Kaavl Conspiracy (39 page)

Surprised, she gaped at him. “I had to eliminate the person
behind me. How could I know it was you?”

“You seem to know everything else.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You always seem to know exactly where everyone is.”

“I know where people are, but I don’t pay attention to who’s who,” she said, trying to keep a level tone. Although maybe Behran had a point. If she’d concentrated and paid attention to each person from beginning to end, maybe she could have known who was directly behind her.

“Okay.” He stared down at the starting line.

His accusations stung. “I played the game, Behran. If you’d been paying attention, you would have seen me hiding behind that bush. Don’t try to blame me for
your
…”

“Methusal!” Kitran’s voice cut like a knife. “That is enough.”

Of
course
she hadn’t cut him from the game on purpose. What kind of opinion did Behran have of her, anyway?

She tried to ignore him as the Bi-level contenders stepped up to the line. But she found herself blinking back tears.

The cymbals crashed and they were off. Only four players participated in this game—two from each community, except for Rolban, which had none, since Verdnt had gone home sick.

Methusal didn’t care who won, but she would prefer that the Dehriens lost. But that was not to be. Long minutes later a lone Dehrien crossed the finish line. Arrogance exuded from every line of his body. Efron had come in first, and Tabor, another Dehrien, had come in second. Finally, a first place win for Dehre. And it was an important win.

But the next Game, the Primary level, was the most important of all. It would determine the Kaavl Master for their three communities.

Pan blew the shell twice. “Before the Primary level begins, we will eat lunch in the dining hall.”

Behran trotted down from the plateau first. Methusal made no effort to catch up to him. His accusations still stung. The raw, uncomfortable feelings between them bothered her, too.

Lunch consisted of a thick, savory stew and tender cuts of wild beast. No carcass lay on the serving table here.

The Dehriens muttered amongst themselves across the table and ignored the Rolbanis, as usual. Mentàll talked quietly with Pan. A frown marked the Dehrien Chief’s usually expressionless face. Methusal wondered what they were talking about. Maybe she should feel guilty for concentrating lightly into kaavl to eavesdrop, but she did not. She cut off a bite of tender rotarhudge meat.

Mentàll said, “I am glad you accept my reassurances. I’m also happy that we share the same view. Strong kaavl leadership is essential to the health of a community.” He paused to drain the cup before him. “I would like to continue this conversation later, if possible. Right now I need to prepare for the Primary. The competition is strong.”

He gave a short, self-deprecatory laugh, and her insides curled. Instinctively, she knew Mentàll wasn’t worried in the least about losing. Not to anyone.

But Pan was speaking now. She forked the last bite of meat into her mouth and listened intently. The Tarst Chief said, “I would be honored. Come to my house tonight after the evening meal. We can have a good talk then.”

Beneath her lashes, Methusal slid a glance down the table.
A pleased smile beamed on Pan’s face. He looked honored that Mentàll wanted to speak to him later.

Why did Mentàll command such respect wherever he went—from Kitran, Petr, and now Pan? The object of her speculation rose to his feet and extended his hand. “I look forward to this evening.”

Pan vigorously shook it. “Good luck this afternoon.”

“And you, as well.” Mentàll murmured. But Methusal caught the flicker of derision that twisted his mouth before he turned away. Clearly, he didn’t believe he needed luck to win.

Kitran and Behran had already disappeared, and the Tarst people now streamed from the dining hall. She cleared her plate. The Primary was about to start.

The sun felt warm after the shadowed hall, and she lifted her face to the golden rays.

A dark head, seen out of the corner of her eye, made her glance right. Mostly because the man stood at least a half a head taller than many of the Tarst. His head was down and he had just come from the direction of Mentàll’s cabin. In fact, Mentàll exited from the cabin now and strode toward the playing fields, to the north. Her suspicious gaze latched onto the tall, dark haired man. Kitran? What would he be doing in Mentàll’s cabin?

But when the person looked up, she saw it was Timaeus. What was he doing here? And why had he been speaking to Mentàll, of all people?

She altered her path to intercept his. But he’d seen her, and was already cutting her way. A smile lit his face. “Methusal! I didn’t think I’d see you. Have you competed yet?”

“Yes. I won first place at the Tri-level. Thanks for asking. What are you doing here?”

“Petr had a message for Mentàll. The merchant delegation arrived this morning, and he feels honored that Mentàll will be arriving tomorrow.” The memorized words flowed easily off his tongue.

“I thought the delegation would come tomorrow. On Sixthday.”

Timaeus shrugged. “Change of plans, I guess. When Verdnt got back, he carried a message from Mentàll, asking if the delegation could come a little earlier. That way they could spend two full days in Rolban before they had to go home.”

“Oh.” She absorbed this news. Her thoughts turned to Rolban, and she felt a small pang of homesickness. “How is Deccia? Have you been able to speak to each other? And what about Aali? How much trouble did she get in with Petr?”

Timaeus chuckled. “Aali’s been banished to her room for a week, I think. Petr’s at his wits’ end with her. But that might have been a good thing for Deccia and me.”

“Why?”

“I think he’s realized how lucky he is that Deccia respects him so much. Anyway, he’s agreed that we can talk to each other again. But only for a little while each day.”

“That’s great!”

“I guess so. It would be better, though, if she wasn’t constantly working. Verdnt’s kept her chained to the classroom ever since he got back. He barely lets her out of his sight.” Jealousy tinged his tone.

“Why? Doesn’t school end today? And I thought he was sick. Why is he working at all?”

“He’s not sick anymore. He felt bad yesterday, but this morning he seemed fine. He says Deccia needs to start planning lessons now, so she can teach her own class next year. And he expects her to help with his classes, too. If you want the truth, I think he’s keeping Deccia busy on purpose.”

“Why?”

“So she doesn’t have any free time.”

Methusal remembered that Verdnt had appeared to be interested in Deccia, and that Petr had practically promised her hand in marriage to the teacher. Was Verdnt jealous? Was he trying to keep Deccia and Timaeus apart?

She glanced toward the green hillsides, which were rapidly
filling up with people. The Primary would begin soon, but she still had one last, hurried question. “What is the delegation like, then?”

“Okay, I guess. They seem a bit… I don’t know…”

“Hostile?” she supplied.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Most Dehriens have been, so far.”

“Mmm. Anyway, Deccia doesn’t like them, that’s for sure. She has a bad feeling about them.” Timaeus glanced at the angle of the sun. A black flying beast cut across the sky.

“Really.” Methusal took her twin’s hunches seriously. Usually they were right, just like Hanuh’s. Deccia’s instant distrust of Mentàll was one clear example.

“I’d better go,” he said abruptly. “I want to get home before dark.”

“Have a good trip. We’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Right. See you.” He loped for the bridge.

She watched him go, and absently noted the flying beast circling above his head. Had it followed him? In general, flying creatures seemed to like humans. That was one reason why the one she’d tended several months ago had docilely submitted when she’d splinted its broken wing. Thank goodness for that, because the power of its other wing could easily have knocked her silly.

The game was about to begin, so Methusal hurried north. Unease lodged in her spirit as she pondered the information Timaeus had given her. Why had the delegation arrived a day early? And why was a sense of urgency nipping at her—as if she needed to figure everything out right now? Before it was too late.

She climbed up to the Rolbani level and found a spot next to Hendra. A short distance away, Retra and Lina sat beside Behran. The conflict with Behran continued to bother her. The fact surprised her, because they’d been at odds for years. Their previous spats had been silly, though, for the most part; Behran had teased her like an obnoxious pest, and she had unfortunately responded in a similar manner. This afternoon’s discussion had felt too real and personal. It bothered her that Behran was upset with her.

“Look at the flying beast,” Hendra said, with a soft note of awe. “It’s coming in so close.”

Methusal had been so lost in thought that she hadn’t noticed. She drew in a quick breath when the beast swept by, only two lengths away. It circled up lazily, high in the air, and then swooped down again.

Its bright black eyes seemed to be fixed upon
her.

Surprised, she eyed it more closely. Was it the same beast that had followed Timaeus? Had it followed her to the bluff?

On impulse, she chirped three high, clear notes. With a rush of wings, the beast dove straight for her.

Methusal flung up her arm to protect her face, and Hendra
gasped.

But with feather soft delicacy, the beast sank onto her arm and folded its wings. It was heavy. Methusal opened her eyes. The beast stared at her, its head cocked to the side. And then she saw the lump on the top edge of one folded wing. She smiled. “You’re a long way from home.”

“Is he your pet?”

“No. I splinted his injured wing. Now he’s healed.” Methusal carefully stroked the beast’s smooth, shiny black feathers. Contentedly, the creature gazed back at her.

“Mentàll had a flying beast when I was eight. Its wing was broken, too.”

“He mentioned that, the first time I saw him. He said it died soon after.” Methusal bit her tongue so she wouldn’t ask if he had played an instrumental part in its death.

Hendra’s expression shadowed. “It was weak. It couldn’t fly, so Mentàll fed it. One day my father found it and killed it with his bare hands. Right in front of us.”

Shocked, Methusal said, “Why?”

“To punish my cousin.”

“What had he done?”

Hendra shrugged, and looked off into the distance. “I never understood why my father did anything,” she said quietly. “Racmun spirits made him mean. He made up reasons to punish us, and then he’d lie to my mother about it. He said we had done things we hadn’t. He lied about everything. I never trusted him, and now Mentàll hates liars so much that anyone on the Dehrien Council who’s caught in a lie is thrown out.”

She fell silent for a moment. “I don’t know if my mother believed Father’s stories or not, but she was afraid to stand up to him. No one was safe from his fists. Not me, and especially not Mentàll.”

“That’s awful, Hendra.”

Softly, she said, “Yes. I was afraid to care for any animal after that. I was afraid he would kill it, too.”

“He probably would have. He sounds like a cruel man.” Maybe Mentàll had learned his own brand of cruelty from his uncle.

Below them, the slug shell trumpeted. With a small squawk, the flying beast sprang upward. After circling once, as if to say goodbye, it took off with long, lazy strokes for Rolban.

For a moment, Methusal envied the beast’s freedom. It had no responsibilities; just endless freedom to go wherever it wanted. No mysteries to solve. No worries. No enemies would ever catch him, high and free in the blue sky. The world belonged to the beast, but Methusal was glued to the earth, and all of the overwhelming problems she could not escape.

She longed for a sign that everything would be all right. If only Kitran would win the Primary now. With all of her heart, she hoped he’d win. Anyone, except for Mentàll.

The three Primary
contenders stood on the starting line, evenly spaced apart. Kitran was in the middle. Sunlight glinted off of Pan’s bald head as he rhythmically stretched his arms forward and overhead to loosen up. Both Kitran and Mentàll, however, stood motionless.

The extraordinary kaavl skills of those at the Primary level far surpassed Methusal’s own. Watching three of Koblan’s best competing against each could prove educational—especially since she’d never had the opportunity to watch a Primary Game in Rolban, since Kitran was the only one who had achieved that level. Methusal was eager to see their skills in action.

Pan’s assistant was in charge of the kaavl disks and amplifying shell during this game. He bellowed, “The final event has arrived. In our experience, one can go no further than the Primary level. The winner of this event is surely Kaavl Master of our land! May we have silence, please? Are the contenders ready?”

Three nods, and the disks were placed in the assistant’s hands.

“Then let the game… Begin!”

And the three were off. What followed once they came under cover of the trees was the most intensive sort of hunter-hunted game Methusal had ever witnessed. Unfortunately, she could only catch glimpses through the leafy foliage.

Traps were set and then sprung, and the winner accumulated pieces to add to his own trap collection. The three men endlessly circled each other as they slowly approached the triangular halfway point. No one was captured. Each of the competitors seemed to possess a sixth sense which told him the exact location and activities of his opponents. No one walked into a trap, and each cunningly stayed out of range of the others.

The three disappeared beneath a thick canopy of trees when they neared the halfway mark. Long, nail biting minutes elapsed before they crept into view again, heading toward the finish line. Kitran was not among them.

Behran leaned forward at the same instant Methusal did. She anxiously searched the forest floor.

Only a minute passed before the truth became clear. Kitran walked into view, his flag noticeably absent from his waist.

Disappointment crushed Methusal’s hopes. Rolban would be last. The title of Kaavl Master would go to either Pan or Mentàll, and a horrible, sickening feeling engulfed her. Mentàll would win.

The certainty of this premonition made her feel a bit sick. Worse, the brooding weight that had lifted upon her arrival in cheery Tarst now settled over her spirit again. If only Pan would win. Then everything would be all right.

Below, the figures danced in slow motion. Mentàll circled back, to the right, and then threaded backward through the trees once more. Both men paused to listen. Then, stealthily, Mentàll crept closer and knelt behind a rock.

He flicked stones to his right, in an effort to divert Pan’s attention.

Surely the Tarst Chief wouldn’t fall for that old trick. However, Pan circled—right toward his opponent!

Pan hesitated, clearly listening, and glanced quickly about. Mentàll remained absolutely still, waiting for him to move. The Tarst Chief sidled to his left.

In one fluid movement, Mentàll rose to his feet and silently stepped closer. Now he was hidden behind a tree. Pan took another cautious step, and Mentàll darted quickly and purposefully behind him. Too late, Pan saw him. With a short dive, the Dehrien Chief attacked, sweeping Pan off his feet. The Tarst flag was now Mentàll’s own.

Graciously, he extended a hand to help Pan up. Mentàll was the winner, and undisputed Kaavl Master.

Crossing the finish line a moment later, Mentàll presented the assistant with two flags—Pan’s and Kitran’s—before receiving his award, and scores of two perfect tens. Not only had he won, but he had captured both of his opponents.

Applause rippled from the hills.

Methusal did not clap. The apprehension that had seized her began to fade. She felt drained. Really, what difference did it make who won? It was just a game—just a title. Mentàll would be Kaavl Master for a year, and then new games could crown a new victor. Someone else might win next year. Maybe. That thought did not comfort her.

Feeling slightly depressed, she glanced at Behran and found him watching her. Was he still mad at her? Methusal barely noticed as the Quatr-levelers stepped by to descend from the Rolbani viewing level.

When Behran remained silent, Methusal glanced at the forest floor again.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

She quickly glanced back. He had moved closer, and his strong, sharp features cut a black profile against the setting sun.

“Do you forgive me?” he asked.

She searched the shadowed eyes and found regret.

Her depression lifted a little. “Yes, of course I do.”

“Good.” A matching smile flickered.

“And if I’d known it was you…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

A companionable silence elapsed.

“Looks like Mentàll is Kaavl Master,” he commented.

The dark, nebulous feelings again stirred. “Just what he needs.”

“What do you mean?”

“His opinion of himself is already inflated all out of proportion.”

“You really dislike him.”

“He scares me.”

Several moments passed, and then he quietly asked, “Has he bothered you lately?”

She shook her head. “Everyone thinks he’s such a great leader, but he’s not what he appears to be. He’s a whip, and I don’t trust him. I can’t wait until he leaves for Dehre.”

“Pretty strong words against a Kaavl Master.”

But she had stronger, if only she dared to tell him about the conversations she had overheard the other night. Maybe she should tell him. But she wasn’t ready—not yet. Instead, she changed the subject. “I saw Timaeus just before the Primary. Petr had a message for Mentàll.”

“Anything new since we’ve been gone?”

“A little.” She repeated what Timaeus had told her.

“Mmm. Interesting about the delegation. I hadn’t heard that news when we left Dehre.”

“Me either.” Another moment passed. “So, what are we supposed to do until the dinner hour?”

He shrugged and rose to his feet. “I thought I’d talk to a few Tarst, and see what they’re like.”

Methusal followed him down the slope. “I like their village.
It feels a lot like home, only it feels warmer and friendlier.”

His shoulders jerked in a shrug. “Probably because they spend a lot of time together. If we Rolbanis did that, we’d probably be closer, too.”

Methusal glanced at his straight back. An inflection had bitten through his tone that she didn’t understand. The moment his foot touched the valley floor, he gave her a curt wave. “See you later.”

She frowned. What was bothering him now?

Slowly, she followed in his footsteps. She felt lonely, and wished Deccia was there to talk to. A glance at the sun told her it was another two hours until the evening meal. What should she do?

Silent footsteps whispered up behind her as she approached the outer line of shacks, and a quick, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach alerted her to the person’s identity. Her steps quickened. But a hard hand bit into her arm, jolting her to an unwilling stop.

“If it isn’t the fair Methusal.” Pale eyes glittered down at her. The Dehrien Chief was so close that she could see the pale gold stubble sprouting from his hard, angular chin. Puffs of hot, rank air caressed her face.

Futilely, she jerked and twisted to free her arm, but Mentàll’s grip only tightened. His teeth bared into a snarl. “I will let you go when I’m finished speaking to you, Methusal.”

He was
furious
. Fear sliced through her. Clenching her teeth, she stood perfectly still, forcing herself to meet his gaze. But she couldn’t stop the waves of loathing and terror licking through her.

“You do not listen well, do you?” he hissed.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“You spoke lies to Aenill.”

So, that’s what this was about. “I told her about the stolen
grain. And that I don’t trust you. You’re a whip and a liar.”

His grip on her arm tightened so hard that she cried out. “I do not
lie!
” The ice behind his eyes cracked, and in that instant Methusal saw complete hatred. He shook her arm once, hard, before his inhuman self-control slipped back into place again. “I never lie. I do not need to.”

“Let me go.” Tears burned her eyes. To her surprise, he thrust her arm free, and she rubbed it, hating that one tear trickled down her cheek. She shoved a palm across it, obliterating it, and gathered up her splintering courage. “You’re an evil, selfish man,” she spat. “I told Aenill I don’t trust you. You’re cruel, and I know you want to hurt Rolban. I told you once, and I’ll tell you again—I’ll do everything I can to stop you.”

“Do not threaten me, Methusal,” he gritted. “You will regret it.”

“How can a mere girl threaten you?” she mocked. “Aren’t you the Chief of Dehre?”

Red tinged his cheekbones. “The Alliance means food for my people. A girl with her lies and foolish imagination could ruin the lives of hundreds of people.”

“You want more than food! You’re a threat to Rolban. Who knows, maybe Tarst, too,” she said rashly.

He gave a thin, derisive smile. “You are a fanciful girl.”

“Then why terrorize me? How can a mere
girl
disrupt all of your mighty plans?”

He gave a harsh laugh. “You cannot, arrogant though you are. It is time someone put you in your place. Your father cannot. Your own Chief cannot. But I will. Your footprints will not tread dirt on the Alliance I have created.”

Another threat. Jaw clenched, she said, “If the Alliance was truly for the best, I wouldn’t oppose it.”

“How do you know it is not? You are a fool to pass judgment on a matter far beyond your comprehension.”

“Don’t talk down to me,” she snapped. “I know you’re plotting against Rolban. That’s why you threaten me. You want me to be so scared of you that I’ll cower in fear, and let you accomplish whatever you want.”

“You are paranoid, Methusal. Keep your wild imaginings to yourself. Think of the lives you will ruin with your lies.”

“Your lies, you mean.”

The ice broke again, just for a second, and Methusal shuddered at what she saw. In that instant, she saw that he could easily kill her. She stepped backward.

“That’s right, Methusal,” he snarled. “Choose the prudent
path. Flee while you can.”

Without a word, she turned and trotted south, her heart racing with panic. She
was
a fool. Why couldn’t she control her mouth? She’d be smarter to spy and report facts to the proper authorities. Threatening the Dehrien was stupid. What if he did try to hurt her? He was clever and powerful, and could no doubt accomplish that goal in any number of vile, untraceable ways.

She certainly wasn’t “keeping her place.” Would he decide
to kill her now? Methusal felt sick. Why hadn’t he killed her already? Maybe because she knew no facts. That was pathetically obvious. She couldn’t stop him, because she had no idea what was going on!

Methusal slipped inside her cabin and slammed and locked the door behind her.

The slatted window shutters gave her a good view of her tormentor, who strode by her room. He didn’t even look in her direction.

Gradually the rapid, panicked beating of her heart slowed, and she released the lock with shaking fingers. Her roommates wouldn’t appreciate being locked out.

She sat down cross-legged on her cot and slumped back against the wall. More than ever, she wished Deccia was here—someone she could talk to about Mentàll, and how frightened she was becoming. But she was alone, and her options clear. She had to avoid the Dehrien Chief. And avoid being alone at all times—at all costs.

Methusal glanced about the gloomily lit cabin. She was alone now. But he had already threatened her. Surely he wouldn’t try to kill her now. He’d wait until she made another move against him. …Or maybe he’d attack tonight, like the wild beast he was.

Shivering, she lay down and drew the warm fur over her. Maybe she’d nap until dinner time. Her last thought before sleep overtook her was that Mentàll had frightened her into hiding out in her cabin.

* * * * *

Hendra hugged her crossed arms to chest. She felt sick inside. She’d just seen her cousin seize Methusal’s arm. His menacing body language told the rest of the story. He was threatening her again. Her new friend had put on a brave front, but then she’d run for her cabin and slammed the door.

Hendra swallowed hard. Clearly, Mentàll was up to no good. Why else would he threaten the Rolbani girl? He must know she was investigating him; which was more than could be said for herself. Last night Hendra had fallen into bed early, too exhausted to spy on her cousin.

Knowing the Dehrien delegation had already arrived in
Rolban made Hendra feel even more apprehensive. Tomorrow
Mentàll would arrive in Rolban, too, and so would his best kaavl players. It was now or never. Tonight she must discover what was going on if she wanted to protect Rolban. She
was sure the delegation would do nothing until Mentàll arrived.

Hendra watched her cousin enter his cabin and shut himself inside. Tonight she’d listen at the table for hints, and then shadow him wherever he went and listen in on his conversations. If he was plotting against Rolban, surely he would give last minute instructions to his team tonight. At least, she hoped he would.

The Rolbani girl was already suspicious. But without proof, Rolban couldn’t pick up arms. Not legally, anyway, because it would break the Alliance. Hendra would do everything she could to discover the truth. Not only to protect Rolban, but to save her cousin from self-destruction.

* * * * *

Methusal felt refreshed an hour later when the soft foot shufflings and giggles of her roommates woke her up.