Kaavl Conspiracy, page 10
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.”
Chapter Seven
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.
Chapter Eight
ROLBAN
Secondday
ALL THE TALK in the dining hall the next morning was about the imminent arrival of Mentàll Solboshn, the Dehrien Chief. He had never visited Rolban before, and everyone was eager to meet him. He was supposed to arrive sometime that afternoon, and would leave the next morning before the Kaavl Games began. Normally, Methusal would pay little attention to any of this, but the Dehrien would be bringing the Alliance—a topic that now worried her, too. She was also curious to meet him because Kitran seemed so awed by him.
“What do you think, Thusa?” Deccia asked. She and Aali sat with Methusal while they finished up breakfast.
“About what?” She had been lost in her own thoughts, thinking about Hanuh’s warning about the Alliance last night. It worried her. Frankly, putting her life in more peril wasn’t at the top of her list right now.
“The Alliance, silly,” her sister interrupted her thoughts again. “What everyone’s talking about. What do you think about it?”
Methusal told the others about the impression Hanuh had received last night.
Deccia frowned. “That’s odd. I wonder what kind of danger she meant.”
“I don’t know. But I don’t want any part of it. My life is complicated enough right now.”
“I agree.” Deccia continued to frown. “On the surface, the Alliance sounds great. Our communities could help each other during hard times. And we could trade more freely. The Great War Peace Plan could be loosened, and we could allow traveling merchants within our walls. It could be wonderful. The Dehriens could provide us with more wild beast oil, and the Tarst make beautiful tapestries. I’m sure both communities have a lot to share.”
“Who cares about the old Alliance, anyway?” Aalicaa muttered. “I say, scrap it. Father’s only for it so he can look important, and be Chief again. All he cares about is getting his own way.”
“Aalicaa!” Deccia said, in clear shock. “How can you speak about Father…”
“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.”
Chapter Seven
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.
Chapter Eight
ROLBAN
Secondday
ALL THE TALK in the dining hall the next morning was about the imminent arrival of Mentàll Solboshn, the Dehrien Chief. He had never visited Rolban before, and everyone was eager to meet him. He was supposed to arrive sometime that afternoon, and would leave the next morning before the Kaavl Games began. Normally, Methusal would pay little attention to any of this, but the Dehrien would be bringing the Alliance—a topic that now worried her, too. She was also curious to meet him because Kitran seemed so awed by him.
“What do you think, Thusa?” Deccia asked. She and Aali sat with Methusal while they finished up breakfast.
“About what?” She had been lost in her own thoughts, thinking about Hanuh’s warning about the Alliance last night. It worried her. Frankly, putting her life in more peril wasn’t at the top of her list right now.
“The Alliance, silly,” her sister interrupted her thoughts again. “What everyone’s talking about. What do you think about it?”
Methusal told the others about the impression Hanuh had received last night.
Deccia frowned. “That’s odd. I wonder what kind of danger she meant.”
“I don’t know. But I don’t want any part of it. My life is complicated enough right now.”
“I agree.” Deccia continued to frown. “On the surface, the Alliance sounds great. Our communities could help each other during hard times. And we could trade more freely. The Great War Peace Plan could be loosened, and we could allow traveling merchants within our walls. It could be wonderful. The Dehriens could provide us with more wild beast oil, and the Tarst make beautiful tapestries. I’m sure both communities have a lot to share.”
“Who cares about the old Alliance, anyway?” Aalicaa muttered. “I say, scrap it. Father’s only for it so he can look important, and be Chief again. All he cares about is getting his own way.”
“Aalicaa!” Deccia said, in clear shock. “How can you speak about Father…”
