Kaavl Conspiracy (32 page)

Methusal had never seen anything so revolting in her life! Were they supposed to hack through the fur to get the meat? No plates were in sight—only knives and glasses of water. Were they supposed to eat directly off of the wild beast?

Dismayed, her steps faltered.

“Have a seat!” Mentàll waved them to the benches. “Helga will provide plates, and then feel free to start eating.”

Plates! At least there were those. Methusal slipped onto the bench next to Behran. He could give her points of etiquette—if any existed. Helga placed a shallow platter before her.

“Welcome to Dehre.” Mentàll was speaking again. “We are honored to have you here. If you need anything, just ask, and I will see it is provided.”

Dehriens slipped onto benches across from the Rolbanis, and Methusal guessed they would be their kaavl competitors. She surveyed up and down the long table, wondering whom she would be competing against. Each man looked stony-faced, and her tentative smile went unreturned.

“Eat!” Mentàll’s voice roared behind her, making her jump. Hot, unpleasant smelling breath drifted down to her nostrils. “Let me help you.”

She froze as he leaned closer. Long fingers slid the knife out of her clenched hand. “This is how it is done.” Quickly, with two long, swift slashes, a slab of meat miraculously appeared on her plate.

Her stiff lips muttered, “Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Methusal,” he said in a low voice, near her ear.

Appalled, she was only able to breathe easily again when
Mentàll returned to the head of the table. What was he doing?
Frightening her. And clearly on purpose. Feeling jittery, she stabbed into the brown, juicy meat.

“Looks like you’ve found an admirer.” Behran’s tone sounded mocking as he sawed off a piece of meat for himself.

Methusal glared at him. How could he be so insensitive? Behran seemed totally unaware of how uncomfortable she felt.

She took a deep breath and tried to look at the encounter objectively. The Dehrien hated her. Equally clear, he had not made any sort of advance on her. Rather, it had been another deliberate attempt to threaten her. Again, she wished she’d held her tongue instead of making an enemy of the Dehrien Chief.

Methusal attacked the meat and chewed it fiercely. Wrapped in a logne leaf, it wasn’t half bad—apparently the Dehriens had one saving grace—they could cook. She had only chewed one bite when a soft voice spoke behind them. “Behran.”

Methusal looked over her shoulder as Behran leaped to his feet. “Hendra!”

With surprise, Methusal watched him reach for a tall, slim, blond-haired young woman. The girl flushed and stumbled backward to avoid the embrace.

“Sorry,” Behran said softly. He dropped his arms and extended his hand, instead. With a deeper flush, the girl briefly accepted this contact and then withdrew her hand to her side.

Clearly, whoever this Hendra was, she did not like to be touched. Methusal examined the Dehrien girl more closely. The young woman was probably a little older than herself. Maybe twenty. Her white-blond hair fell long and straight, halfway down her back, and her face was fine-featured, with unusual, dark brown eyes. She was beautiful.

Methusal quickly glanced at Behran. Who was she, and how did Behran know her?

Behran turned to her. “Thusa, this is Hendra. Hendra, this is Methusal Maahr.”

Hendra’s smile lit her eyes. “I’m pleased to meet you.” Something fragile and vulnerable shimmered just beneath her smile. Methusal wondered about that. Hendra reminded her of a cautious, friendly apte, trying to detect friends from enemies.

“Sit with us,” Behran said. He sat down and scooted closer to Methusal, so Hendra could sit on his right. “It’s great to see you. What have you been up to all of these years?”

“Practicing kaavl, like you. I just reached the Quatr-level.”

“Congratulations. You’ve worked hard for it.”

“Twelve years. Better late than never, right?” Her soft laugh sounded like a clear bell.

“Thusa just reached the Tri-level.”

Hendra smiled at Methusal. “Congratulations.”

Methusal returned the smile. “You, too.” She wasn’t sure why she felt unsettled by Hendra’s presence. Maybe because she didn’t fully understand Behran’s relationship with her. But why should she care? She and Behran were only friends—barely that, if the truth were told.

“Hendra and I learned kaavl together,” Behran explained.

“I’m not the quickest learner. Behran was kind enough to help me through a few hard places.”

“It is difficult,” Methusal agreed. She forked up another bite of meat. “This meal is delicious.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Hendra’s laugh sounded dry. “Usually we eat in our own homes, not outside and together like this.”

“Do you live near here?” Methusal felt herself beginning to warm to the other girl. She seemed genuinely nice.

“In that tent.” Hendra pointed to a small tent adjacent to the Dehrien Chief’s large tent.

Methusal did a double take. Obviously, the small tent was part of the Chief’s compound. Was Hendra one of his women? The thought horrified her.

“Thusa. Wipe the shock off your face,” Behran grinned. “Hendra is Mentàll’s cousin.”

“Cousin?” Methusal repeated. If anything, she felt even more flabbergasted. “But you’re nothing like him,” she blurted. Except they did share the same white-blond hair.

Hendra’s smile faltered. “He’s been good to me all of my life. Especially since my parents died.”

“I see.” Methusal did not see. But then, she guessed even unpredictable wild animals took care of their own.

“Things seem worse in Dehre than when we left five years ago,” Behran said.

“We’ve had two droughts, and the wild beasts trampled and ate most of our crops. So did the aptes. The well water is almost dry. But Mentàll recently ordered men to divert part of the Tarst River south, into the northern hills. Now we have access to more water.”

“That was a smart idea.” Behran nodded. “Water isn’t a problem for us. But we haven’t had much luck hunting lately.”

“Neither have we. It’s been hard.”

So that explained the filth and hostile attitudes of the people of Dehre. They survived on the edge of starvation. Methusal felt bad. These people needed the Alliance to improve their quality of life. If only she didn’t distrust their Chief, she’d think the Alliance was a good idea. As it was, she felt wary. And it didn’t help that most of the Dehriens seemed to hate the Rolbani kaavl team.

“I’m sorry,” Behran said.

“We had an unusual visitor recently,” Hendra said, obviously
wanting to change the subject.

“Who?”

“Have you heard of the Prophet?”

“Of course,” Behran said.

“He visited last week.”

“Really?” Methusal said, surprised. She’d just been speaking to Sims about the Prophet a few days ago. Now he’d just shown up in Dehre. “Why did he come here?”

“He wanted to speak to Mentàll, but he didn’t stay long.”

“What did he want with Mentàll?” Behran asked.

Hendra hesitated, and glanced down at her fingers. “I don’t know the whole story. But my cousin didn’t look happy afterward.”

“Maybe the Prophet can see into a person’s soul,” Methusal muttered. If he could, he had probably seen blackness where the Dehrien’s heart should be.

Hendra glanced at the angle of the sun. “The games will begin in an hour. Perhaps you should rest. I’ll see you later.”

“Nice to meet you,” Methusal said, and the other girl smiled. Hendra headed toward the white tents.

After lunch,
the Rolbani team retired to their quarters to pass the remaining hour until the games. The Quatr-Level Game would be held first, and all the Rolbanis would be present to support their teammates.

Earlier, Methusal had felt concerned that the Rolbanis wouldn’t be as well rested as the Dehriens for the Games. Then she’d realized that trekking to Dehre and participating in the Kaavl Games all on the same day gave her team an advantage. They were warmed up—both physically and in kaavl. Methusal felt ready to take on the Dehriens.

Unable to bear the stench of the cabin, Methusal waited outside on the steps with her kaavl flag attached to her waistband. Although she was trying to relax, she felt keenly aware of her Dehrien surroundings. It was so different from home.

The little town lay tranquil as the inhabitants rested, and a few bleached leather tent flaps rippled in the growing breeze. A small boy wandered toward her, scuffing his feet in the dust. Maybe he wanted to get a closer look at the stranger from the mountains. He was all brown—clothes, skin, hair, and eyes. Caked on dust and dirt covered his feet.

Methusal smiled as he drew abreast of her, but she remained silent. Maybe this child wouldn’t be as unfriendly as the other Dehriens. Frankly, their hostility set her nerves on edge. Why had the Rolbanis been invited to play in their Kaavl Games when they so obviously hated them? Another thought occurred to her. What kind of an attitude would the Dehrien delegation traveling to Rolban have?

The boy stood only half a length away now, feet firmly planted on the cracked earth. His expression shocked her. His eyes were slitted with hatred, and his teeth bared in a snarl.

“You Rolbanis think you’re better than us, but you’re not! You’ll see. We’ll drag you down and stomp on you. You’ll be dead, but we’ll live. Just wait and see!” Venom thickened the childish voice, and Methusal stared back, her mouth agape.

His little foot violently shoveled dusty pebbles at her.

“Go. Now!” The two harsh words cracked through the still air.

Behran stood on the stone stair of his compartment, his face stern.

“Traitor!” The boy spat, but sped away and ducked into a tent.

“Why do they hate us? Was it like this when you lived here?”

“No.” He slowly stepped down. “We never hated the Rolbanis—though we
did
envy their gates and croplands.” He shook his head. “No. This is new, and it bothers me.”

“He seems to think they’ll rout us in the games.”

“Not if I can help it.” His eyes flashed. “Dehre has good players, but we’ll beat them. At least, you and I will, at the Tri-level. I’m not so sure about the others.”

“Don’t you think Kitran will beat Mentàll at the Primary?”
she said, astonished.

With a frown, Behran glanced toward the Dehrien Chief’s great tent. “Five years ago, it might have been a draw, but now… I don’t know. Mentàll’s become awfully powerful in such a short period of time. And here, that means his kaavl is much better than anyone else’s.”

“Dehriens elect their Chief according to their kaavl abilities.”

“Yes. Just like Tarst. The best kaavl player becomes Chief. Chiefs can be challenged every three years.”

“Really.” This was what Petr was pushing for in Rolban. And since Kitran had never expressed the desire to become Chief, that meant if kaavl ruled the election process, Petr would stay Chief until someone beat him. What a perfect way to hold onto power for years.

Behran said, “Kaavl is the most respected ability here. Unfortunately, the people who aren’t gifted have to do all the hard chores, such as food gathering and cooking. But the people who are gifted practice it all the time—until they peak, and their final level determines what work they’ll have to do from then on. The higher the level, the more important the position.”

“I wonder if Mentàll has reached his final stage.”

“Probably not. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be Chief—at least, not for long. Someone else would eventually beat him. Being Chief is a strong incentive for people to keep honing their kaavl skills.”

Dehrien culture was totally different from Rolban’s. Methusal was glad she lived in Rolban.

Behran noticed her concerned look. “Kitran will do great, I’m sure, Thusa.”

“It’s not that. It’s thinking that Mentàll might win. I can’t stand him.”

Rattling pebbles and a short, muffled cry cut Behran’s response short. He frowned. “What was that?”

The sound had come from behind their building. The two ran to investigate.

At first they saw nothing but a short, ragged bush, but then Methusal spied a brown moccasin sprawled to one side, attached to a wiggling leg. Another step revealed its owner.

“Aali!”

Her cousin looked up and rubbed her leg sheepishly.

“Hi.”

“What are you
doing
here?”

An irrepressible grin lit her face. “I want to join the games.”

“Does Petr know you’re here?”

“Of course not!” She scowled. “He wouldn’t let me come, Thusa. You know that. So I had to sneak.”

“Aali!” Behran’s tone was stern, but Aali didn’t seem to notice. She bounced to her feet, dusted off her dirty knees, and grabbed her small pack from the ground.

“See!” She showed it proudly to Methusal. “I planned it all out. I even brought extra food and water. Kitran can’t send me home now!”

Aghast, Methusal just stared at her. “Your father is going to be furious. You shouldn’t have come. And you certainly can’t play in the games!”

Aalicaa’s lower lip trembled. “Why aren’t you on my side? You know Father is totally unreasonable.
I
should be the one competing, not Lina! Remember? I beat her!”

“It doesn’t matter.” Feeling helpless, Methusal stared at her cousin. For the first time, she realized the weight of responsibility Deccia carried, trying to provide direction for Aali. “Kitran has already promised Lina the spot. Besides, he wouldn’t let you compete anyway. He knows how Petr feels about it.”

“Bother!” Angry tears shone in her eyes. “Now you’re just as mean as he is! Why did I have to make a noise so you’d find me?”

“So you planned to jump into the game, just like you did in Rolban,” Behran interjected, arms folded.

“So?” Defiant tears trickled down her cheeks.

“Aali.” Methusal put a conciliatory hand on her shoulder, but the younger girl shoved it off.

“Leave me
alone,
” she snapped. “I can’t trust you anymore!”

Methusal’s temper flared, mostly because she was forced to take Petr’s side—a position she’d never thought to find herself.

“Don’t speak to me that way, Aalicaa! You know you were wrong to come here. What did you think would happen? Did you think you’d sneak in and win the Quatr-level? What if you did? What would that earn you? I’ll tell you. Disrespect. Discipline is key in kaavl training. Kitran won’t let anyone compete if he’s not disciplined—it’s a mark of immaturity, and you’ll never be great in kaavl until you learn it.”

Aali pressed her hands to her eyes and burst into tears. Methusal pulled her into a gentle hug. “I understand that you want to compete. But you have to go about it the right way.”

“But Father will never let me! It’s not fair,” she sobbed. Methusal said nothing, because she knew it was true.

The deep trumpet of the slug monster shell resonated throughout the little village.

“Come on.” Behran touched Aali’s shoulder. “You can’t play, but you can watch, so come on. The games are about to start.”

Wiping her eyes, Aali slowly followed them around the side of the building. Methusal glanced at Behran, finally remembering they were still rivals.

He smiled and his eyes glinted, as if he had read her mind. “Best of luck, Methusal.”

“And to you.”

Kitran, Verdnt, Retra, and Lina emerged from the stinky cabins and gawked in one accord when they saw Aalicaa.

Kitran was much sterner than Methusal or Behran had been. “We’ll have a long talk later, young lady,” he promised. Aali, if possible, looked smaller and more miserable than ever.

Methusal and Aali trailed behind as Behran and Kitran led the way to the kaavl starting point on the far, western side of town. Dehriens straggled ahead of them and behind them.

Methusal had just been wondering how the spectators would get a good view of the playing field, since there were no hills or plateaus nearby that could be used as a vantage point, when a great structure came into view behind the large Chief’s tent and the wooden shacks on the western side of town. She gasped in surprise.

It was erected a five minute walk beyond the town’s last row of shacks, and stretched at least three lengths into the air. The contraption resembled rows of wide steps climbing to the sky, and a wide landing and railings composed the uppermost level. Mentàll stood up there, along with a few others.

Dehrien townspeople squatted on the rows of steps, and the higher seats filled rapidly. In the middle, a strip of uninhabited stairs stretched from the top to the bottom of the structure, providing easy passage up and down. Methusal had never seen such a contraption before. Even Aali’s dull eyes brightened, and she looked about with reawakened interest.

Methusal’s steps slowed down when she drew abreast of Kitran and the others.

“They can build this, but they can’t wash!” Lina commented.

It seemed clear where Dehrien priorities lay. Kaavl. And power.

Mentàll stood on the top level, and beckoned them upward. Methusal followed Kitran up the roughly hewn steps.
Maybe the Dehriens had traded with the Tarst for the lumber.
A lot of time and effort had been put into making the structure.

Mentàll’s cold eyes welcomed them. “Take the seat of highest honor—the top row.” His eyelids didn’t even flicker when he saw Aalicaa. He turned away, ignoring her.

“Beast!” Aalicaa snorted under her breath. Nothing like a challenge to get her back to sorts.

Methusal couldn’t agree more. She followed the others to the topmost row of steps, which were located one step down from the Dehrien Chief’s viewing platform. When they were seated, the top platform was behind them, separated only by a two board railing. At one point, Methusal sensed Mentàll’s presence directly behind her. A shiver crept down her spine. The man was beginning to unnerve her.

The Dehrien Chief spoke through the shell amplifier to the crowd below, but Methusal blocked him out, focusing instead on a large white boulder rearing up from the parched brown playing field—it was probably the halfway point of the games. The Dehrien course looked like it was about a third of the length of the kaavl course at home.

Methusal would love to score a Tri-level win for Rolban. She’d also love to beat Behran, of course. But defeating the Dehriens came first. And she hoped Kitran would win the
Primary match. That victory might knock Mentàll’s arrogance
down a notch or two.

Loud foot stomping signaled the end of his speech, and Retra, Lina, Hendra, and the other Quatr-level contenders climbed to the top platform. Aalicaa looked on, fidgeting enviously. There were six in all.

The shell trumpeted, and the boisterous crowd quieted. Latecomers shuffled quickly to the few remaining seats. Except for the scuffle of feet, the only sound now was the sigh of the strengthening wind sweeping through the open spaces of the tall structure.

Retra and Lina stood on the top stair, side by side, looking tense. Hendra looked fairly relaxed. Next to her stood her Dehrien counterparts. One was a runner Methusal had seen in Rolban before. His face was closed and hard, as were the faces of the other three men.

Retra or Lina had to win. Suddenly Methusal realized just how much that win meant to her. It was home versus the hostile Dehriens. It was about the best team winning—and Methusal desperately wanted that to be the Rolbani team. She was developing a dislike for the insolent Dehriens. Except for Hendra, of course. And she was beginning to understand why her father, with all of his years of experience dealing with the Dehriens, still distrusted them.

She glanced at Behran’s unreadable face. Was he wholeheartedly Rolbani now? Or did a part of him still root for the Dehriens?

Mentàll’s voice cracked like a whip through the hushed stand. “If the Quatr-level contenders are ready….Begin!”

The traditional kaavl disks crashed, and the competitors sprinted down the stairs. Methusal leaned forward, her gaze glued to the contestants. The Rolbanis reached the floor of the plain last, and then they were off, darting through the underbrush.

The crowd erupted into foot stomping cheers. Screams filled the air as people rooted for their favorite to win. A far cry from Rolban’s silent, respectful audience.

Aalicaa screamed exuberantly, too. “There’s Retra! See, Methusal? …Uh oh!” A tall Dehrien male closed in fast behind her. It was the Dehrien runner, Ludst Lst. He had visited near the time of the seed grain theft. One swift tackle, and Retra sprawled on the ground. The Dehrien kicked her viciously, snatched her flag, and sprinted on.

Methusal sprang to her feet. Her cry of outrage was lost in the approving roar of the crowd. Kicking an opponent was against the rules! The Dehrien should be pulled from the game.

Lina was faring a little better, and had just rounded the far white rock. Now the other Dehriens couldn’t touch her until they, too, had reached the rock.

Three players remained on the field. Hendra was one, but as she watched, Ludst nipped in, shoved her down and sped on. At the Quatr-level, the top three were allowed to cross the finish line. All three would receive awards. But now the tall Dehrien quickly closed in on the gritty Lina. She sidestepped, but he grabbed her arm and spun her to the ground, shoving her down hard when she struggled to sit up. He snatched the flag, and with another kick, dashed on.

At her side, Aali shouted with indignation, but Methusal had fallen silent, incensed. What kind of competition was this? This wasn’t a test of kaavl—it was a test of strength and brutality!