Kaavl Conspiracy, page 35
“Do you have hopes that you will win in Tarst?” Mockery rang clear in the low tone.
She walked more rapidly, wishing he would leave her alone. “Yes, I do.”
“Temper, temper!” Mentàll chided softly. “Only the self-controlled will win, you know.”
“Like you?”
“The fiery Methusal speaks at last.”
“Leave me alone. I’ve done nothing to you.”
“You challenged me in Rolban. Threatened, if I recall. Have I won, then?”
“You have won nothing,” Methusal snapped. “You’re an evil whip. And you’ll lose!” More rash words. Would she never learn? If she didn’t pretend to “keep her place,” Mentàll might decide the killer was right—that he should kill her.
Anger and fear tightened in her gut. She couldn’t stand the thought of kowtowing to this man. She’d sooner jump off a cliff than pretend any sort of submission, or admit any fear to the Dehrien Chief. Maybe that was stupid, but she couldn’t help how she felt. Unfortunately, it was that same attitude that had caused her so much trouble with Petr, Verdnt, Pogul, Goric, and others.
“You think I will lose?” Mentàll laughed harshly. “No. But you fear me.” He lowered his voice. “And that is just as it should be.”
“I fear nothing.” Methusal hated that she couldn’t meet his gaze, to give truth to the lie.
His knuckle lightly traced the edge of her jaw. The shock of it made her gasp, and she jerked free. “Don’t touch me!” Tears sprang to her eyes. Although she knew the move had been calculated to frighten her, rather than to be suggestive, that didn’t make her feel any better.
He hated her—this had become abundantly clear. Now, to accomplish purposes of his own, Mentàll wanted her to fear him. And she did. She hated that.
“Now we see the truth.” The Dehrien Chief’s voice hardened into a low threat. “Only a fool would cross the line I have given you, Methusal.”
She glared back and spoke again before thinking. “You’re not my Chief. You have no authority over me.”
“Haven’t I?” His teeth bared in a small smile. “Keep your place, Methusal. I will not give you another warning.”
The Dehrien Chief strode forward again to take the lead.
A shudder rippled through her. Why hadn’t she taken the smart path? What made her want to challenge him?
Well, that was simple enough. She wouldn’t let the whip win the final victory over her.
Clearly, she posed some sort of a threat to him. But what was he plotting that would require strong-arming her to submit to his will? It had to be about more than a few thefts.
Last night’s disquiet returned in full strength. Mentàll was a dangerous man. Not only to her, but to all of Rolban.
Behran walked beside her now, his deep blue eyes looking curious and faintly protective. It was amazing how two sets of blue eyes could look so different. “What did Mentàll want?”
“He’s trying to intimidate me.”
“Why?”
“He hates me. I told him I think his Alliance is a trap. It made him angry. He’s warned me not to cross him.”
“Cross him how?”
Methusal shrugged. “By trying to uncover his secret plan? I don’t know. He scares me. I don’t trust him, and I don’t trust that Alliance.”
“The Alliance will do a lot of good for Dehre. Why would he risk it? For any reason?”
“I don’t know. I just wish he’d leave me alone!”
“He’s changed since I knew him,” Behran commented after a moment. “He was always a solitary person, and only interested in perfecting his kaavl. He was always polite enough, but he was reserved. Sometimes he even seemed aloof, like he thought he was better than everyone else.”
“Well, he hasn’t improved with age.” Methusal didn’t want to discuss the Dehrien any longer.
The trail narrowed and steepened, so Behran fell in behind her. The troop silently marched on, and as the slow hours passed, Methusal’s legs grew fatigued. But no one mentioned a rest stop, so she trudged on without complaining. The sooner they reached Tarst, the sooner she could rest.
While nocturnal wild beasts were not a threat in the mountains, rotarhudges were. They were stout, short-legged beasts with razor sharp teeth. They traveled in packs in the daytime, and were a danger to sleeping wild beasts and humans alike. They were also able to swiftly navigate through the dense forests, unlike the large wild beasts, which was another reason why few wild beasts roamed in the mountains.
She was glad several of the men carried hunting knives, and Ludst Lst, the Dehrien runner, carried a bow and arrows. They should be safe enough. She hoped.
As they hiked through Tarst’s high, densely forested mountains, she wondered if Tarst would be like Dehre. Or would the people be friendly, instead?
The sun was low in the sky, and the air turning chilly when the twelve began their final descent into a heavily wooded valley. Sunlight glinted off the tops of lush, green leaved trees as they slipped into the cool shadows of the valley floor. Here the Tarst River flowed dark green and wide. And probably deep, Methusal guessed.
It was dim and quiet, except a few winged beasts perched, chattering, in the branches overhead. The ground cover was mossy and soft, and their footsteps were almost noiseless. So far, no snuffling snorts of rotarhudges.
The beautiful forest would provide new challenges in the championships tomorrow. Inexplicably, she felt her spirits lift. Surely people who lived in this beauty would be more openhearted than the cold, withdrawn Dehriens.
The valley floor curved up on the other side of the river. A high, flat clearing came into view, dotted with tidy rows of clean, well-mended buildings. More buildings dotted the hillside beyond it. Tarst. No bonfires marked the edges of this town. Apparently the wild beasts were not a threat to this secluded valley. The river probably deterred the few that strayed into the mountains.
To the left, on the far, northern slope, she spotted a herd of animals nibbling grass. Urchets. Methusal had only seen a few in her lifetime. The pack beasts preferred the rocky hills and lush vegetation of the mountains. She’d heard that the Tarst had tamed the large beasts of burden. The four-legged, broad-backed animals did look content as they munched on the grass.
Ahead a wide, wooden bridge arched over the mighty Tarst River. Methusal stared in amazement. She’d never seen such a thing before! How had they built it over the water?
Heavy gates had been built on each end—no doubt to keep out stray wild beasts. Inhaling the refreshing, tangy scent of pine air, Methusal stepped onto the wooden bridge. The raw power of the rushing river thundered beneath her feet. She wanted to absorb the sound of it, and drink in the beauty of the mountains surrounding her. And the wonderful scent of the trees. What a magnificent place!
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Hendra stopped beside her. Wonder shone from her brown eyes.
“Can you imagine living here?”
“I’d love it,” the other girl said with quiet fervor.
The rest of the team passed by.
“Hendra.” Warning sounded in that low voice.
Hendra jumped. “Mentàll.” Worry clouded her eyes.
The Dehrien Chief sent Methusal a cold look. Evidently he didn’t believe she was fit company for his cousin. “Come.” He waited, obviously expecting Hendra to join him.
“I’d like to talk to Methusal.”
Methusal glanced between the two of them, surprised that Hendra would defy him.
Mentàll’s icy gaze moved from his cousin to Methusal. The cold hatred in it pierced her soul. He hated her. For a second, this fact hit deep. Was it because she was trying to uncover his secrets? Or did he hate her, personally?
“Remember my words, Methusal.” His words felt like sharp knives. He turned on his heel and left them.
“I’m sorry for how my cousin treats you,” Hendra said, as they followed in the tall Dehrien’s footsteps.
“He hates me. Do you know why?”
Hendra didn’t directly answer. “Did something happen when he visited Rolban?”
“Yes. I told him I thought his Alliance a trap. He didn’t like it. Maybe because it’s true. Is it a trap, Hendra?” She carefully watched the other girl’s expression.
“He tells me nothing. But his behavior toward you is wrong.” Hendra looked troubled. “I know you won’t believe me, but I’ve never seen him act like this before.”
“What? Cold? Mean?”
“Mean.” Hendra hesitated. “I’ve seen him intimidate many men. But I’ve never seen him attack a woman the way he does you. He wants to frighten you. It’s wrong, and I’m sorry.”
“Do you know why he wants to scare me?”
“No.”
“I know you owe Mentàll your loyalty. He’s your cousin, and he gives you shelter. And maybe you know a side to him that I don’t.” Personally, Methusal couldn’t imagine anything good living in the Dehrien. And Hendra had admitted yesterday that she didn’t know him very well, either. Maybe gratitude made Hendra imagine qualities in her closest kin that didn’t exist. She needed to help Hendra see the truth now. Maybe then the Dehrien girl would help her to expose his plan.
“Mentàll is a cold, ruthless man, Hendra.”
“Yes, he is cold. And he can be completely ruthless,” she agreed. “He’ll do whatever it takes to get what he wants.”
In other words, he was dangerous. “I think he wants something. Desperately. Do you know what it is?”
Hendra looked away. “No. Nothing specific.”
Softly, Methusal said, “If you find proof he’s a danger to Rolban or Tarst, will you tell me?”
The other girl’s conflicted gaze met Methusal’s. “Yes. I will. You have my word.”
* * * * *
The inner section of Tarst consisted of buildings set in an unusual pattern. Two rows of buildings formed each of the four sides of Tarst, and each parallel line was approximately the same length. The town was laid out like a long rectangle. As she stepped past the two rows of outlying shacks, she noticed that the buildings faced a large, inner courtyard paved in flat stones.
A massive building at the far, southern end of the plaza caught her attention. That must be their communal hall.
Her tired steps quickened as they neared the large structure. Already she could tell this place was totally different from Dehre. For one, it didn’t stink!
The company halted in the open doorway and waited to be greeted.
“Kitran, old boy!” A fat, balding man jogged into view. “You haven’t changed a bit. And Mentàll!” His tone lowered in reverence as he shook the Dehrien Chief’s hand. “It’s wonderful to see you again. I trust we’ll have more time to talk this time?”
Mentàll bowed slightly, “Of course. I regret that my last trip was so hasty.”
The little man smiled and nodded, and turned his attention to the remainder of the group. “Kitran, introduce me to your team.”
Kitran introduced the Rolbani team, and Methusal found her hand squeezed warmly by the short man. She felt like she towered over him.
His direct green gaze smiled a welcome. “I know your father, Methusal. A fine man, and I see he has produced a fine daughter, as well! I have a daughter about your age, but unfortunately she has no interest in kaavl.” He sighed noisily. “What’s a man to do?”
Not sure how to respond, Methusal smiled, infected by his warm gaiety. As the man moved down the line, welcoming each visitor, she slowly followed the others inside. With wonder, she surveyed the great interior of the building.
The hall was at least twenty-five lengths long and fifteen wide, with a roaring fireplace imbedded in each of the two longest walls, which suffused heat and light throughout. Rows of tables occupied the center area, and located at the far end were the serving tables and a raised speaking platform.
“Come in, come in!” With an energetic arm, the stout little man waved the remainder of the group inside. “We have a table prepared for you.”
Delicious, strange aromas assailed her nose as they zigzagged around throngs of people to a table located near the serving area. One of the great fireplaces blazed to the left. The weary travelers dropped their packs on the benches.
Friendly Tarst faces looked on as they followed Pan to the serving tables. Methusal’s spirits lightened. What a wonderful place this seemed to be.
With a plate resting lightly in her hands, she stepped up to the first steaming dish on the serving table. Displayed in an artistic, scalloped pattern were thin cuts of meat seasoned with unknown leaves and savory juices. Methusal speared up two pieces with a serving stick when it was her turn.
At least ten dishes, all different, and each smelling delicious, filled the serving table to overflowing. She was starving, and everything looked delicious. By the time Methusal reached the end of the line, her plate was heaping. She walked carefully, holding the heavy platter in one hand and a mug of dark liquid in the other. She had no idea what the drink was, but it smelled heavenly.
At the table she sat between Lina and Behran. Their plates were piled as high as hers, so her guilt at taking so much food eased.
“Eat!” Pan waved a hand. “I’ll make a speech after everyone’s been served. Don’t let your food get cold!”
Methusal did not need another invitation, and tucked in with gusto. The meats and vegetables were recognizable, but the tastes were not. Everything was absolutely delicious! The foods were seasoned with unknown leaves, herbs, and crushed seeds.
“I wish we could have food like this at home,” Lina exclaimed.
“I know.” Methusal chewed on one side dish that looked completely unfamiliar. It consisted of long, thin strips of a chewy substance—bark?—soaked thoroughly in a sweet, sticky sauce. It quickly became her favorite, and as she chewed, a thought struck her.
Why couldn’t they eat like this in Rolban? Maybe the Tarst would share their cooking secrets. Perhaps this was answer to the boring winter food problem in Rolban! Sims had told her that the basic foods had to stay the same, but their preparations did not. Her gaze darted around the room, and she wondered who the cook was.
She sipped at the unfamiliar, tangy drink. It deliciously cooled her taste buds before sliding down her throat.
The last of the Tarst filed to their tables with their loaded plates in hand. A good number of them were shorter and heavier than the Rolbanis or Dehriens.
Pan Patn nimbly sprang up the steps to the speaking platform. “Ahem.” The dull roar of voices continued. Loudly, he cleared his throat. “Ahem!”
The dining hall gradually quieted.
“It is my pleasure to welcome the Rolbani team of five, led by Kitran Mehl, and the Dehrien kaavl team of seven, led by the honorable Chief of Dehre, Mentàll Solboshn. We are proud that you have chosen to visit our humble village, and we’re glad you will participate in our annual Kaavl Games. May your stay here be profitable and joyous.”
Beaming and nodding, he descended from the platform amid hearty applause, and joined the visitors at their table. He quickly fell into an animated conversation with Kitran and Mentàll.
Methusal glanced at her Dehrien companions across the table, wondering how they felt about the warm welcome. Sneers curled the mouths of several. Hendra sat quietly, speaking to no one.
As the evening passed, Methusal’s eyelids grew heavy. The combination of good food and eight hours of strenuous exercise were taking their toll. The warm fire didn’t help, either. She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand and closed her eyes. That wasn’t enough, so she rested her chin on her palm, and tried to ignore her aching head.
“Looks like your team is exhausted, Kitran!” Pan’s jovial tones jolted her from the edge of sleep. She blinked guiltily, but she wasn’t the only one who looked tired. Lina and Retra’s nonstop chatter had slowed, and both looked glassy-eyed.
“I’ll show you to your quarters. Afterward, any who’d like to come can join me for a drink at my house.”
Most of the Tarst still sat clustered at their tables, enjoying the evening social hours. They looked a bit surprised to see their visitors leave so early.
Cold night air froze into Methusal’s pores as they headed across the courtyard, which was dimly lit by a few small, scattered bonfires. Pan led the group to several small buildings on the west side of town. One cabin was especially small, and Pan pointed to this one first.
“That cabin is for the girls, and the one next door is for the Rolbani men. The next one is for the Dehrien men. Mentàll will have a cabin of his own, since he’s Chief of Dehre. It’s near my own home, across the square.” He glanced at them expectantly. “Why don’t you get settled, and then those who’d like to may come to my house. It’s the one with the double wide doors.” He pointed across the courtyard. “My wife and daughters will be glad to meet you.”
Methusal stepped into the small room after Hendra, Lina and Retra. The quarters resembled those at Dehre in layout and size, but there the resemblance ended. Warm furs covered the four cots and the floors, and two lamps warmly lit the cramped room. A bowl of fresh smelling red flowers rested on a small table in the corner, giving the room a delicate fragrance, and a small window near the door was shuttered closed for the night. It felt warm and cozy.
Sinking down onto a cot near the door, Methusal pulled the pack from her shoulders. The fur that covered her cot felt soft to the touch, although it appeared to be bristly wild beast fur. How had the Tarst softened it? They were full of surprises.
“I like it here,” Retra commented.
Lina settled down on her own bed with a yawn. “Me, too,” she sighed. “Much better than Dehre. Then she cast a guilty look at Hendra. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” the Dehrien girl murmured. “It is nicer here.”
“You can say that again.” Retra flopped back on her bed. “No offense, Hendra, but except for you, every Dehrien I’ve met acts like a whip beast—all scaly and slithery and mean. I don’t like them, and I don’t like Mentàll, either, even if he did win the Primary level.”
