Kaavl Conspiracy (10 page)

He smiled. “You owe me.”

She eyed him warily. “I guess.” Behran had convinced Pogul that she was practicing kaavl, rather than trying to break into the ore mine. Definitely a lesser offense, should Petr find out.

“Stay out of that passageway from now on.”

“I will. I found out what I needed to know.”

“I hope you did. That was pretty reckless.”

“Your life isn’t on the line. Mine is. I’ll do whatever is necessary to clear my name.”

He chuckled. “See you later.”

* * * * *

The Maahr family table was empty when Methusal turned away from the buffet table holding a plate filled with overcooked leftovers from lunch, and garnished with logne leaves. She’d noticed a few people eyeing her as she entered, and remembered this morning, when Liem had accused her of murder. How many people thought she was guilty? What did they really think of her? She was acquainted with everyone in Rolban, of course, although she wasn’t close with many.

Now, as she stood at the end of the buffet line, she noticed a few more groups of people whispering together and sending frowns her way. That made her feel uncomfortable, and she tried to ignore them.

Deccia waved from the Storst table, and her sister’s smile made her feel better. The people who loved her knew the truth. And she’d prove the truth to the others. Slowly, Methusal headed over to where her sister sat with her father, Verdnt, and D’Wit. Although she did want to eat with Deccia, listening to more of her uncle’s threats wasn’t an appetizing prospect. However, Petr seemed to be deep in conversation
with D’Wit and Verdnt. Maybe she’d get lucky, and he’d ignore her.

Petr clapped Verdnt on the back and roared with laughter when Methusal sat beside her sister. “You’ll make a good Chief someday, Verdnt. But not
too
soon.” He laughed again.

“I know I won’t win this election,” Verdnt murmured, with a glance at Deccia. “Dehriens still aren’t fully trusted. But next time…”

“Next time, you’ll be my fiercest competitor.” Petr turned to his trusted advisor. “Don’t you agree, D’Wit?”

“I’m thinking you shouldn’t give him too much advice,” came the doctor’s scratchy, disapproving voice.

“I’m not worried. This election’s just a trial run for the boy. Isn’t that right, Verdnt?”

A swift emotion glittered, and then vanished in the teacher’s dark eyes. “If I had lived here for thirty years, as
you have, Storst, the election’s outcome wouldn’t be so certain.”

Petr laughed, instead of taking offense, which surprised Methusal. As did his apparently affectionate squeeze of the younger man’s shoulder. “The balance of power tips to me now. But in the future,” and he glanced at Deccia, “you may obtain everything your heart desires. I’m a friend you want to keep.”

With a smile, Verdnt glanced at Deccia and then back to Petr. He lifted his cup. “To the future.”

Petr smiled broadly and lifted his cup. “To strong alliances.”

What was going on here? With a frown, Methusal glanced at her sister. A flush touched Deccia’s cheeks, and she looked down at her plate.

The men clicked cups and drank while the hunched D’Wit looked on with a disapproving stare. For once, Methusal agreed with Petr’s closest advisor. What exactly had Petr promised Verdnt? A future election, possibly. But worse, Petr appeared to have given Verdnt his seal of approval as a son-in-law. Clearly, he had not bothered to speak to Deccia about the matter, because Deccia loved Timaeus, not Verdnt.

Petr’s callous highhandedness grated on Methusal’s nerves, as usual. She hissed to Deccia, “Decc. Did Petr just…”

Her flush deepened. “Shh.”

“Why won’t you speak up for yourself?”

“I said,
shhh!
”

“What’s wrong?” Petr’s heavy frown targeted Methusal, surprise of surprises.

Although it was difficult, she managed to remain silent.

Deccia said, “Everything is fine, Father.”

Petr
harrumphed
. With a glare at Methusal, he returned his attention to Verdnt.

Methusal, however, sent her sister a frown of concern.

“Don’t,” Deccia warned in a low voice.

“I care about you,” she hissed. “I can’t stand to see Petr walking all over you.”

“I don’t need to start that war today.”

“Maybe not. But someday you’ll need to speak up for yourself.”

“I’ll choose when. It’s not today.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Methusal spotted her parents in the buffet line. Behind them stood Liem. Renn’s father caught her gaze, and his silver brows ratcheted together into a glare.

Heart thumping, and feeling slightly sick, she looked away. Always before, when she’d gone to visit Renn at his compartment, Liem had seemed like a kind, mild-mannered
man. Apparently not any longer. He clearly wanted her executed;
probably the sooner, the better. She wondered how many other people felt the same way.

All of a sudden, sitting at the Storst table with Petr, who also disliked her, felt too uncomfortable to bear. He’d already turned Methusal’s life into a living hell, and apparently he planned to do the same to her sister. It really was too much. She wanted to sit with her parents who loved her, and who would support and defend her.

She stood. “I see my parents. I think I’ll go sit at our table now.”

Eyes troubled, Deccia nodded.

Methusal didn’t want her sister to feel abandoned. She gently touched her shoulder. “I love you, Decc. I just can’t stand…”

“I understand.”

Methusal carried her plate to her family’s table, which, for the moment, was still vacant. The stew from lunch had turned to mush, but at least the meat was easier to chew. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Liem had retreated to his table, and he faced the far wall. Good. His eyes had felt like daggers in her back the whole time he’d been in line.

Behran sat down and placed a steaming bowl before him. His eyebrow lifted. “So, are you ready to beat me at the Tri-level?”

Behran’s flippant attitude was a welcome distraction from Liem and Petr. And wasn’t it just like him to rub it in that he’d caught her skulking through the restricted area? In his mind, obviously a kaavl win.

“Yes, thank you.” She didn’t bother to ask if he was ready. Clearly, he was convinced he would win. Fine. Maybe
his ego would blind him. It might improve her chances of winning.

“Will Kitran let you play?”

“Yes, he will. He’ll speak to Petr soon.”

“Better hope he doesn’t find out what you did today.”

“I was trying to clear my name,” she pointed out.

“Do you think Petr will see it that way?”

“He already believes the worst about me. And he won’t find out unless you tell him.”

“I won’t. But Pogul might.”

“Pogul’s a troublemaker. Everyone knows that. And he
won’t want me to report that he was sleeping on the job, either. He’ll keep quiet.”

“So you’re not worried?”

Her patience evaporated. “Thank you for pointing out that I should be.”

“All I’m saying is that you should be careful, Thusa. Sneaking into restricted areas is not going to help win your case with Petr.”

“What do you suggest, then? Should I sit quietly in a corner while Petr tries and convicts me?”

“No. But take more reasonable steps. Talk to the guards. See…”

“I am,” she interrupted. “I will. But first, I had to see if someone could easily break into the mine. Don’t you see? If I could break in, others could, too. That would increase the list of suspects. But now I know it has to be someone with authorized access. Don’t you agree?”

Respect darkened his blue eyes. “You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“See? I’m not entirely stupid.”

“I never said you were.”

“Didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry. Sometimes I come off wrong, when I talk to you. I just don’t want you to get in more trouble. Believe it or not, I’m looking forward to competing against you at the Tri-level.”

Methusal relaxed a little. “Think you’ll beat me?”

“Maybe. But don’t think I hate you, because I don’t.”

His serious gaze met hers and for once, a mouthy comeback escaped her. Behran meant it, and she felt strangely touched. “Thank you.”

He smiled. “But don’t think I’ll go easy on you. Because I won’t.”

She tossed a roll at him. Her parents and Behran’s mother sat down. Hanuh sent Methusal an admonishing look, but said nothing.

The meal passed quietly. Erl frowned to himself the entire time.
Hanuh and Poli murmured between themselves about garments they stitched for the community, and also about Verdnt, who had visited them today.

“He’s such a nice young man,” Poli enthused. “He’s so serious about running for Chief, too. I can’t believe he asked our opinions about how Rolban could be improved. I wish I’d thought of new ideas for him.”

“Catching the thief who is stealing our pelts would be a good start,” Hanuh said grimly.

“I heard that Liem spent the whole day outside looking clues,” Poli said.

This was news to Methusal. “Did he find anything, besides
the knife?”

Hanuh shook her head. “I’m sorry, Thusa.”

So, she was still suspect number one. Fantastic. “Do you still think Liem will run for Chief? The election is only three weeks away.”

Of course, she hoped he’d drop out of the race. If elected, Liam would probably hasten the trial process, and execute
her as swiftly as possible. Unless, of course, he found evidence
to exonerate her. A grim smile touched her lips. Why didn’t she believe that would happen? Maybe because every clue found so far had diabolically pointed straight to her. Someone wanted her to take the blame for Renn’s murder.

“I don’t know,” Hanuh answered. “But if Liem does plan to keep his bid for Chief, he’ll be hard to beat. He has great ideas, and now he has a big sympathy factor, too. That will gain him votes.”

Ben Amil, Behran’s father, arrived carrying a bowl heaped with stew. He sat across from Methusal’s father. “Don’t feel bad, Erl. You gave it your best shot. If it makes you feel better, I talked with a lot of people who feel the same way you do. Liem is one.”

Ben must be talking about the Alliance. With difficulty, Methusal turned her attention to the new topic of conversation. Had her father called that special Council meeting, like he’d threatened last night?

“Thanks, Ben.” Erl sighed. “I’m glad Liem is on our side, but the Alliance vote will take place before he’s elected Chief.”

“So he’s still running?” Methusal asked.

“Yes.”

Great. Dread filled her. She’d better prove she was innocent fast.

Erl returned to his original train of thought. “At least I’ve had my say to the Council. I’m still afraid Petr will push the Alliance to a vote too fast. We haven’t even seen the agreement yet, and the Dehrien Chief will bring it to sign tomorrow. That doesn’t give us much time to look it over, or do any negotiating.”

“We don’t need to sign it tomorrow,” Hanuh pointed out gently. “He’ll drop the treaty off on his way to Tarst. Surely we’ll have as much time as we need to discuss it.”

Erl nodded. “You’re probably right. But I want to make sure we consider all the facts first, before we sign.”

Politics was not Methusal’s favorite subject, but she found herself favoring the Alliance. It had a lot of good points. A few were the Inter-Community Kaavl Games, the benefit of neighbors helping neighbors, and putting to rest the distrust of the past two centuries. Relations had already improved with Dehre and Tarst. Why not become closer allies?

“What about you, Hanuh,” Erl said abruptly. “Do you favor the
Alliance? What do you sense about it now?”

A faint frown creased Hanuh’s brow. “Logically, it could help us all. I’ve had an uneasy feeling for a while. But that is centered on Thusa. I haven’t been focusing on the Alliance…” Her frown deepened, and her eyes seemed to shutter as she withdrew within herself.

Methusal’s mother was able to read people, situations…and even the future sometimes. However, those impressions spontaneously slipped into Hanuh’s mind. She did not seek them out. As a result, Methusal had never seen her mother consciously try to reach the other world…the future world…before.

A few moments passed, and then a spasm crossed Hanuh’s face. Her hands fisted. Slowly, her eyes opened. They looked dark, lost, and troubled.

“Something bad will happen with this Alliance,” she murmured. Her gaze fixed upon Methusal. “Everything…I don’t know why…but it centers upon you, Thusa. The danger is pinpointed on you.”

“Danger?”

“Yes. Something isn’t right. It may be the Alliance, or something closely related to the Alliance. I can’t tell. I just sense…something…amiss.” Tears glistened, and her gaze
rested upon Erl. She whispered, “We must stop it. The Alliance
cannot be passed.”

Dehre

Firstday evening

Alone in the dark,
Hendra crept home from the orphanage tent. She’d delivered half of her food rations to the hungry children, as she always did. One of the adult helpers was home sick, so Hendra had stayed longer than usual to help feed the children and tuck them into bed.

Hendra never wandered Dehre alone in the dark, and felt scared to be out now. Since her fellow Dehriens were hungry and desperate, many men fed their bellies with racmun spirits, like her father had. It made them mean.

The thought of running into one of them terrified her.

Hendra crept through the dark, slipping by shacks and tents. Ryon had not risen yet, so only the stars and the few bonfires burning on the outskirts of town lit the night. The fires effectively repelled the marauding, nocturnal wild beasts.

Wood for fires was getting low, thanks to the drought this year, but the slow burning, fast growing tagma bushes helped protect the town. Their new supply of sturdy trees, traded from the Tarst in exchange for Dehrien wild beast oil, were used to build the new wall around Dehre. They were not spared for bonfires, for the logs took a great deal of time and labor to roll all the way to Dehre from the Tarst mountains. The southern wall was partially completed, but at the current rate of building, it would take years before the entire wall around Dehre was completed.

Because of the scarcity of trees near Dehre, fewer fires burned now than in the past. The tagma bushes helped, but only a little. Soon, none may burn at all—unless they burned the Tarst trees. Mentàll refused to allow that, however. He said using the trees for that temporary purpose would be short-sighted, especially as Dehre had other means to defend itself from the wild beasts. Building the wall would provide Dehre with a permanent defense against all predators.

If they ran out of fuel for the fires, night terrors could hold a new meaning. Then wild beasts could slink into the town, tear apart flimsy tents and shacks and eat the weakest Dehriens. She shivered at the thought. Dehrien hunters guarded the town, and thankfully they were adept at killing the nocturnal beasts. Lately, it appeared the wild beasts had developed a healthy fear for the hunters, for they did not sniff around the town as often as they had in the past.

If only the walls would go up faster.

To her left, Hendra heard a curse, and then a lurching stumble and thump as someone staggered into a wall.

“
Scienth!
” the man mumbled.

He was close.

Fear pumped through her. Her Quatr-level kaavl helped her detect how far away the man was. Two lengths. More footsteps scuffled toward her, but these were from a different direction.

She slipped between two shacks and almost stumbled into the back of her cousin’s large tent. It loomed huge and white in the blackness. A faint light glowed within. But she still wasn’t safe. She had to circle right, to her own tent. The shuffling footsteps padded closer.

“C’mere, sweetie,” slurred the man. “Saw your shining hair. You an angel? Lemme see.”

Sick fingers of panic gripped her. What if he caught her? What if she couldn’t escape? What if…

The old horror froze her entire body. She felt like an apte about to be devoured by a whip beast.

No!”
A tiny whimper escaped. No. It would not happen. Not…

“C’mere lovey,” trilled the man, three steps away…now two.

Panicked, Hendra scrambled for Mentàll’s tent. She plucked up the bottom edge of her cousin’s tent and burrowed underneath, yanking her feet through before the man could see them. Shaking, Hendra sat up. She was in her cousin’s closet. The sweet scent of cured leather filled her nose. Neatly folded, bleached leather clothing lay stacked on shelves on either side of her. She sat in the middle of Mentàll’s moccasins.

Safe. Hendra quieted her gasping breaths. As she did so, new voices reached her ears. Her cousin was talking to someone—hopefully not his latest woman! She recoiled at the thought.

But then the other voice spoke. It wasn’t a woman; rather, a man—an older man, if the faint quaver in the deep tone was any indication. Who was visiting Mentàll at this late hour?

Did the meeting have something to do with the fires she’d smelled burning at night? Or maybe the Alliance?

She peeked around the closet’s hanging leather door. Mentàll’s bed chamber was empty. The voices came from his sitting area.

Hendra hesitated. She shouldn’t be in here at all. And the last thing she wanted to do was be caught in a man’s—any man’s—bed chamber. The very thought made her shudder with fear. Even if it was her cousin’s bed chamber—a man who had never harmed her.

But what if Mentàll was talking about his secret activities right now? If she found out more, maybe she could stop him from doing something foolish.

If
he listened to her.

Although spying on her cousin wasn’t an honorable thing to do, she wanted to protect him; from himself, if necessary. He had saved her life, and as a result, she owed him a debt that could never be repaid. She would gladly lay down her life to save him, if she could.

Trembling a little with fear, she crept to the section of leather wall which was closest to the sitting room. Lying flat on the floor, she lifted the edge just the tiniest bit, and pressed her eye to the opening.

Fortunately, the two men sat across the room, so she could clearly see Mentàll’s guest. Hendra had never seen him before. Tufts of white hair crowned his brown, wizened face. The man wore a patchwork, over-sized tunic. His gnarled feet were bare, and he held a walking stick in one skinny hand. His dark eyes flicked in Hendra’s direction, and her heart jerked with fear.

But he returned his attention to her cousin. “As I told you once, Mentàll, I am the Prophet.” Though the old man’s voice was surprisingly deep, it quavered a little as he spoke. “I have come to warn you.”

“The Prophet is dead.” Her cousin’s words sounded cold. As a child, Hendra had heard stories of a Prophet who wandered the land, speaking The One’s word to those who needed to hear it. No one had seen him in years.

The old man chuckled. It sounded faintly breathy. “I have come to deliver a warning, Mentàll.”

“Speak, then.”

“Discard your deceitful plot.”

A silent moment elapsed.

“I am pursuing an Alliance.” Warning sounded in Mentàll’s low voice.

“All who draw the sword will die by the sword.”

Mentàll drew a harsh breath. “I seek only to save my people.”

“You seek vengeance.”

Her cousin stood abruptly. “You do not know what you are talking about.”

“Already one is dead. More will die if you persist in this plan.”

“I did not order his death!”

“Blood stains your hands. You are responsible for making
an alliance with the traitor in Rolban.”

“Why do you speak to me, Prophet, if that is who you are? The One did not hear my cries as a child.
I will not hear him now!
” Mentàll snarled.

A chill cut through Hendra’s soul. Although she knew little
about The One, defying him seemed dangerous and foolish.

The old man’s hand whitened over his stick. He struggled to his feet. “You hear me not, young man. But you have been warned.”

Her cousin stood, his shoulders rigid, and made no move to show the old man out. Rude, and no doubt doubled the wrath upon his head.

The old man paused in the tent doorway. “Young man, you may abandon The One. But he will never forget you.” He slipped into the black night.

Hendra felt like she must do something. Mentàll had surely just invited judgment upon his head.

She slipped back into the closet. After a quick listen to make sure the drunk man was gone—or had passed out—she poked her head out. Ryon had edged up into the sky, and green moonlight bathed the blades of dry grass and the slanting, rickety shacks behind the Chief’s tents.

Safe. Hendra slid out and ran around the tent, hoping to find the Prophet.

There! He was making his way toward the two bonfires that protected Dehre’s eastern border. Hendra sprinted to catch up. Out of the blue, panic stabbed her.

Her footsteps faltered. What was she doing? She never spoke to men—let alone a stranger—unless absolutely necessary. They all terrified her—including her cousin, whom she trusted more than any man she knew.

But wasn’t it for Mentàll that she was here? Didn’t she want to help the one man who had helped her? Hendra forced herself to run after the Prophet.

When she drew abreast of him, the Prophet stopped. Dark, fathomless eyes peered at her. “Hendra.”

In her bewilderment, she forgot to be afraid. “How do you know my name?”

“You want me to speak a good word for your cousin. To The One.”

“Yes.” This time, Hendra did ask not how he knew. She just stared at him in wonder. Her fear evaporated as she looked into his kind eyes.

“Your cousin is a stubborn man. He rushes to his destruction.”

“Don’t let him. Please.” Surely, a man who spoke to The One could save her cousin.

“I cannot stop him. Can you?” The old man peered at her. “Will you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The One loves you, Hendra. Do not forget it.” Once again, the Prophet shuffled for Dehre’s eastern border.

“But what about Mentàll? How can I stop him?”

“Fear The One, Hendra. Not men.” The note of finality in his voice seemed to indicate that the conversation was over.

Hendra stopped and stared after him. What did he mean? And how did he know about the fear that had ruled her since childhood? …That ruled her even now.

“Wait!” she cried out. “You can’t go out there! The wild beasts will attack you.”

The old man smiled back at her, but said nothing. She watched him pass the fire line, and then he was gone.

Hendra headed for her tent and pondered his words. Fear The One, not men. How was she supposed to do that?

And what was she supposed to do about Mentàll? She didn’t even know what he was planning. Nothing good, apparently. Likely something to do with metal—the Prophet had mentioned swords. But surely her cousin wasn’t forging weapons! What’s more, the Prophet had mentioned that Mentàll had allied himself with a traitor in Rolban. What traitor? And for what purpose?

Apparently, a man had already been killed. A shiver slid through her soul. She looked up at the clear night sky.

Could God be real? For the first time in years, she wondered. “If you
are
real,” she whispered, “show me what to do. Help me stop Mentàll. Please don’t let him die.”

A horrifying thought came to mind. If Mentàll died, Jascr would become Chief, since he was the next best kaavl contender. Her life would become a living hell.

Never!
She shuddered. Somehow she must protect her cousin. He deserved all of her loyalty. He had saved her life, and she would return the favor, if possible. But to do that, she must first discover what he was hiding in the hills.

* * * * *

It is time to finish my report and ready it for our faithful messenger. Matters are proceeding well. Seeds of distrust and greed are sprouting, watered by the spirit of vengeance. Even better, rich Rolban will soon hunger for the Dehrien Alliance, just as you desire. Rolban is desperate for strong leadership. This fact is pushing your plans forward on
several fronts. Our deepest spy will soon upset matters
in a different area. Our ally is convinced Rolban is soft, and ripe for the plucking. Victory is certain.