Kaavl Conspiracy (38 page)

“I don’t like the sound of that. Not at all.” Aenill frowned. “Have you told Kitran? Do you need protection?”

“No.” Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure how far she could trust Kitran, either, after the conversation he’d had with Mentàll the night before last. But she couldn’t tell that to Aenill. “If I keep my place, he’ll leave me alone. But I can’t do that. I’m afraid he’s plotting something against Rolban.”

“But we just signed the Alliance.”

“I know. It doesn’t make any sense at all. But I do think he’s plotting something, and I told him so. That’s why he threatens me every time he sees me. I ask you, why would a man with nothing to hide do that?”

Slowly, Aenill shook her head. “I’ll watch him and mention
your concerns to Pan.”

Methusal nodded and stood. Her tablet necklace, which she’d worn hidden inside her tunic for the last few days—ever since she remembered the Dehrien’s unhealthy interest in it—chafed against her skin. It had been bothering her a bit for days, but she’d been able to ignore it until now. It felt like a rough edge was scratching against her skin. She pulled out the heavy necklace and ran her thumb over the right corner. Yes. A small, raised edge of scratched metal prickled against her thumb. Maybe she should wear it outside of her tunic.

Aenill’s sharp gaze took in Methusal’s unusual necklace. “Isn’t that curious.” she commented. “It looks old.”

“It’s a family heirloom.”

“Do the peaks stand for the Rolban Mountains?”

Methusal glanced at the tablet in surprise. That thought had never occurred to her. “No. The Rolban Mountains have three peaks. This is actually an “M,” for my family’s last name.”

“Oh. Well, it’s lovely.”

“Thank you. Do you have a metal scraper? It has a scratch. Maybe I could smooth it out.” Methusal did wonder when the scratch had appeared. She usually wore it outside of her tunic, but she had worn it close to her skin in the past. A scratch had never bothered her before. Had the necklace been damaged while the thief had it?

Aenill led the way to a counter near the stove, and rustled through a jar of metal utensils until she found an old wire brush. It only took a moment for Methusal to sand the ore smooth again.

“Thank you.” Methusal sniffed the hearty, delicious steam rising from the pots nearby. “What are you cooking? It smells wonderful.”

With a smile, Aenill lifted one lid. A thick vegetable stew bubbled inside.

Methusal savored the fragrant aroma. “Matron Olgith should come here and take lessons from you.” When Aenill replaced the lid, Methusal eyed the pot, remembering that Rolban’s pots had been discovered in Tarst. But the pots had been returned. And she certainly could not imagine Aenill being party to receiving stolen goods. So again, how had the pots turned up in Tarst? And why?

The answers must lie with the thief, his accomplice in Tarst—possibly Kilum, the messenger—and maybe Mentàll. Certainly, no clues would be found in this kitchen. After meeting the kind and open Aenill and Pan, she felt absolutely sure they knew nothing about the thefts.

Methusal folded the list of seasonings and put it in her pocket. “Thank you very much. The spices will make a big difference in our meals in Rolban.”

“Oh, goodness! I’m glad to be a help. Perhaps your cook and I could exchange recipes.”

“That’s a great idea.” On the way out the door, one last question sprang to mind. “What was that chewy, sweet dish we had last night?”

Aenill’s eyes twinkled merrily. “Tagma bark. Boiled and then steeped in…” she glanced at the pots on the table. “The seasonings in the fifth and seventh jars, in water, overnight. Not too much of number seven, though.”

“Thank you again.”

Methusal hurried back to her cabin. The games were about to begin.

As good as Pan’s word, the cold mist had cleared off and sunshine warmed the little valley.

“There you are!” Retra greeted her. “Kitran’s been looking for you.”

Methusal tucked the parchment into her pack. “Oh? What for?”

Her teammate shrugged. “I don’t know. The games start pretty soon, though.”

“I’ll see what he wants.” She slipped into the warm sunshine. A knock on the men’s door summoned Behran, who poked out his head.

“Is Kitran there?”

“No. He wants us to meet him on the playing field.” He squinted at the sun. “Now, I guess.”

Methusal relayed the news to her roommates and followed the crowd to the playing field with Behran. The Dehrien team was already there, clustered to the left, and Kitran stood waiting to the right. A ridged, sloped hill rose behind him.

Catching sight of them, Kitran gestured abruptly and began a quick, agile ascent up the slope.

He waited for them at the top. “I want you to see the playing field from this view first. It can get confusing on the ground. The trees block part of the course.” He pointed to a tall, triangular rock, which was a good fifteen minutes away running time. “That’s the halfway point.” His hard dark gaze regarded each of his students. “Are you ready? It’s your last chance to prove yourselves this year.”

As the others nodded, Methusal wondered if Kitran resented the fact Mentàll had beaten him in Dehre. Maybe this explained his subtle pressure on them to win now.

Kitran glanced at the valley below. Tarst individuals were already climbing the steep slopes of the mountains. “The games are about to start. We’ll watch from up here, but when your event is called you’ll need to go down to the starting line.”

Retra and Lina looked nervous. “I guess we should start down, then.”

“You can do it,” Methusal encouraged. “Remember, it won’t be like Dehre. You can win if you try hard enough.”

“Do you really think so?” Hope and doubt warred in Retra’s expression.

“Absolutely.”

“Go get’em!” Behran agreed.

Lina’s thin shoulders straightened, and the two hurried down the narrow, twisting path to the valley below.

“Come sit with me, Thusa.” Behran invited, and sat on a warm, grassy spot near the ledge. She gladly sat beside him, and her legs dangled off the short drop off. Already the Tarst residents had begun to fill the ledge beneath them. Closing her eyes, she relaxed. The sun felt warm against her face. She desperately wanted to win today.

A shell trumpeted, quieting the gentle conversation of the Tarst dotting the hillsides. Pan spoke through the shell, but Methusal listened with only half an ear as she attempted to fit in a last minute practice before the Tri-level started.

The Tarst leader spoke for several minutes, explaining the rules, and then requested a respectful silence from the audience when the games began. Another trumpet signaled the end of his speech, and the Quatr-level contenders lined up on the starting line.

Six Tarst, two Dehriens, including Hendra, and Rolban’s Lina and Retra stood slightly crouched, ready to go. Their postures looked rigid and tense.

Pan grasped the two kaavl disks and stepped up behind them. An attendant held the shell amplifier to the Chief’s lips.

“Let the games….Begin!” The crash of the metal cymbals catapulted the contenders into motion. All ten players fanned out into the forest.

It was hard to make out Retra and Lina’s progress as they darted through the trees, but Methusal silently cheered as she glimpsed each segment of ground they covered. Both were moving fast and making good time. Hendra fell from view and then Lina emerged, running hard. Lina had captured her!

The players disappeared behind a curtain of greenery when they neared the mark. Breath bated in hope and fear, Methusal watched the remaining players finally burst into view again, pounding toward the finish line. Retra had vanished, but Lina sprinted out in front with Ludst Lst close on her heels. A lone Tarst man brought up the rear.

Behran leaped to his feet, but Methusal held her breath, willing Lina’s victory over the Dehrien every step of the way. When Lina crossed the line, Methusal jumped up with the rest of the crowd, screaming and clapping. The Rolbanis had beaten the Dehriens!

Pan announced the score. “Capturing seven, evading nine!”

Behran whistled loudly, grinning from ear to ear. “She did it!”

“Methusal, Behran, go down,” Kitran ordered.

The two scrambled down the path. At the finish line they gave Lina congratulatory hugs, and a consolatory one for Retra, who had just jogged up. But she was far too thrilled by her teammate’s win to feel sorry for herself.

“You showed that slimy Dehrien!” she squealed, clutching her friend’s arm. Even Hendra, who had just walked up, looked pleased for Lina’s win.

A sharp movement in the background caught Methusal’s attention. Ludst Lst glowered at Lina. Hatred smoked from his gaze. Abruptly, he turned around and stalked off. Disturbed, Methusal glanced at the other Dehriens. Most scowled at the Rolbanis with flared nostrils and glaring eyes. Their attitude was unsportsmanlike, to say the least.

* * * * *

Methusal nervously toed the starting line as the other contenders stepped into place. Six Tarst, two Dehriens, and two Rolbani participants would compete.

She rubbed sweaty palms against her leather tunic. Beside
her Behran looked calm, and he actually joked with a Tarst competitor.

She shook out her shoulders and tried to relax and concentrate. But unwelcome thoughts flooded her mind. What if this was her last competition? It could be, if she decided not to rise to the Bi-level, because she’d rather retire than stay forever at the Tri-level. And if Mentàll’s teachings were at the core of Kitran’s new precepts… Well, she felt extremely reluctant to follow any kaavl advice given by the Dehrien Chief. Her stomach knotted. This was not helping her to relax.

She took a deep breath and concentrated on her surroundings. Twenty lengths to the first tree. She would circle to the left…

Pan’s footsteps approached from behind her.

“The Tri-level is about to begin.” His voice was solemn. “Are you ready, contenders?”

Methusal dug her toe deep into the soft earth for a firm push off.

“Then let the game… Begin!”

A cymbal crash and she was off, flying into the forest along her chosen path. The moment her feet left the starting line she fell into a deep calm, and felt utterly relaxed. Her mind had clicked into kaavl easily. Effortlessly. Like the night before last, when she’d overheard those strange conversations.

Silently, she flew over the soft moss of the forest floor. Although the others were quiet, too, each of their movements whispered clearly in her ears.

Someone cut in behind her and stepped up his speed, and she smiled to herself. She pulled a narrow leather kaavl strip from her pocket and swiftly wrapped it around her palm. Time for her first capture.

Sprinting ahead, Methusal flung one end of the string at a tree. It whipped tightly around it, and she darted behind a bush and held the kaavl strip low and taut. Only a split second to spare. A balding, sandy-haired Dehrien charged up and abruptly tripped on her trap.

Snatching his flag, Methusal was pleased to note that it was Wortn, the Dehrien who had tackled her in Dehre.

She quickly caught up with the others. Four remained now. She circled the mark, and then cut left and center, neatly evading a cleverly laid trap.

Each of her senses felt keenly attuned to her environment, and she breathed in great gulps of tangy forest air. She listened for each nuance of sound. Two opponents remained, but they had fallen behind her; probably because they had paused to set traps and capture the other players.

One more person must be captured before the winner could cross the finish line. Methusal decided to set the trap herself, since she was a good five lengths in front of the others. She ducked behind a bush, directly in the path of the player right on her heels. If he wasn’t paying close attention, he wouldn’t see her. She waited, barely daring to breathe.

A tan clad leg swung into view. She lunged out and brought her competitor down with a flying tackle around the ankles. Snatching his flag, she was up in a flash. But then she froze.

It was Behran! Stunned dark blue eyes met her own. After another split second, she whirled and sprinted as hard as she could for the finish line.

The other contender must have heard the crash, and probably knew it was down to two players. He had the advantage, as he was slightly ahead of her, but Methusal felt consumed by a burning, overwhelming desire to win. Her legs pumped harder and harder, and her feet sprang off of the moss. She could see the finish line ahead, and her competitor; a short, chunky Tarst, his legs pumping for all they were worth.

Her feet flew over the ground. One handbreadth closer to the Tarst. Another…straining, she stretched to the limit of her endurance. The finish line was almost upon them both. She hurtled for it and crossed over, one foot length in front of her competitor.

Gasping, they both jogged to a stop. The Tarst young man stuck out his hand and smiled as best he could through his wheezing pants. “Congratulations.”

Methusal returned the handshake. Still breathing harder than usual, she slowly stepped over to receive her award. Pan held up an arm so he could announce her scores.

“Capturing, ten! Evading, ten!”

After a vigorous handshake, he slipped the smoothly curved wooden disk, hanging from a bit of leather, around her neck. The carved flying beast in the center was made of white bone, and felt smooth beneath her fingertips. She turned and waved to the cheering crowd.

Finally, she followed Behran up to their seats.

“Good job.” A brief smile cracked Kitran’s granite expression.

Retra, Lina, and Hendra greeted her with excited grins.

“You did great!” The Rolbani girls gave her fierce hugs and urged her to sit with them on the ledge.

Methusal glanced at Behran. He was the only one who had said nothing.

His deep blue eyes shuttered when she looked at him. He sat down a full arm’s length away from her. “Congratulations.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s stupid.”

“What is?”

He scowled before replying. “It bothers me that you captured me, instead of the Tarst player.”