal bit her lip. Behran was right. Then a new thought struck her. If Petr thought the case was closed, would he look for the real murderer? At least Petr believed she had an accomplice. Maybe he would still look for that person—possibly the true murderer?

Murder.
She still couldn’t believe they were talking about murder. Was a killer roaming Rolban right now?

One thing was for sure. Renn would never have “accidentally” fallen off a cliff. So someone must have pushed him. But
why?

The whole thing seemed crazy. Rolban was a peaceful community. Although it had had over 300 people living within the mountain, the last violent crime had happened almost a decade ago.

“I know you and Petr don’t get along, Methusal,” her father said. “He and I don’t see eye to eye on the Alliance, either, but he’s a good man. I’ll talk to him.”

“Thank you, Papa.” Unfortunately, she didn’t hold out much hope for her father’s success. Reversing the seasons would be an easier task than changing her stubborn uncle’s mind.

So it would be up to her. She’d have to find the evidence to clear her name.

And what about the Tri-Level Game? A sick feeling twisted in her gut. She’d practiced for
five
years
to earn the right to play in that game.

“I may not be able to play in the Tri-level,” she mumbled.

“Why not?” Behran’s tone was sharp.

“Petr said so. I can’t go outside to practice, either.”

“Kitran has the final say in the Kaavl Games. Not Petr.”

“That’s true.” A bit of hope took root. “I’ll talk to Kitran, then. Before Petr has the chance.” She swiftly scanned the dining hall, but didn’t spot her dark-haired kaavl instructor. Her gaze lingered on Renn’s empty seat. Even his father, Liem, was missing. He probably wanted to be alone tonight.

How could someone ever get over losing a son…a friend? The familiar ache tightened in the back of her throat. Renn shouldn’t be dead. As much as murder seemed unbelievable, based upon the sketchy, but suspicious facts, it could very well be true.

I’ll find out who killed you, Renn. I promise.

Another scan of the dining hall did not locate Kitran. She’d find him after supper. Surely Kitran wouldn’t ban her from the Tri-Level Game. Not after she’d spent five grueling years in training. Not after she’d finally earned the chance to challenge Behran, face to face, for the first time in her life.

In the meantime, she must clear her name. Her necklace had been found in the ore deposits. Ore was missing. Both clues tied into the ore mine. Unfortunately, she knew little about the mine. Where was it? And who had access?

As a council member and former Chief, her father would know.

“Papa, where’s the ore mine?”

“It’s restricted.”

“I know, but where is it?” She knew of several passageways that had been locked off for security reasons; one of which was a collapsed hallway. She’d never been able to explore them as a child.

Her father just looked at her. “You’re not allowed back there. Don’t do anything rash, Methusal.”

She turned to her mother, but after a glance at Erl, Hanuh shook her head. “I’m sorry, Thusa.”

She felt frustrated. After her parents cleared away their plates, Methusal eyed Behran, who was forking up the last bites of his food. She offered him a winsome smile. “What about you? Do you know where the ore mine is?”

Of course he did. His job required it.

His eyes narrowed. “You know I help Motr with the water systems. I have to know every tunnel and cave in this mountain.”

That was no answer. “Have you been to the ore mine?”

Behran shrugged. “Occasionally.”

“Petr said Renn was a guard. Did you ever see him?”

One straw-colored brow flicked up. “Lot of questions.”

“Well, have you?”

“No,” he admitted. “They change the guard every few hours.”

“Guard? So only one man guards the ore deposits?”

Humor sharpened Behran’s gaze. He popped his last bite of bread in his mouth. “Didn’t realize we were such good friends. Should I be flattered you want to know so much about my work?”

Methusal’s patience slipped, and she glared. “
Where
are the ore deposits?”

“Ahh, now we come to the heart of the matter.”

“Well?”

“You know I can’t tell you.”

“Thanks for nothing.”

One corner of his mouth twitched. “Any time.”

Methusal gritted her teeth and stood. She’d been a fool to think Behran would help her. Kitran. She needed to find her kaavl instructor before Petr did. She’d search for him right now.

“Have a good night.” Behran’s mocking smile was back.

“And you.” Whirling on her heel, she marched away.

She stacked her plate and utensils in their proper tubs, carved deep and wide into the flinty rock, and hurried for the dining hall entrance.

“Thusa!
Thusa,
wait.” The quiet, urgent voice and the sound of running footsteps made her pause.

When Methusal turned to smile at her best friend, who’d just come to a breathless stop beside her, her own face smiled back. Her identical twin, Deccia (Day’ shuh) Storst, had green eyes, tanned skin, and long, dark brown hair caught back in a ribbon. She was slim, and tall for a Rolbani woman. Each of them matched their father’s height, and only two differences distinguished the two: Methusal’s eyes were spaced a bit wider apart, and her skin was a faintly darker hue. And she wasn’t wearing a ribbon in her hair.

A rueful smile tugged at Deccia’s lips. “Aalicaa says your name got switched to the dishwashing roster tonight.”

“Thanks for telling me. Matron would have a fit if I didn’t show.”

“No problem.”

The path to the dishwashing chamber led past the Storst table, so Methusal followed her sister, who walked with her slim shoulders held gracefully straight under her leather tunic. Colorful pieces of dyed fur, sewn in patterns, decorated the back and front of the garment. So similar to what Methusal wore today, and yet so different. Just like their personalities. One or two decorative bits were enough for Methusal’s more spartan tastes.

Methusal averted her gaze as she neared the table where Petr Storst, Deccia’s adoptive father, sat. Maxmil Verdnt, one of Petr’s competitors in the election, sat across from him. She would have passed by, except her uncle thundered, “
What
was that all about?”

Petr’s gaze bored into Deccia, who now wore a conscience-stricken
look. Petr’s white brows bristled together. “Running, Deccia? Shouting across the dining hall? What sort of an example is that to your sister?”

Methusal felt compelled to point out the obvious. “Aali’s not here.”

Deccia cast her a grateful glance. “It’s okay, Thusa.”

Petr glared at Methusal. A faint flush mottled his features. “Aalicaa needs the best role models she can get.” His tone made it clear that Methusal’s example lacked in every quarter.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” Deccia murmured, and settled onto the bench next to the dark-haired Verdnt.

Methusal struggled to ignore her sparkling temper. Not for the first time, Petr was being unreasonable. How did Deccia or Aalicaa stand it? Again, she wished her parents hadn’t allowed the Storsts to adopt Deccia so long ago. And she wished she didn’t have to deal with Petr right now. Her impulsive tongue unfortunately spoke before her better sense prevailed. “Deccia helped me out. Isn’t that a fine example for Aali?”

“
Thusa,
” Deccia said. “See you tomorrow. Bright and early, right?”

Methusal bit her lip. She’d almost forgotten that tomorrow was Firstday. Breakfast duty. Wonderful. Could life get any better?

Methusal felt Petr’s glare follow her through the kitchen doorway. She knew her uncle believed she was a mouthy, willful young woman, and maybe he was right. Disciplining her tongue and emotions were twin mountains she’d struggled—and repeatedly failed—to master her entire life. Her first impulse was to speak out, or
do
something to right an injustice. But now she was an adult. It was time she grew up.

Walking that fine line of insubordination just now with Petr had been stupid. Did she need to give him more reasons to throw her out of the Kaavl Games? Even worse, he held the power to throw her in jail.

She ran her finger down the kitchen duty roster, which was posted on the stone wall. Deccia was right. It was her turn to wash dishes tonight. Young Aalicaa, the Chief’s only natural daughter, and also Methusal’s sole cousin, would dry.

A low, howling moan drifted into the cave, through the stove’s chimney. It sounded eerie and plaintive. Wild beasts roamed outside right now, hunting their prey.

Just like they’d devoured poor Renn last night. She swallowed hard, and again tried not to think about his mangled body. With a shiver, she slipped over to the mammoth sinks, where dirty dishes were piled arm deep. The starving wild beasts had become more vicious lately. Last week, a hunter had been killed. His friends had managed to kill the beast and harvest the meat, oil, and skin, but at such a terrible cost.