Kaavl Conspiracy (43 page)

The other two watched her climb first, and then carefully followed. The fingerbreadth holds were almost invisible to the eye. Methusal followed first, and clung desperately to the smooth, rocky bits, determined not to slip like she had on the Tarst Range.

Quickly, so she couldn’t dwell on her fear, and before her hands became slick with nervous perspiration, she stepped up once, twice, and pulled herself onto the ledge and behind the tilted rock. The rock concealed a small black opening in the cliff. Gingerly, she patted her hand inside it. Satisfied it didn’t drop off immediately inside, she crawled in.

Behran followed. The pitch black tunnel spiraled downward. Their hands and knees quietly scuffed along on the gritty floor. Methusal had to keep her head down and level with her shoulders in order to keep it from scraping against the top of the passage. The tunnel smelled of dry, dusty earth and crumbling rocks, and her nose itched, wanting to sneeze.

“Sshhh! We’re almost there.” Aali’s hissed warning was unnecessary, because they’d remained as silent as death for the entire trip. “It widens out here, so we can sit.”

Thankfully, Methusal crawled up and sat beside her cousin. The low ceiling brushed her scalp, so she kept her head bent, but she was glad to rest her aching knees.

“Can you listen from here, Thusa?” Behran whispered.

“I could. But it would be easier if I had an idea where to focus my hearing. I think I’d like to go to the school room and then listen from there.”

After a short rest, she went on all fours again and carefully crawled down the dark, remaining stretch of passageway. The tunnel grew steadily narrower and lower, until finally she scooted along on her elbows, dragging her body behind. A turn, and she saw a faint sliver of light ahead.

She inched forward until she felt the rough back of the loose board. Her fingers slid over a knob, and she pushed the board out a bit so she could see out. It was her own classroom. Just a few days ago Verdnt had taught their class in this very room.

A sudden lump filled her throat. If only! She’d give anything to be sitting in there again, bored. She blinked. Now wasn’t the time for tears.

She listened intently. The classroom was empty, which was a piece of good luck. The dining room would be the source for her first carry.

An uproar of some sort was going on. People were shouting, and crashes…

“Six of us have escaped!” Petr Storst roared. “You can’t keep us locked up in here!”

“I suggest you calm down. Or would you prefer I order each of you killed, one by one?” It was Mentàll’s voice, and it sounded as cool and cutting as the knife he carried. “You are right, Petr. A few have escaped, but you have not. It is in your best interest to do what I say. You would not want your lovely daughter Deccia to be killed first, would you?”

A horrible, sickening silence followed that question. Deccia!
Chilled, Methusal held her breath.

“I thought not. Keep calm, and I will keep your daughter safe while we hunt down the escaped prisoners.” A short pause elapsed. “Don’t like that?” Mentàll snarled, “
Get
to like it.”

“You betrayed our trust!” Petr bellowed. “The Alliance
was a sham!”

“Do you intend to cover your own sins, Petr?”

Petr roared, “You are a whip and a liar!”

“Tell your people the truth. Did you not send me a letter, asking me to come to here? You asked me to take temporary control of Rolban, didn’t you?”

Rolbanis gasped.

With a satisfied twist in his harsh voice, Mentàll continued. “Yes. You wanted me to show you and Rolban how kaavl, applied practically, can create the best leaders. And the best Chiefs. Tell the truth. What was your purpose in sending your authorization letter to me? You want power in Rolban. Forever. Thank you for the payment of grain, by the way.”

Methusal gasped.
Petr
had given the seed grain to Mentàll?

“
No,
” Petr shouted. “You tricked me! You tricked us all! Why create an Alliance, if you meant to make war on us?”

“It was a tool.” Hard triumph edged the Dehrien Chief’s voice. “A way to take over Rolban peaceably, which was my goal from the beginning. Your authorization letter, combined with the new treaty, made it happen. A civilized victory by the pen, rather than the sword. Unfortunately, that was not to be, since your Rolbani traitor started a war before I arrived. But I own Rolban now, and that is all that matters.” He gave a short laugh. “You should have listened to the honorable Erl Maahr, Petr. But your pride and lust for power won. They are qualities I knew I could count upon.”

“Why you…”

Methusal could barely wrap her mind around what she had just heard. It confirmed some theories she had already formulated. Petr had actually agreed to give
Mentàll power in Rolban for three weeks. And he’d given Mentàll grain as advance payment for his kaavl instruction, too! And then Pan had signed the second treaty, allowing Mentàll’s plan to roll into action. It was all very hard to believe. Mentàll must be a whip charmer to finagle that sort of blind trust and cooperation.

“You!” Mentàll barked. “Watch the girl. Everyone else, keep the prisoners separated.”

Methusal had no idea how many Dehriens were guarding the dining room. Or how many were hunting down the escaped prisoners.

She fanned out her hearing again, and located the pockets o
f disturbance in the community. Most seemed centered in the living areas and around the supply room. A few people ran up the stairway to the plateau above…and several more fought it out in the Great Hall.

Since there wasn’t room to turn around in the tunnel, Methusal slithered backwards. The rough stone floor caught at her tunic and scratched her stomach.

“Thusa!” Her foot had run into Behran’s leg. “What did you hear?”

Grateful to be able to sit up again, she quickly relayed the news.

The other two were silent for a moment.

Aali’s voice trembled. “Father betrayed us?”

“It’s not so clear cut. He didn’t know Mentàll planned to take over Rolban permanently.” That was the best Methusal could say for her close-minded, selfish uncle. His lust for power had blinded him.

“We can sort that out later,” Behran said grimly. “Mentàll is the true enemy. And so is the traitor who started the war today.”

“That same traitor killed Renn and Liem.” Again, Methusal wondered which Rolbani had turned against his own community.

“Right now we need to focus on freeing Rolban. At least six of the others are free. We’ll need to move fast, while they’re still creating a diversion.”

“What can we do, Behran?” Aali whispered eagerly.

“Distract the Dehriens in the dining hall. Maybe a few more Rolbanis can escape. And we need to capture or incapacitate as many Dehriens as we can.”

“I wish we had weapons!” Methusal whispered fiercely.

“We could throw rocks at them,” Aali supplied helpfully. “Maybe we can knock out a few. Or we can throw rocks and run away, so they’d chase us. If a few Dehrien guards leave, then the people in the dining hall might have a chance of escaping.”

“But…”

“Wait!” Methusal said. “I have an idea. One of us can climb to the plateau and throw rocks down through the portals in the dining room ceiling. That ought to distract the Dehriens. In the meantime, the other two could create a diversion in the hall with our rocks. That should confuse them enough so that the people inside can take the offensive.”

“They’re tied up,” Behran pointed out.

“Well, they could try to do something. They’ve surely been thinking about how to escape all night.”

“Okay. Dangerous, but definitely worth a try.”

It had a chance—a slim one—of working. One chance was better than none.

“Maybe Aali should stay here,” Methusal worried. “It’s too risky.”

“No. I have to help, Thusa!” Aali’s passionate plea ended with a half gulp, half sob. “I have to help. It’s all my fault! I have to do something.”

“Whether we like it or not, we need her help,” Behran said. “We’ll give her the safest job, and I’m guessing that’ll be on the plateau. Did you hear what’s happening up there, Thusa?”

“Yes. Not much. If she’s careful, she can probably get into position without being seen.”

“I know a path up. It’ll be safe. And there are a bunch of rocks up there. I won’t need to bring any with me. Take mine, Thusa.”

“Good. Listen. Count to one hundred, slow from my mark, and get into position on the plateau. At one hundred, start tossing down rocks. Count like this: one one thousand, two one thousand, three…got it?”

“Yes,” Aali’s voice was tense, but keen. “It won’t take a long time to get up there, if that’s what you’re waiting on.”

“No. We need time to get into position, too.”

“Good luck, Aali.”

“Mark from now.”

Aalicaa scrabbled back down the passageway, toward the outside entrance.

Fear pinched Methusal. They were actually going to pit their wits against Dehrien swords. The odds seemed overwhelmingly stacked against them.

“Thusa.” Behran’s gaze held hers. “When we throw our rocks, Dehriens will probably chase us. If they do, we’ll split up and steer them away from the dining hall. From then on, we’re on our own. We’ll try to capture as many Dehriens as we can.” Killing was out of the question, since they had no weapons.

He sounded so calm and brave. Methusal swallowed, and tried to quell her prickles of fear.

“Are you ready?” A strong hand reached out of the darkness and gripped her arm. “We can do it.”

“I know.” Her voice sounded more positive than she felt. She was sorry when his comforting hand let go, leaving her alone.

“Let’s go, then. Count to eighty, from now.”

Methusal led the way, first crawling, and then slithering down the passage. Already her palms felt scraped raw from the sandy, gritty floor. Finally, the opening loomed ahead. She peered out.

“It’s safe.”

It was now or never. No more time for fear. She wiggled into the silent, dimly lit classroom. A lone lamp flickered against the far wall, near the door. She took a few rocks from her pack and shared them with Behran, and then tiptoed toward the exit, hugging the wall in order to stay clear of the desks in the center of the room. She paused at the door and listened.

A scuffle sounded to the right, around a bend in the hall, but it came from the opposite direction from the dining hall. They wouldn’t be seen.

“Clear.” Her whisper was a mere breath, and the two turned simultaneously into the hall.

All clear
for the moment. Behran and Methusal rushed on tiptoes to the edge of the dining hall entrance. There, Methusal held up her hand and listened. The Dehriens inside were snarling orders, apparently trying to separate out the most defiant Rolbanis.

“I’m going to the other side.” She sprinted across the opening before Behran could speak.

Safe, she crouched and watched Behran’s fingers tick down, one by one. Five…four…three…two…

A bellow erupted from the dining room, and then the sharp snap of rocks ricocheted off the stone floor. It sounded like the pitter patter of hail raining down wrath from the skies. A man cried out, and a Dehrien ran out in a panic.

Behran was ready, and swiftly tossed him down and whipped a strip of leather about the man’s wrists. He stuffed a large stone in his mouth, cutting off a startled bleat for help, and then rapidly trussed his legs and dragged him down the hall and into the first classroom.

It had all happened so fast that Methusal’s jaw was still agape when Behran emerged and crouched into position again, his grin cocky. Methusal smiled back. One down. She pulled one of her two leather kaavl strips from her pocket and clenched it in her teeth, and then quickly gathered more rocks in her hands. A nod from Behran, and they lunged forward and into the dining hall, hurtling rocks.

Overhead, Aali’s supply of stones appeared to be dwindling, so their attack was perfectly timed, catching the Dehriens completely off guard. One of Methusal’s well aimed rocks hit a large Dehrien in the ear, and another in the neck, and Behran had stunned two by the time the plainsmen realized they were being attacked from another front. Several charged, vicious snarls contorting their faces. Their blades flashed, reflecting the brilliant sunlight pouring through the portals. Methusal turned and ran for her life just as a triumphant cry ripped the air. From the Rolbanis—or the Dehriens?

She didn’t have time to dwell on it, because a swift Dehrien was hunting her, and she couldn’t help but imagine the long, wicked knife poised to stab through her shoulder blades.

The hall ahead branched to the right, and she plunged down the new passageway. Two observations pierced her panicked fog: first, the familiar passageway cut sharply left two steps ahead, and second, a step to her right was the deeply recessed door leading to the laundry room. The Dehrien wasn’t close enough to see round the first corner yet…so she ducked instinctively into the doorway and snatched the leather strip from her clenched teeth. She doubled it through her fist.

Standing motionless, every nerve taut, her heart pounded double time. The footsteps were almost upon her—had he guessed?—and then a sprinting Dehrien leg flashed into view and a dark head craned to the left, sure she had rounded the next corner.

Her kaavl strip flicked out and curled with a snap around his ankle. She jerked the line hard, and braced back at the same instant he pulled. The Dehrien staggered and pitched forward. His knife arced toward the ceiling as his hands flung out to protect his face from striking the stone floor.

The sharp, tinny clatter of the knife catapulted her into motion. She grabbed the enemy’s arms and whipped her last kaavl strip around his wrists before he collected his wits. His ankles were secured with the strip still coiled around one foot, and only then, when she finally paused, did she hear more feet scuffling toward her. Her sensitive nose wrinkled, recognizing the scent. Dehriens. The Dehrien opened his mouth, and she snatched the last large rock from her half open pack and shoved it in his mouth.

She leaped for the concealing entry she had just hidden within, and shoved the door open. Arms doubled in strength through sheer panic, she dragged her trussed prisoner into the laundry room and then hurtled her body against the door, clicking it shut at the last moment.

She crouched near the door, ears straining to hear what was happening. But the Dehriens ran by in silence.

Only when the sounds faded did she relax for a second. Think! What should she do next?

She needed more kaavl strips and the Dehrien’s knife, if it was still in the hall. She’d find more kaavl strips at home.

Plan half formulated, she slipped into the silent passage. The knife had vanished. She sprinted to a quiet residential hall, and finally hurtled into her own compartment.

Back pressed against the smooth door, she gulped to catch her breath. Safety. At least for the moment. Her eyes swept the familiar, much loved room. The normal, everyday sights—shutters flung open to receive the morning sun, Papa’s cup on the table, and the door hanging to her room dimpling softly in the breeze—filled her with an odd feeling of unreality. Chup Chup waddled up, chirping to be petted. She knelt and stroked the apte’s soft fur. In this quiet, normal place it didn’t seem possible that Rolban was overrun by Dehriens.

But a shout down the hall jolted her from the half-formed fantasy. It was real. Very real, and if they wanted a chance of winning, she needed to get moving. Now. Reluctantly, she left Chup Chup and gathered the leather kaavl lines in her room. Were her parents in the dining hall, still captured, or had they been one of the six to escape? She refused to think that they might be dead.

Pockets filled, and cumbersome pack left in her room, Methusal pressed her ear to the door and concentrated intently. Most of the grunts and screams were centered in the dining hall and Great Hall now, but she still heard systems of movement near the supply room, and still others winding through nearby living quarter passageways. She drew a deep breath and transferred her kaavl strips to her clenched teeth. The supply room would be her next battleground. Fear slid through her, but she glided out of her compartment before it could tempt her into riding out the battle in her room, where it seemed so safe.

Once in the hall, her concentration and senses focused, and tuned finely into her environment. No room for doubt or fear now. She slipped effortlessly into a kaavl state of mind and slipped toward the supply room, attuned to every slightest noise. Dehriens could lie in wait just as easily as she could.

Odd noises came from the supply room. Carefully, she sidled along the wall. The door tilted at a crazy angle sideways, anchored only by Old Sims’ lock. The hinges had been ripped right off, and she heard the Dehrien inside snorting and noisily smacking his lips as he devoured Rolban’s food.

Methusal glanced up and down the hall, planning her attack. A bit of leather slipped from her teeth to her palm. Stealthily, she tiptoed to the edge of the door and anchored one end of the strip to one of the broken door hinges, located a handbreadth up from the floor. Now was the tricky part.

Swiftly she tossed the other, balled end of leather across the doorway and under the angled door jutting into the hall. Hardly daring to breathe, she listened for movement within the supply room. But the disgusting, slurping noises didn’t falter. The Dehrien seemed too intent upon his meal to notice anything. She boldly darted across the opening and ducked and rolled behind the broken door. Heart pounding, she grabbed the other end of the kaavl strip, wrapped it around her palm, and pulled it tight.

This time the gorging Dehrien did seem to sense that something was wrong, because the disgusting slurping noises stopped. Footsteps approached the door.

Please don’t let him see the trap,
she prayed. She crouched, unmoving, against the wall. Perspiration slicked her fingers as feet scuffed closer. He paused in the doorway and she was about to bolt, sure he had seen her, when the bulky Dehrien shuffled suddenly forward, jerking the line deep into her palm.

Her shoulder slammed into the unstable door, and her arm was almost yanked from its socket. The man fell and cracked his head sharply against the far wall of the passage. He lay in a crumpled heap and didn’t move. She freed her smarting hand from the leather bit.

Tugging with all of her strength, she dragged the huge man as far as she could into the supply room and then heaped up bags of grain and tagma berries around him, so anyone looking in wouldn’t see him right away. Then, with a gag of an old sack, and after lashing his feet and wrists securely, she was off, so buoyed by her success that she barely noticed the stinging ache in her shoulder. She’d captured two Dehriens already!

Utterly relaxed, and each sense sharply focused, she pulled a few more kaavl strips from her pocket and clenched them in her teeth, ready for the next encounter. She tiptoed down the hallway, listening for the next disturbance. Around the corner and down a bit….Aahhh. Ahead, she saw a door ajar. Someone inside was panting heavily. Dehrien? Or fellow Rolbani? But why would a Dehrien hide?

The thought of teaming up with a fellow Rolbani gave her the courage to swiftly peek inside.

“Methusal!” Someone gasped with relief, and a hand plucked at her sleeve, jerking her inside. A flickering lamp in the corner illuminated a wild-eyed Verdnt. His dark hair was a mess. “I’m glad you’re here! I need your help.”

“Why?”

His quick breaths sounded panicked. “You’ve been gone, so you don’t know, but there’s a
traitor
, and he’s betrayed Rolban.”

“I know.”

“You know?” His voice tensed. “How?”

“It’s a long story. Who is it?”

He let out a breath. “Barak. He’s hunting me now. Help me capture him.”

Barak! He perfectly fit her theory that the murderer must be a big, dark-haired immigrant man with access to the ore mine.

But Barak was the one who had caught her on the stairs when she’d been pushed. Of course, that meant he’d also been close enough to push her. She didn’t know what to think.

And Verdnt seemed so certain.

Heavy footsteps interrupted her thoughts.

“That’s him!” Verdnt hissed. “Follow my lead.”

Committed to her new course of action, Methusal tensed in readiness. When Barak’s towering form lumbered through the door, Verdnt and Methusal both leaped on him. They had the edge of surprise, and the large man barely had time to fight. They’d trussed and gagged him within moments, with the help of Methusal’s kaavl lines.

“Whew!” Verdnt sat back on his heels. “Glad you came when you did. I’m not sure I could have done it alone.”

She smiled, relieved the traitor had been so easy to capture. “I…”

“It
is
fortunate, isn’t it?” The cold words cut from the far corner of the room. Methusal whirled and terror seized her heart. She’d know that voice anywhere. Her tormentor stepped out of the shadows. The dim, flickering light cut his angular face into hard planes.

“Mentàll!” she whispered, and cast Verdnt a desperate glance. But he didn’t move. A small smile played upon his lips.

And then she knew. Barak wasn’t the traitor. Verdnt was! Verdnt had spoken to Mentàll in Dehre. Verdnt was the thief.
He
had murdered Renn and Liem. She felt sick.

Horrified, she shot a glance at Barak, who lay helpless on the floor, and then back at Verdnt. Her teeth clenched. “You killed Renn!”

Raising a black brow, Verdnt gave her a terrible smile. “Yes.”

“So we meet again, fair Methusal.” Her head jerked around at Mentàll’s approach. She wasn’t fooled by the cool smoothness of his voice.

“So we do.” Stonily, she met his gaze, determined to mask her fear.

“I hoped we would meet again.”

I’ll bet you did.
But she remained silent. Fear fed her anger and hatred for this man.

Mentàll suddenly turned his head. “As usual, you have done an excellent job, Verdnt. You have captured the leader of the resistance and the lovely Methusal, as well. You deserve a promotion.”

A smirk twisted the teacher’s lips, and he bowed his head, accepting the praise.

Methusal burned to hurl “Traitor!” at the man, but kept her temper tightly in check. Her situation was precarious enough, and right now she needed to focus on the Dehrien Chief. He was the biggest threat. She lifted her chin to look him straight in the eye.

“Bring me a report on the battle, Verdnt.” That pale gaze held hers as Verdnt’s hasty footsteps headed for the door. “It will be my pleasure to detain our prisoner for a few moments.”

“Yes sir!” The door closed quietly, leaving her alone with the Dehrien Chief.

“You broke our bargain, Methusal.” His cool voice sounded deceptively calm, and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

“An agreement made under duress.” Not the slightest flicker of an eyelash betrayed her terror churning just beneath the surface.

“An agreement, nonetheless.” He stood motionless. Tightly reigned power and violence exuded from every pore. But one eye twitched before he deliberately reached out and grasped a lock of her hair, tugging it tight with a jerk. “It is regrettable that I shall have to kill you, Methusal.” Anger glittered. “But you made your choice clear in Tarst. You have chosen to remain my enemy.”

“We will always be enemies,” she spat. “Because you are a murdering wild beast! You started this war, and you’re responsible for Renn and Liem’s deaths!”

“No. Verdnt chose to kill Renn and Liem. I made an Alliance and a treaty. Victory by the pen rather than the sword.”

“Did you really think this would be a bloodless coup?” Overwhelmed with rage, Methusal grabbed her hair and tugged it free from his hurting hands. “You armed your ‘merchants’ with swords! People are dying. Don’t you hear them screaming? This is all
your
plan. And it’s all
your
fault! You ordered Verdnt to steal metal. Renn found out. So Verdnt killed him.”

“War was not my first choice. The swords were for back up, should I need them.”

“Right!” she scoffed.

“I have killed no one. No blood is on my sword.”

“No?” She grabbed for the blade, and it bit into her palm. Blood smeared the cutting edge. “Now you have the life blood of my family on your hands.”

His lip curled in distaste. He swiped the blade once, hard, on his breeches. “Rolban has
everything.
” Palpable fury shook his voice. “Everything. And my people starve.”