Kaavl Conspiracy (33 page)

The perspiring Dehrien sprinted up the stairs and stopped, chest heaving, at the top platform.

“The winner!” Mentàll trumpeted. “Ludst Lst!” He grasped the young man’s arm and pumped it into the air. “Capturing, ten, and evading, ten!”

The highest points possible. No deductions had been made for poor sportsmanship.

“Kitran!” Her mentor’s narrowed black eyes focused on her outraged bleat. “That’s not fair!”

He nodded slightly, to let her know he had heard. He muttered, “Verdnt warned me the Dehrien games could be vicious. I’ll tell Mentàll that kind behavior is not acceptable for Inter-Community Kaavl Games.”

Mentàll presented Ludst with his medal, and the crowd slowly quieted. The dirty and bruised Quatr-level Rolbanis slid into their seats. Retra was crying openly, but Lina looked mad enough to spit.

Kitran briefly touched their shoulders when he stepped by to gain the top platform. There Methusal watched him engage Mentàll in a low-toned, vehement discussion. Kitran would straighten this whole thing out. He must.

An agreement had clearly been struck when the two stepped apart a few moments later. Kitran returned to his seat, his expression unreadable.

“The Tri-level contenders will now come forward,” Mentàll commanded.

Behran and Methusal rose and joined their five Dehrien competitors on the platform.

Mentàll approached them. “Are you aware of the new rules? No pushing, shoving, or kicking in order to gain a flag. Only one clean tackle to capture. Understood?” His pale blue eyes traveled the line of contestants.

Methusal met his gaze steadily, unable to hide her contempt. He must know the Dehrien’s acts of brutality were in direct violation of basic kaavl rules and ethics. But equally clear, Ludst would not be punished or stripped of the Quatr-level award for his actions.

“Get ready to begin.”

The seven faced the stairs and the plain below, and Methusal charted a course to the right that curved to eventually meet the rock. With the Dehriens behaving barbarically, winning wouldn’t be easy. Evading
capture would be her best bet. Tension knotted in her stomach
as she waited.

The shell blared once, signaling quiet.

“The Tri-level contenders are ready… Begin!” The disks
clashed, releasing the seven, and the wooden steps thundered
as the pack flew down. Methusal trailed behind on purpose, and upon reaching the plain, struck off to the right.

Forcing her mind to be composed, she slipped into kaavl. The roar of the crowd was difficult to filter out, but after ten long, agonizing steps, she felt tuned into her environment and the noises made by her competitors. One Dehrien had seen her cut to the right, and she heard him speed diagonally in her direction, looking to intercept her a few lengths ahead. She instantly adjusted her course to the left, while at the same time keeping careful tabs on the locations of her next nearest foes.

She flew silently over the plain as her keen eyes observed the path ahead and memorized the location of each stray leaf or twig. Perfect balance and precise foot placements enabled her to stay clear of those noisy position indicators.

The competitor who had been intent on cutting her off realized he had been tricked, and now charged back in the direction of the rock. But he had lost time, and Methusal was easily out of his range. In addition to this person and herself, three competitors remained, and all would arrive at the rock almost simultaneously—a dangerous situation.

She elected to cut slightly to the right again, circle the rock from behind, and then come around again on the other side. She would be adding distance to her trek, but also a margin of safety.

Rounding the rock, it quickly became clear that only two competitors now remained besides herself. Just as she had thought. The rock had served as a trap for two of the contenders.

The roar of the crowd intensified abruptly, breaking her concentration. She was running blind, with no idea where her competitors were.

Too late, she heard the fast rush of footsteps behind her, and then jarring pain as a muscular arm seized her by the knees. She fell hard on the ground, smacking her head against a large rock. A tug came at her waist, and then the person was gone. She hadn’t even seen who it was—although it had the distinct smell of a Dehrien.

Head throbbing, she pushed herself up on one elbow. Bright flashes of light danced before her eyes and she squinted, trying to focus.

Gradually the dry, brittle vegetation stood still. She took several deep breaths and slowly rolled onto her knees, and then into a standing position. She clutched at a prickly tagma bush for support when her head swam. After a few steady breaths, she felt a little more stable, and cautiously stepped forward, using bushes for support, as needed.

By the time she reached the stands, her equilibrium had returned, but her head throbbed mercilessly. Kitran met her at the bottom of the stairs. A hint of concern warmed his expressionless black eyes.

“What happened out there?”

“I hit my head on a rock.” Her voice wavered dangerously, but she swallowed back the self-pitying lump filling her throat.

“Let me see.” With surprisingly gentle fingers, he examined her left temple, where a tender welt swelled. His fingers came away bloody. He stared into her eyes—maybe to see if they were dilated.

“You’ll be all right. Wash off the blood and compress it with a coltac leaf. Did you bring some?”

“Yes.” She always carried coltac leaves.

“Good. Go back to your compartment and rest. I’ll send someone to get you when it’s time for supper.”

“But who won?” Illogically, that was all that mattered to her.

“Behran.” Kitran gave a rare smile.

Methusal was glad her arch rival had won. Far better him than the brutal Dehriens. She wished her instructor luck in his event, and shuffled back through the deserted town to her shack.

Back at the cabin, she cleaned her wound as best she could and dribbled thick, healing coltac juice over it. Her head throbbed, but she didn’t lie down.

Now was the perfect opportunity to investigate Dehre for clues about the Rolbani thefts. Everyone was watching the kaavl games. Including the Chief. What better time to search for missing pelts and the grain, too—if it hadn’t been eaten already.

Looking left and right, and seeing no one, Methusal slipped outside and headed for the Dehrien Chief’s massive, bleached leather tent.

* * * * *

A search of Mentàll’s tent revealed nothing, except that he liked to wear bleached leather clothing, and he liked things neat. Every item had its place, except for his desk, which was a little messy. Either he had domestic help, or he had an orderly mind. But she found no Rolbani pelts lying around, and certainly no bag of grain. Methusal slipped back outside.

The slug monster shell trumpeted. The Primary level was about to begin. She’d been counting the ceremonial blasts. Still plenty of time before the Dehriens returned to town.

Methusal quickly searched each of Mentàll’s other tents, but again came up empty. Only one tent remained when the shell sounded for the last time. Hendra’s. Surely the Dehrien girl had nothing to hide.

But in the interest of being thorough, she should check.

“Hello?” Methusal said to the closed tent flap. Only a few
minutes remained, so she’d need to be fast. She heard nothing,
so she peeked in and saw a circular interior, which included an eating area to the left, and sleeping area to the right. Hendra appeared from behind a partition.

“Oh, sorry,” Methusal gasped.

Hendra smiled and pulled aside the tent door. “It’s all right. I’ll show you around, if you’d like. Dehre must seem so different from Rolban. You live in caves?”

“Yes. Large ones. But they’re all linked together inside the mountain.”

“Interesting. That’s where I spend most of my time.” Hendra pointed to the eating area, which included a fire pit and a table with two chairs. A pitcher steamed on the table. “Are the caves natural, or did your ancestors dig them out?”

“Natural. The rock is really hard. It’s difficult to carve out much. All of our passageways and caverns are naturally formed.”

“You must feel so secure there.” Hendra circled the short distance to the other side of the tent, and opened a curtained area which contained a wooden stand. Extra clothes were stacked on it—twice as many clothes as Methusal owned—and an extra pair of moccasins. A pallet with soft fur coverings lay adjacent to it.

“Our gate keeps out the wild beasts, if that’s what you mean,” Methusal said. “But other dangers live in our walls.”

Giving her a quizzical look, the other girl led the short way back to the eating area. “Man or beast? Or disease?”

“All three at times, but lately, it’s a man. Someone murdered an old friend of mine last week. And I think the same person killed Renn’s father yesterday.” Methusal watched Hendra carefully for any sort of reaction.

Hendra’s hand flew to her throat. “Oh!
Oh no!
I’m so sorry.”

“A thief has been stealing supplies in Rolban. Our Chief thinks Liem and Renn discovered his identity.” A distressed frown flitted across Hendra’s face. “Do you know anything about the thefts?”

“No!” Methusal believed her, but she also got the impression Hendra was hiding something. Hendra said, “Has your Chief found the murderer?”

“He thought so. Me.”

Shock widened her eyes. “No. Certainly not.”

“No. But I’ve seen the thief, and it’s a man. So Petr can’t hold me any longer.”

“You were in jail?”

“For a night.” Methusal didn’t know why, but she wanted to trust Hendra, even though she was Mentàll’s cousin, and even though she was clearly hiding something. Behran knew and liked her—maybe that was why.

Quietly, Hendra said, “You think Dehre is involved.”

“Yes.”

“And Mentàll?” Hendra turned to pour a cup of tea. She handed it to Methusal, and indicated a chair next to the table to sit on.

“I don’t know.” A diplomatic answer for his cousin. “I do know he doesn’t like me.”

Hendra’s eyes clouded. “I’ve noticed. And I’m sorry. I’ll admit I don’t understand my cousin anymore.”

Methusal sipped the sweet, fragrant tea. “Does your whole family live in these tents?”

“No. My father died four years ago, just after Mentàll was elected Chief for the first time. He hated Mentàll’s election.” Something dark shadowed the words. “My mother died six years ago. So after my father died, I had nowhere to go. My oldest brother got the house, but he wouldn’t let me stay. My other two brothers wouldn’t allow me in their homes, either. Mentàll offered this place to me. And a woman to cook and clean for me.”

“So you’re close to your cousin.”

“No. No one is close to Mentàll.”

“Why does he care for you, when your own brothers won’t?” Although Methusal knew it was none of her business, she wanted to learn all she could about the Dehrien Chief.

“I don’t know.” Hendra paused. “He came to live with my family when his mother died. He was five, and I wasn’t even born yet. All I know is my father always hated him, and so did my brothers. I was the youngest, and didn’t understand any of it. We both loved kaavl, but Mentàll was much better than I was. It was the only link between us.”

“So he cares for you.”

“Materially. He provides for me like a brother, and I’m grateful to him. But does he care for
me
?” Hendra paused, and bit her lip. “I believe so. But he’s very…closed.”

Cold, you mean,
Methusal thought. And as Chief, loaning
a tent to a misplaced relative would be easy. As she finished her tea, she asked one final, bold question. “Have any unusual pelts or metal items shown up here lately? Or grain?”

Hendra went very still.

“I know you’re loyal to Dehre. But until we find the murderer, everyone in Rolban is in danger. We need your help.”

A quick, troubled frown pinched her brows together. “Behran is in danger, too?”

Methusal felt uncomfortable, but couldn’t pinpoint why. “Yes.”

“I haven’t seen the things you mentioned. But if I do, I’ll tell you…or Behran.”

“Thank you.” Methusal believed her. She heard voices outside, and footsteps trudged past. “Is it time to eat already?”

“Yes. I’ll see you and Behran there.”

Methusal slipped into the gathering dusk. An unsettled
feeling poked her when she thought about Behran and Hendra.
But that was silly. They were old friends. And what did she care, anyway?

Hendra sat still after
Methusal left. She felt cold inside. Metal items were missing from Rolban. She had been wondering where Mentàll had found the extra metal to make swords—if that is what he’d ordered made.

It must be. Dread gathered in a heavy lump in her heart as all the facts came together in her mind.

The Prophet had spoken of a traitor in Rolban. Mentàll knew him, the Prophet had said. The traitor must be the metal thief. And metal, of course, was the most important requirement for a weapon making camp. A camp where men worked only at night, in secret, in the dark. The same metal thief must have killed Methusal’s friends.

Hendra felt sick. Even though she didn’t believe that Mentàll had ordered the deaths of Methusal’s friends, wasn’t he indirectly responsible, if he was receiving stolen goods from the thief? Had he planted the traitor in Rolban?

No. The Prophet’s words replayed, word for word through her mind—it was one of the small kaavl talents she did possess. He had said Mentàll had made an alliance
with the traitor in Rolban.
So a traitor must have lived there before her cousin made his plan.

But why would a traitor live in Rolban? And why make himself known to her cousin?

What
was
Mentàll planning? And how many more people would die before his plan was accomplished?

Trembling now, Hendra hugged herself.

Did she know her cousin anymore? What had happened to the man who had defended her honor five years ago? That man would never treat a woman how Mentàll was now treating Methusal. She’d seen him intimidate many others before…
men
who had crossed him, yes. But never a woman.

Why Methusal?

Hendra thought back over lunch, trying to remember some nuance…something to explain her cousin’s dislike for Methusal. First impressions of their new visitors flashed; Aali’s mischievous smile, Methusal’s sincerity…and, of course, Behran’s steady, true friendship. She had liked them all. She instinctively trusted them all.

But Mentàll did not like Methusal. Hendra had never felt such intense dislike from her emotionless cousin before. He hated Rolban, of course, but his hatred for this Rolbani girl was over the top. Something must have happened in Rolban when he’d gone there to sign the Alliance.

Methusal must threaten him somehow.
Hendra’s deep, instinctive “knowing” that had kept her alive through the worst of her childhood, told her so. It seemed strange that she had sensed this, since she understood little else about her cousin. Maybe she’d been able to read it because his emotions had risen closer to the surface this afternoon than they had in years.

Did Mentàll know that Methusal was investigating the two murders, and the Rolbani thefts? That she suspected Dehre—and therefore Mentàll—was involved in it all? Of course he did. Her cousin was nothing if not sharp, with razor-honed survival skills. Methusal was a threat to his plans—whatever they were.

Was Mentàll now a danger to Methusal? To everyone who stood in his path?

Hendra’s throat ached. She had heard Mentàll renounce The One with her own ears. Had her cousin lost his soul to the dark side? Was it too late to save him, and convince him to stop his plan, whatever it might be?

Clearly something was not right. Equally obvious, only she could prevent more bloodshed. A sob worked into a tiny cry in her throat.

She wouldn’t allow another person to die. As a consequence, only two choices remained.

She must confront him and make him see reason, once and for all.

And if he didn’t listen?

She must betray him.

* * * * *

Aali, Lina, and Retra met Methusal on the way to the dining table with the news that both Verdnt and Kitran had lost their events. Verdnt, to a man named Jascr, and Kitran to Mentàll. Even though Behran had predicted this outcome, Methusal still felt shocked that Kitran had lost to the Dehrien Chief. Mentàll must be extraordinary in kaavl—and a far more dangerous opponent than she had feared.

Methusal listened with half an ear to the other girls’ chatter as they walked to the waiting meal. Her head throbbed. The three other girls seemed to have become the best of friends over the last few hours. Apparently Aali was over her bitterness at being unable to compete—probably because she hadn’t had to suffer through the Quatr-Level Game, like the other two had.

“It was so exciting, Methusal!” Retra exclaimed. “It took Kitran and Mentàll
forever
to reach the white rock and come back. They kept circling each other and setting up traps and evading capture. Not like our game!” She gave a small, bitter smile.

The table lay unchanged since lunch. Evidently, cold wild beast was the order of the evening. The very thought made Methusal’s stomach lurch. She sat reluctantly and contemplated the cold, fat congealed meat.

Aali elbowed her when she sat down. With a subtle head tilt, she indicated a prematurely balding, stocky, sandy-haired man across the table. In a loud whisper, she said, “Wortn came in second at the Tri-level. He’s the one who tackled you.”

“Really.” Methusal frowned. The man, who obviously heard Aali’s comment, briefly scowled across the table, but then returned his attention to his companions. Apparently causing a Rolbani injury did not concern him too much.

Methusal itched to say something to him, but curbed her tongue. For once, she would follow the higher path. It was difficult, though. She had to look away from him.

“Methusal!” Behind her, the familiar, harsh voice made her tense. The Dehrien Chief. Joy upon joy. A large hand gripped her shoulder, and she froze when he leaned in closer. “It is unfortunate that you were injured.” His low voice electrified the hairs inside her ear. “If you require medical attention, I will be happy to arrange for the best that Dehre can offer.”

A breathless panic choked her. She couldn’t seem to move. “Go away,” she whispered.

“If you do not want further attention, Methusal, keep your place.” His fingers briefly tightened in a clear threat.

She forced out, “You don’t scare me.”

“Only the weak lie.” Contempt sliced through the words.

“Why threaten me, if you have nothing to hide?”

A silent breath elapsed. “Only fools challenge me, Methusal.”

She swallowed.

“Heed my warning. Or you will know the consequence.”
At last, the intimidating presence released her, and he silently
strode away.

Methusal sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. The Dehrien had just warned her off. Clearly, he had something to hide—otherwise, why waste attention on a lowly Rolbani girl? Panic thumped in her heart. What would he do to her if he discovered that she’d searched his tents? Not a comfortable thought.

But
why
did he feel so threatened by her? It was as if he knew she was searching for evidence against him. But how could he know that?

The traitor in Rolban knew she was investigating. Had he told Mentàll? If so, that would confirm that the Dehrien Chief was tied into the thefts in Rolban.

One thing was for certain. His threats would not stop her investigation. In fact, she should feel encouraged by them. It must mean she was getting close to the truth about the Alliance, the thefts, and Renn and Liem’s murders.

Beside her, Hendra spoke quietly. “I’m sorry for my cousin’s behavior.”

She had arrived sometime during Mentàll’s subtle attack.

Methusal wondered what part the blond girl played in the whole mystery. “It’s not your fault.”

Hendra said softly, “I’ve seen him threaten many men. But never a woman.”

“He’s a beast!” Aali exclaimed indignantly. “You should punch him in the stomach next time!”

Methusal didn’t think that would be a good idea. She turned back to the Dehrien girl. “So you heard what he said to me?”

“Yes.” Hendra looked deeply troubled.

“What is he hiding?”

Conflict warred in her eyes. Relief replaced it when Behran slipped onto the bench across from them.

Hendra knew something. However, Methusal felt certain the Dehrien girl would not confide in her. Maybe she would tell Behran. She offered her rival a faint smile. “Congratulations on winning.”

“Thank you.” But his ready smile faded when he eyed her left temple. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, but directed a frown toward Dehre’s Chief. “I’ll feel better when we leave this horrible place.”

Behran followed her gaze. “Mentàll’s coming with us. Their best kaavl contenders are going to Tarst, and we’ll compete against them again there.”

“What?” She felt aghast. “Isn’t he going to Rolban on Sixthday with the delegation?”

“He’ll arrive late—traveling with us.”

The dull ache in her head sharpened. Three more days of Mentàll! The trip she’d so looked forward to was not living up to her expectations at all. Not with Mentàll’s threats, the hostile Dehriens, a whack to the head, losing the Tri-Level Game…. She glanced at the wild beast and sighed. Cold meat to eat.

Helga had a surprise that evening, and unobtrusively distributed bowls of a steaming substance to each person at the table. It was growing dark, and Methusal dipped into it cautiously. She wasn’t sure what revolting new dish the Dehriens might consider a delicacy.

Across from her, the Dehriens fell greedily to their bowls, so she touched a bit to her lips. She licked them experimentally. But it was only porridge. She’d thought Dehre’s grain crop had been small last summer. Was she mistaken? Or
maybe this was the last of it. Whatever the case, Matron Olgith’s
tiresome gruel seemed to have followed her all the way to Dehre.

Reluctantly, she pushed a spoonful into her mouth. At least it was hot. And the Dehriens certainly seemed to find it a treat. Night fell as she ate.

After the meal, a light show was put on for the Rolbanis’ entertainment. Probably thanks to their three wins that afternoon, the Dehriens had become almost friendly to their Rolbani neighbors. Now they clapped rapidly and rhythmically as three entertainers circled a giant orange bonfire near the great table.

The three men were bare to the waist, and held a lighted torch in each hand. The largest man extended his left arm in the air. Clearly this was a signal of some kind, for the rhythmic clapping slowed, but did not stop.

The large man slowly began to dance to the beat of the hands. The two other entertainers joined in, one by one, and then the first man tossed the lighted torch in his left hand over the fire to the entertainer on his right. This throw set both other men in motion, and lighted torch sticks flew end over end in the night sky, expertly caught and thrown again. Torches in their right hands spun off in the opposite direction.

Methusal watched, mesmerized. How beautiful!

The crowd’s clapping increased in pace, and the entertainers’ dancing and torch flinging sped up, too. Soon the torches flew faster than she could keep track, but still the dance went on.

Finally, the clapping slowed and burst into applause, and the three men flung their torches into the air. As the sticks rained down into the giant bonfire, their faces beamed, glistening with heat and perspiration.

Methusal clapped hard. She’d never seen anything so spectacular before!

Behran turned a grin on her. “I wanted to be a torch wielder when I was young.”

“Really? Can you throw torches like they do?”

“No.” He chuckled. “I gave it up when I realized I could barely catch the sticks one by one, let alone catch the right end.”

Methusal laughed. Catching the flaming end would be a drawback.

When Mentàll stood to make a speech, Methusal whispered
to Behran, “I’m going to rest for the night.” At his nod, she whispered goodnight to Aali and Hendra, and then slipped from the table. She was tired, and all that clapping had begun to make her head throb even more.

The bonfires on the edge of the community guided her steps to the Rolbani cabin. The stinky room was pitch dark, and she tripped over a pack one of her roommates had left lying in the middle of the floor. A quick hop saved her from falling flat on her face. Reaching her bed, she sat down carefully, and then blindly unpacked the carry coverlet. She had to rely upon memory to remember how each piece was packed. Garments out, she carefully lay her food rations on top and put them at the end of her bed.

Drawing the cool leather coverlet up to her nose, she lay down, but it was a long while before she fell asleep, because something about the evening niggled at her brain. Just before she slipped into sleep she remembered. The grain!
Where
had
the Dehriens got the grain for the porridge? Rolban
certainly hadn’t given it to them. But her head hurt too much to think about it any longer.

* * * * *

The party broke up a little after the fire dancers finished. Hendra said goodnight to the others and retired to her tent. She was glad to be home. Seeing Behran and Methusal reminded her all over again that her cousin might be a danger to them. Her stomach felt knotted, and it made her feel sick. Hopefully she would be able to sleep tonight. She headed for her bed chamber.

A knock sounded on the wooden board outside her door. Startled, she hesitated, and then returned to the main living area. Who could that be, at this hour of the night?

“Yes?” she said warily.

“Hendra. May I come in?” Mentàll’s harsh voice surprised
her. He had never asked to enter her tent at night before.

Apprehension clawed at her heart. What did he want? Had he guessed that she was thinking about betraying him? But that was crazy. How could he possibly know?

She refused to put a name to her other, unspoken fears. Mentàll had provided for her basic needs for four years. He had never harmed her. With trembling hands, she pulled open the door and stared up at her tall cousin. As soon as she saw him, her fears quieted. Her cousin would never harm her. Not on purpose, at least. “Of course. Please come in.”