Kaavl Conspiracy (41 page)

“Then what good are you to me?” Anger edged that harsh tone. “You are a liability.”

“Let me go!”

He gave a rusty laugh. “I cannot, Methusal. You will cry warnings to your friends, and my plan will fail.”

“Then what will you do to me?” She hated the tremor in her voice.

“What would you do in my place?”

“Keep me tied up,” she said promptly. “Run immediately to do your plan. Preferably now, so the wild beasts can eat you up on your way to Rolban.”

He gave another harsh laugh. “The wild beasts do not frighten me, Methusal.” His long legs passed by as he slowly paced the small room. What was he plotting now? What would he
do
to her?

Terror rose again, and her eyes darted about the plushly decorated cabin, seeking a way to escape. There was none. She was alone and helpless.

He noticed her desperate, agitated movements, and gave a grim, cold chuckle. “Go ahead and look. You cannot escape. You will have to accept my attentions for a little longer.”

Methusal turned her head so he could not see the tears filling her eyes. She refused to let him know how terrified she was. Her earlier, foolish words had been a show of bravado. Now in the lengthening, awful silence, her overactive imagination conjured up scene after scene of the despicable things he could do to her. And she had a sickening fear that she would never escape him afterward—if he let her live. He was powerful and could get away with what he pleased, now that the second treaty was signed. He certainly wouldn’t let a mere girl foil his ambitious plans. She squeezed her eyes shut to prevent the tears from spilling over.

What would he do to her? Kill her? Violate her? Violate and kill her?

Hysteria rose in her throat as the silence lengthened, until
finally his footsteps approached her chair.

“I have decided… Look at me, Methusal!” That harsh voice whipped, and fear made her eyes pop open. She glared at him through her tears, hating him with an overwhelming hatred.

“Aah, Methusal.” His smile looked vicious. “You despise me. So be it. I have made my decision, and you should thank me for it, although I doubt you will.”

Vainly, she tugged at the cord binding her wrists as Mentàll turned and paced toward the door. “I have decided you will become my wife. You will stay here tonight with me, and Pan will marry us in the morning. By then, you will not
be fit for another man. Then you will travel with me to Rolban,
where you will do everything I say, or I will destroy your family, your friends, and everything you hold dear.” He approached her again. “You have no other choice—besides death, of course.”

Death….Or a lifetime of bondage to Mentàll. Which would be worse? A hysterical gurgle welled in her throat. Surely this was a dream. A nightmare, except he’d caught her…too soon, wasn’t it? The events in her dream hadn’t happened yet. If only she could wake up…

Unthinking, panicked words flew from her mouth. “Why marry me? Surely I’m not worthy of the great Mentàll.”

“But your name is.”

“My name?”

“Maahr.” He watched her carefully. “You are a direct descendent from the Old Kaavl Master, Mahre.”

“Yes.” Little point in denying the truth. “So what? Why would that make you want to marry me?”

“I do not
want
to marry you,” he snarled. “But I would, for that fact alone. Or you may choose death, if you prefer.” Mentàll stepped away and pulled a long, sharp blade from a narrow leather pocket sewn into the thigh of his breeches. The metal glinted in the light, and she stared at it, transfixed. An illegal sword. Would he truly kill her?

Silly question.

“I am waiting.” His voice and eyes were cold, and she gasped out the first words that flew to mind.

“Remember what the Prophet said to you?”

His eyes narrowed.

“He said, ‘All who draw the sword will die by the sword.’”

“So, your spying goes deeper than I suspected.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

“I will not need to pull my sword. The work is done.”

“You’ve pulled it on me now. If you draw blood, you will pay.”

“Who will make me pay? Your Prophet? His God?”

“Everyone’s God. Yours, too.”

“The One abandoned me when I was five. He will not step in now.” Fury flashed through those cold eyes. And pain. Methusal had seen feral pain too many times in wounded animals not to recognize it now. Instead of accepting help, the dangerous ones lashed out, ready to kill. What had happened to the Dehrien when he was such a small boy? What had turned him into the man he was today? A man with no love, and no mercy.

“Decide, Methusal! I have run out of patience.”

She grasped for another straw. “Everyone will know you killed me!”

“No, Methusal. They will not.” He knelt before her again and pressed the cool, smooth side of the blade against her neck. She could barely think. The only bizarre thing that ran through her mind was that Hendra was wrong. Her cousin was not worthy of her respect or trust. He wasn’t the man she believed him to be. He was a monster.

Mentàll’s voice lowered to a menacing whisper. “You do not give me enough credit. Of course your body will be found—torn to pieces by the wild beasts. A foolish girl wandered alone from camp. Look.” He fingered the strap of her pack. “How fortunate you’re already packed to go. And I’m not the only one who has seen you wearing this tonight.”

She stared, stricken, into the Dehrien Chief’s eyes. He had her. It was true. He could have her dead body carted into the low mountains, and the wild beasts would devour her by morning. No one would ever know that Mentàll had killed her.

But
would
he truly kill her? That illogical question surprisingly flitted through her mind.

Only Hendra’s steadfast hero worship of her cousin allowed the tiny glimmer of doubt. That, and the fact that if he’d wanted her dead, surely she would be dead by now. He’d have killed her, like Renn’s murderer wanted, rather than repeatedly threatening her. She stared into his eyes, trying to read the truth behind the frozen ice.

Unthinkingly, she whispered, “Would you truly kill me?”

Cold, assessing surprise flashed, and for a split second she saw something that made her wonder. But his expression swiftly hardened, concealing his true motivation. He drew still closer, and she struggled not to shrink away.

His voice sounded like hissing, popping ice. “You doubt me?”

Methusal didn’t respond. She was scared to death.

“No? Wise of you.” He tapped the blade against her neck. “What is your decision?”

Death? Or life—a living, tortuous hell? Somehow, the decision wasn’t as easy as it should have been. A slow minute ticked by. She felt frozen, unable to move or think.

The Dehrien Chief grasped a heavy handful of her dark hair and pulled her face near his own. His pale eyes were narrowed, and teeth bared. “My patience is running out, Methusal. Live or die. Decide now, or I will decide for you. Much as I could desire you, I do not need an unwilling wife.”

Methusal desperately moved her lips, but no sounds emerged.

The blade turned, edge imperceptibly stinging into her neck. It was razor sharp. One quick move and he could slit her throat. The blade pressed harder. Terror seized her.

“Live!” The word gasped out, and instantly the pressure on her neck eased.

“Good.” He drew back, releasing her hair, and inserted the blade again into its almost invisible pocket. He gave her a thin smile, although he did not look particularly pleased. “I am glad we understand each other.” His hard gaze impersonally ran down her body, making her shiver. “Obey my first order to you, as my wife to be. Disrobe and wait for me beneath that fur.” She followed his gaze, through an archway to another room which contained a wide pallet, pushed flush against the far wall. “I will wait outside while you do that… As I
am
a gentleman, despite what you might think to the contrary.”

Mentàll quickly untied her wrists and stepped toward the door. “You have two minutes. If you try to escape, you will die.” His words were horrifyingly conversational. He closed the door behind him.

Shaking, Methusal leaped to her feet, and dashed for the large window at the back of the cabin. Locked! Her fingers fumbled with the lock, but it would not open. Was it rusted shut? She sprinted to a smaller window across the room. That one had no latch. Tears of frustration streamed down her cheeks, and she clenched her trembling hands together, trying to calm herself. Surely, there must be a way out.

She gulped back a heaving sob and flew to the back window again. It had to open! Violently, she rattled the unyielding lock. It did not budge.

Hendra’s eyes fluttered open.
Cold air and total blackness enveloped her. In a flood, the memory of Ludst’s attack returned. Panic slammed through her heart, making it race. But she was alone. He was gone.

Slowly, she sat up. She must have fainted. That had never happened before. Dirt crunched beneath her fingers and when she looked heavenward, stars spangled across the sky. A large structure loomed nearby. Pan’s house?

Gathering those few bearings, she realized it was late now. All of the lights were out, except for the ones in Mentàll’s cabin.

Quickly, she staggered to her feet and brushed the dirt and leaves from her clothes and hair.

Had her cousin already given his last orders to his men? Had her weak, hysterical fainting spell cost her the opportunity to discover his true goal?

Hendra ran toward her cousin’s cabin and discovered that her right knee hurt. Maybe she’d fallen on a rock. It didn’t matter. She had to find out what Mentàll was doing. Maybe he was still speaking to his men.

Hendra crept closer to the large cabin, but discovered that the front window had been shuttered. She’d spotted another window at the back, though. Trying to ignore the now sharp, stabbing pain in her knee, she hurried to the other window. It was high, because the house was built on a platform, but she was tall enough to see straight in and through to the very front of the house.

She gasped. Methusal sat in a chair with her wrists bound behind her back. Mentàll knelt before her with a sword pressed against her neck.

Mentàll suddenly stood, resheathed the sword, and smiled down at Methusal. It wasn’t a nice smile. In fact, it made her blood run cold.

What fate had he chosen for the poor Rolbani girl?

Terror engulfed her. She wouldn’t let him hurt Methusal. Even if it meant sacrificing her own life, she would not let him commit a despicable act that would irreparably damn his soul.

To stop him, though, she’d need reinforcements. She darted around the corner of the house, but before she’d gone a step, a hand seized her arm.

Hendra cried out, and the man clapped a hand across her mouth. “Shhh,” he hissed in her ear. “It’s Behran.” He released her.

Heart pounding in panicked thumps, she spun to face him. The faint, rising green light of Ryon made his features clear. It
was
Behran. So why did she still feel so afraid? She
hated
feeling terrified every time a man touched her.

“What…what are you doing here?” she gasped.

“I’m spying, same as you are,” he said dryly.

Hendra took a deep breath, trying to calm her jumping nerves. “I was just about to get you. Mentàll…”

“I know,” Behran said grimly.

They both heard the sharp click of the front door closing.

“What’s that?” Hendra whispered.

“I’ll check.” With quick stealth, Behran crept to the front corner of the house and peered around. A moment later he was back. “Mentàll’s outside.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. But now’s our chance to rescue Thusa.”

A rattle came from the back window, and they rushed to the back of the house. Methusal struggled with the lock, her eyes wide and terrified. She whipped a glance over her shoulder and banged on the window with her fists.

“Shhh!” Behran’s sharp whisper cut through the night. Methusal froze, obviously listening.

“Look for the pin in the bottom ledge of the window,” Behran hissed. “Pull it out, quick!”

Methusal snatched out the rounded knob that held the window locked shut. She shoved the window up.

“Hurry!” Hendra urged.

Methusal threw her pack onto the ground. Then Behran steadied Methusal as she wriggled out the window, and helped her safely jump the three quarter length drop to the ground.

Behran wrapped her in a tight hug. “Thank goodness,” he murmured. “I saw Mentàll pulled a sword on you. Are you all right?”

“He…he ordered me to take off my clothes and wait…” Methusal’s voice broke into a sob. “I was afraid. I was so afraid, Behran!”

Her words felt like punches to Hendra’s heart. She felt like vomiting.

“Thusa!” Behran held her tighter.

Reluctantly, it seemed, Methusal pulled free. “We have to leave
now,
Behran. We have to warn Rolban. I know what he’s planning.”

“We’d better move fast, then. He’ll hunt for you the minute
he knows you’re gone.”

“I’ll slow him down,” Hendra blurted. “I’ll take your place, Methusal.” She trembled at the very thought of what she was offering. If Ludst had terrified her earlier, how much more petrifying would it be to face her cousin when he was furious beyond all reason? Not only that, but he would realize that she had betrayed him. He would cut her from his life and he’d banish her from Dehre forever, too; the punishment for treason. But none of those things was the reprisal she feared most.

“No!” Methusal exclaimed, visibly horrified. “What if
he…” Her face looked pale in the faint green light of the rising
moon, and remnants of terror lingered in her wide eyes.

“He won’t hurt me.” Hendra didn’t know that for sure, but she had to do the right thing. She had waited far too long to take a stand.

“Hendra. Don’t do it,” Behran said softly. His fingers touched her shoulder, and she flinched. She hated it, but she couldn’t help it. He noticed, because she saw his faint frown.

“I have to do the right thing,” she told them both in a steady voice.

The other two silently stared back.

“Do you need help to climb inside?” Behran finally asked.

The window was at shoulder level. “I’ll need a step.”

Behran knelt down and linked his hands together. “Put your foot here.”

“Thank you.” It was surprisingly hard to take that step of trust and place her foot in the hands of a man. But nothing would stop her now. Hendra took that step, and Behran held her steady so she could hoist herself into the window and slither on through. When she turned to latch the window, the two Rolbanis were gone.

Heart beating hard with fear, Hendra surveyed the room. The lamps cast an orange glow on the huge, raised pallet beside her. Furs covered it. This is where Mentàll had asked Methusal to wait for him. So Hendra would wait in her place. First, though, she blew out the lamps so he wouldn’t see her immediately. Another tactic to give Methusal and Behran more time to escape to Rolban.

Only the rising green light of Ryon bathed the room. Hendra lay silently and waited.

If she hadn’t heard it with her own ears, she would never have believed Mentàll meant to violate Methusal. How could the man who had defended her honor so long ago have sunk to such depths? Had lust for power and his inexplicable hatred for Rolban ruined him? Had she ever known her cousin at all?

Would he harm her?

The old terror darkened her mind and sucked the oxygen from her lungs. But she would not faint again. She waited, unmoving, determined not to lose the little courage she had mustered. She would face her deepest fear.

The cabin’s front door slammed shut and she heard Mentàll’s quick footsteps. They weren’t silent, which meant his perpetual kaavl concentration was off. He was angry. She sensed it the moment he entered the room.

He stared into the dark for a second, obviously disoriented.
“Get dressed!” he snarled, striding closer. “I will not…” The words cut short.

Mentàll was only an arm’s length away. Hendra stared up at him, terrified by his rage, and by the knowledge that he had just discovered her identity.

“Hendra!” His voice whipped, low and terrible. “What are you doing here?”

“What have you done?” she whispered.

Her cousin swore. “You have betrayed me!” He snatched his pack off of a nearby chair and spun to leave.

“Stop,” she cried out. “Don’t do it!”

“I
must!
You are a fool, Hendra!”

“It’s wrong to murder innocent people! Now Rolban will know you’re coming.”

“
Be silent Hendra, or I won’t be able to answer for my actions!
”

“Don’t. Please don’t do it, Mentàll!” Her voice broke. Had she been wrong? Was he no longer the man she had known her whole life?

But he left, slamming the door behind him.

* * * * *

Behran grasped Methusal’s hand and propelled her at a dead run out of the Tarst village.

The two ran down the hill to the Tarst River bridge. There they wasted precious time opening and shutting the gate to get to the other side. Then they ran on, tripping and stumbling through the forest, over rocks, and up into the mountains. Methusal’s lungs were burning when they finally slowed and dropped down behind the first ridge.

“Here’s a stream. We’d better drink our fill, because we won’t find more until we reach Rolban.” Behran knelt by a glimmering, inky pool. “Hurry. Mentàll will have a search party out in no time—if not already.”

Methusal knelt beside him. From deep in the forest came a sudden, eerie howl. It shivered down her spine.

She glanced at the dark horizon. Wild beasts. They were out now, prowling the low lands. She tried to shake off her unease. They hated high altitudes; partly because of the thick trees, and also because of the vicious rotarhudges. And those beasts should be sleeping now. Surely she and Behran were safe, high up here in the mountains.

She cupped her hands and slurped up handfuls of cold, sweet water.

“Let’s go.” Behran’s low voice was urgent, and Methusal quickly followed him downhill, slipping and sliding down the pebbled slope. The going was hard, and it was impossible to be quiet. If Mentàll was close, he would have no trouble tracking them.

The moon dipped behind a cloud, and in the sudden darkness she slipped and clutched at Behran’s shoulder to break her fall.

“Careful.” His strong hands steadied her. Their pace slowed until the sliver of a moon broke free again and illuminated the landscape. The two continued their bouncing jog downward.

They silently concentrated on putting as much distance as possible between themselves and Tarst. Gradually Methusal found herself relaxing into kaavl, and she listened for any sign of pursuit. But the night was still and silent. She knew better than to lower her guard, though. Mentàll would follow them. Too much was at stake. He couldn’t allow them to escape and warn Rolban.

Guided by the position of the moon, the two continued their steady trek south, through mountainous hills and valleys. As the hours passed, Methusal’s legs grew shaky and fatigued from exertion and lack of sleep. The howl of the beasts grew louder as they trekked closer to the lowlands.

When she felt she couldn’t continue further without rest, Behran unexpectedly stopped and motioned for silence. They stood at the edge of a jagged, sloping cliff. At last, far below them stretched the plains. On the far horizon, an inky blot hinted at the familiar Rolban Mountains.

Behran scrambled down several lengths and sidled onto a narrow ledge which hugged the cliff face. “We’ll have to wait here until day breaks.”

Following, Methusal thankfully sank down beside him. But she didn’t relax until her straining ears failed to pick up any sounds—either behind them, or on the plains below. Neither Mentàll nor the wild beasts were close by at the moment. They would be safe on the ledge. The wild beasts couldn’t climb up here. And at dawn the animals would slink back into their caves.

“Hungry?” Behran offered a piece of dried meat he had pulled from his pocket.

“Thanks.” Chewing quietly, she glanced at his shadowed figure. “How did you and Hendra know I was in trouble?”

“I don’t know about Hendra. When I ran into her, it looked like she was spying on her cousin. But I heard you talking to Kitran and Mentàll about the second treaty. When he ordered you to his cabin and you didn’t put up a fight, it made me worry. So I went and listened at one of his windows.”

“So you heard…?”

“Everything.” His voice was grim. “I was going to get you out, one way or another. I wouldn’t let him…take advantage of you.” This last was said through clenched teeth.

“Thank you.” Tears prickled.

Several quiet moments passed, and then Behran said, “What is Mentàll planning? What is the second treaty about?”

“I overheard Pan and Mentàll talking about a new treaty. It could be enforced because of one of the clauses in the Alliance.” Quickly, she explained how Kitran and Petr seemed to be in favor of a new agreement requiring Rolban to accept Mentàll’s kaavl instruction for three weeks. And how Petr had sent Pan a letter which basically said he wanted Pan to sign the second treaty. She also explained that after Pan had signed the treaty Mentàll told one of his men, “Rolban is mine.”

“His?” Behran said sharply. “Why would Pan give Mentàll complete power over Rolban?”

“He didn’t. At least, I don’t think he did. He agreed that Rolban should submit to Mentàll’s kaavl counsel for three weeks.”

“Again, how does that make Rolban Mentàll’s?”

“I think he plans to take over Rolban. Permanently.” Which would mean killing every last Rolbani, because no one would allow a Dehrien to rule their community.

A long silence elapsed. “How?” Behran sounded grim.

“I don’t know. But I do know he has a sword. We have to warn everyone before Mentàll gets there.”

“The Dehrien delegation is already there. Maybe Mentàll plans to use them to help defeat Rolban.”

That frightening idea made sense. In fact, it reminded her of her previous suspicions about the merchant delegation. What if every man on that delegation was hiding an illegal sword in his clothing, just like Mentàll was?

“But why take over Rolban?” Methusal wondered. “They have their own community.”

“Simple,” Behran said. “Dehre doesn’t have much—they’re always fighting the wild beasts and never have enough grain. The drought has made everything ten times worse. Hendra is worried about the orphans starving to death.”