Tyrant Trouble

CHAPTER 8

  As though I had tossed an ember into a pile of dry brush with my reading of Kovat's future, the daily pace of our routine flamed into a roaring blaze that scattered before it all the slow, dull, sleepy activity of the temple and city. Nance rushed around me rearranging temple cloths, polishing candleholders and shouting instructions at me until I fled to the courtyard to escape her. When I pressed the gate open a narrow crack and peered out, across the valley and far hillside I could see the same craziness outside, people rushing up and down the dusty paths carrying bundles and shooing goats and chickens into pens.

  “Bolt that gate, Stargazer!” Nance shouted. “Hurry, I must fix your hair. Oh, that robe is worn shabby. Help me with this lamp. I cannot lift it alone.”

  When I tried to help her, she rushed around me scolding and complaining until I shouted, “Stop! Gimme a break! What's going on?”

  “They will arrive soon and we must do so much to prepare.”

  “Who will arrive?”

  “My lord Erlan and his lady Ober and their daughter Alakar and all their court and army, as though it weren't your fault -”

  “My fault!”

  “It was you who told Kovat he would conquer if he attacked before the full moon, was it not? So instead of allowing a few moons to prepare for a campaign, he allows us only days. His brother Erlan is on his way with his army.”

  “What have we to do with a campaign?”

  “Several hundred people arriving, someone has to bed them and feed them, many will stay in the castle, you think Kovat will let his family sleep in the stable or camp out with the army?”

  “Huh?”

  “And that's just the start because the army has to be fed, too, and then there's the tournament grounds to prepare, and…oh, hand me that cloth. Nothing is polished! I think I'd better request some slaves to come scrub the temple, in case Kovat brings them in here.”

  “Huh?” I was still in the dark on this one.

  “Who do you think must bless the tournaments and lead the welcoming processions and pray for victory?” she screamed at me.

  “Okay, I get that, you and me do the chanting thing.” I helped her lower the heavy black ring of candles from the ceiling.

  “Chanting thing, yes, and if you make a mistake no one will care. And it will cost you nothing but your life. If the battle goes badly Kovat will punish you, which you will deserve, but he will also punish Tarvik and me for befriending you. I should never have allowed you into the temple.” As quickly as Nance had exploded in anger, she crumpled into tears, threw her arms around me and sobbed, “I did not mean it, Stargazer, truly. Only I am so afraid for all of us.”

  “You should be. You've pulled down the same candle ring we cleaned yesterday.”

  For a clever and inventive girl, Nance could fall apart with alarming speed. I pushed her firmly down on a bench and made her tell me all the chores that needed to be done. These I put in order, gotta-do ahead of should-do. Not having Nance's imagination, I could not see a scarf floating in a draft and invent a way to fly. No vague, outlandish possibilities clouded my direction. Nance's sobbing descriptions of what lay ahead were so beyond my ability to visualize, I ignored her and worked at preparing the temple. I scrubbed stones and polished metal and straightened tapestries and candles.

  Nance did ask for helpers but was told that all hands were busy making preparations in the castle. Oh for a proper vacuum, a bottle of bleach, washer/dryer, and so on. Instead I washed our tunics in a bowl of hot water in the courtyard and hung them in the sunshine to dry, even though Nance saw no purpose in this activity.

  “No one can see them under our robes,” she complained.

  And no one but me would be able to smell them above the heavy odor of population, but I did not bother to mention that. I had quite enough on my mind, with the family of Tarvik's uncle expected soon. Included in the group was Alakar, Tarvik's promised, and although I didn't care who the boy married, I did wonder what it was about her that made her so special. Okay, I was plain old curious.

  Even if I had tried to picture Erlan, his wife, and the daughter from Nance's descriptions, I could not have guessed the depth of evil that lay in the heart of Kovat's younger brother.

  On the other hand, it gave me a whole new perspective on evil brothers.

  Darryl's brother, back in Seattle, was a smash wizard, the only one in the city because smash wizards are territorial and competitors disappeared. His skill was limited. That's how smash magic works and he wasn't the brightest bulb, anyway, but he had that smash thing down pat. He could drop rumor and scandal into anyone's life and end careers as well as personal relationships. Goes by the name of Rock and nobody has Rock on his birth certificate so that pretty much describes his self-image.

  A smarter me would have avoided those two. It took a credit search and then a winding clue-strewn path through other records to wise me up. One time Rock was the center of a scam aimed at neighborhood politics. Somehow some money disappeared and somehow Darryl ended up owning several businesses in the neighborhood.

  Okay, none of it made headlines in a big city, but it was there, a trail of schemes, in the bank's computer links.

  “You jerk!” I'd screamed at Darryl after the third stalker phone call. “You’re trying to involve me in your scams. You think the local law won't track you back?”

  Because it would. The cops don’t know the name Mudflat but they know the area. They drive through slowly and don't stop and don't ask questions unless someone is actually out on a sidewalk flashing a gun.

  Get some pressure put on by one cornered politician, a call to or from the mayor's office, and the boys in blue will start swarming.

  Gotta say this for Kovat's evil brother, he was ugly as sin but he had style. Actually, the style was probably put together by his wife. They arrived amid flaming banners and flashing armor, a dazzling snake of color winding its way down the hillside to the city's edge to be met by Kovat, his warriors, his slaves and his templekeepers, looking for all the world like some Hollywood production. Or maybe more like a British film with the reality of foot soldiers in worn-over boot heels, shabby mismatched clothing, filthy hair, and dirt ground into their blond complexions.

  Peering out from the shadow of my heavily painted eyelashes, I watched Kovat hail his brother and bow in courtesy to the two ladies. They sat on tall horses, wearing long flowing cloaks edged in fur and embroidery, their backs straight and their proud heads high.

  I envied their ability to look so elegant while sitting on horses. I could not see their faces beneath the folds of their scarves.

  They weren't the only mystery. Mounted on a gray horse and riding a few paces behind the two women was a tall figure draped in black, a man, I presumed from the height. His cloak hung in loose folds with the hood pulled so far forward, his face was lost in its depth. Black gloved fingers, oddly long and thin, stuck out from the wide sleeves. The cloak fluttered open revealing black trousers tucked into tight black boots.

  He might as well not exist for all the attention given him by Kovat who looked past the hooded figure and nodded at a man dressed in fur, saying, “Hail, son of Wensel.”

  A chorus of greetings was exchanged, so many raised spears and swords gleaming in the sunlight it became difficult to separate faces.

  I saw them all clearly that evening at the banquet table, in the glow of candlelight and the reflection of gold serving bowls.

  That the barbarians seated themselves at a table and ate with some degree of grace was a surprise to me, hadn't expected that. Up to now, my eating companions had been Tarvik and Nance, both of whom sat cross-legged on the ground and held food in their cupped hands. They weren't messy about it, but still, it was a long way from sitting at a table and using a plate and spoon.

  Woven tapestries in rich colors covered every unpainted wall and bench in the great hall. The tables, oiled to a sheen, were barely visible beneath platters of brass, silver and gold, mounded high with fragrant cakes and
dried fruits.

  Aren't some metals poisonous with hot foods? Oh well, I wasn't going to eat any of that stuff. Enormous smoking hunks of meat, probably mutton or venison, drew the attention of the others while I viewed with relief the bowls of green vegetables as well as apples and berries, a change from my temple diet of root vegetables and flat bread.

  Tarvik entered after the others were seated, followed closely by Artur. Pausing behind Alakar, who sat beside her mother, Tarvik touched her shoulder, and when she turned to see who it was, he bent forward, put his face close to hers and whispered something in her ear.

  The boy was a born flirt, with that soft voice and wide grin. Alakar smiled back and then looked down at her hands neatly folded in front of her on the table, little Miss Prom Queen, all milky skin and red-gold hair and an amazing amount of cleavage showing in the scooped neckline of her velvet dress. So what had he whispered? Had he told her that she was the prettiest thing in the room? And why should I care?

  Tarvik moved on behind the rows of guests until he reached his father and sat next to him. Artur stepped back to stand, leaning against the wall.

  A row of men stood, personal guards, most of them dressed like Artur in woolen tunics and boots, daggers tucked into belts, their heads uncovered. Behind Ober stood the strange man in the black cloak, the hood still hiding his face. Even here inside the hall his hands were encased in leather gloves. He was half a head taller than the tallest of the others.

  I whispered to Nance, “Who's the hooded dude behind Ober?”

  She bent her head to hide her speech and whispered, “Don't let him see you looking at him.”

  “No, I won't, but who is he?”

  “Walking death,” she whispered and I almost exclaimed, then covered my mouth with my hand.

  “Who?” I hissed. “Does he have a name?”

  “He is Ober's servant, some say he is her slave, some say he is a magician from the underworld. I have never heard a name.”

  Underworld. First mention I'd heard of that. I added to my knowledge of their lore, a collection of gods, an afterlife and an underworld, sounded a bit like a Wagnerian opera. Those always ended badly for the participants, didn't they?

  In the shadow I could see only that Tarvik wore dark clothing, but the candles glittered on his jewelry. Around his neck hung heavy gold chains caught together with round gold medallions. He bent over his platter and used a knife and spoon, concentrating on his food and ignoring everyone around him. Rings sparkled on all his fingers.

  Silver goblets overflowed with mead, musty and heavy, rather like beer gone flat. Also warm. Nance warned me to go lightly but she didn't need to worry. No way would I overindulge. Had anyone offered bottled water, I would have raised my hand.

  The goblets were emptied and refilled endlessly. The family of Kovat was there as well as a number of other men who were favorites of Kovat, friends or warriors. Several sat with ladies who wore velvet gowns and ornate necklaces. Heavy perfumes mingled with the roasting smells and body odors.

  Voices rose to a low roar of sound, fists pounded, and an occasional guest stumbled from the table to be lowered into a corner by watchful slaves as his legs gave out beneath him. Liked that scenario. Didn't think it would work for a Seattle bouncer.

  At the table's center, Kovat ruled. He rose, draped in fur and velvet and his usual gold trim, a man who moved gracefully for all his scars. His hair glowed in the candlelight.

  With his goblet raised above his head, he cried, “To the joining of our armies, my brother, and our victory!”

  His half-brother Erlan was a big, greasy lump, clumsy, with pig eyes. He lifted a goblet, turned to his wife and daughter, and bellowed, “And to the joining of our families!”

  Bowing in their direction, Kovat said, “To your well being, my dear Ober, and to you, Alakar.”

  Ober's eyelids tightened but she managed a slight smile.

  Beside me Nance whispered, “Kovat does not use their titles of lady and they despise him for it, but they dare not frown.”

  Ober's hair shone copper in the candlelight; the shadows flickered along her smooth cream-white skin, her almost colorless eyes, and her long graceful neck. Bits of jewel and gold sparkled at her ears and throat. Like her mother, the daughter Alakar had fine features and flawless skin, but her hair was a shade of lighter red-gold, falling in a long braid down her back. Easy to see why Tarvik wanted to marry her.

  “Why would Kovat want to insult them?” I whispered to Nance.

  Nance held a pear in front of her mouth and whispered behind it, “Kovat wishes to remind them they are his inferiors.”

  At that moment Tarvik straightened, pushed away his empty platter, reached for his goblet and glanced across the table toward us. Our glances met and he smiled at me.

  “But I understood Tarvik is to wed Alakar,” I whispered to Nance.

  She nodded. “Indeed. And from this hour, the game goes either way.”

  “Meaning what?”

  Nance turned from me, reaching across the table toward a bowl of burnt chunks of meat, still clutching in her other hand the unbitten pear. I would have attributed her action to hunger if I hadn't glanced up and discovered both Alakar and Ober were staring at us. When I stared back, they looked away.

  Not until after the evening collapsed into spilled cups and side arguments and Nance caught my hand to lead me quietly away through the confusion, did I learn the cause of the tension. I saw Tarvik, watched closely by Ober, watch us leave. His eyebrows rose up his forehead as though questioning where we were going.

  “And may the Daughter protect him from the consequences of that error,” Nance sighed, sinking down into a pile of sheepskins when we reached our chamber. “Have you ever felt such jealousies? Winter drafts through open doors could not be colder.”

  “Family gatherings get that way.”

  Nance laughed. “Ah, Stargazer. In your land do ruling brothers love each other?”

  “We don't have rulers. Not that kind, anyway. So explain. Why do Kovat and his brother act like enemies?”

  “They are half-brothers, same father, different mothers.”

  Tarvik had mentioned that his grandmother had run away from his grandfather. So Erlan was the child of a second wife. The brothers were equally scarred. I could see some of Tarvik's grace in Kovat, but Erlan was a stumbling lump, nothing about him to hint that he had once been a looker.

  “What's the problem about Tarvik and Alakar?”

  Nance curled up, hugging her bent legs and resting her face on her knees. “Kovat is well-pleased by the joining of his line with Erlan's line because Kovat always expects to win. See it this way, Stargazer. Once Tarvik is wed to Erlan's only child, the death of Erlan would put the rule of his lands into Kovat's grasp without a battle.”

  “But why should Erlan die before Kovat?”

  “Why indeed? Not of old age, one must guess.”

  “Are you saying Kovat would kill his own brother? But Nance, why? And if Erlan thought so, why would his daughter want to marry Tarvik?”

  “What Erlan thinks and what Alakar wants are of no matter to Kovat. If Erlan arranged a different marriage for Alakar, her husband could be a threat to Kovat, especially if Erlan picked a strong ally of his own. I think Erlan has no friend willing to become an enemy of Kovat, otherwise he would have refused Kovat's arrangement of the betrothal.”

  I frowned into the lamp's glare, trying to sort out the customs of these people. “What about Alakar and Tarvik? Didn't they choose each other?”

  “Do what?” Nance sat up straight, amazed. “Do you think Kovat asked them? No. He arranged what he thought was best for himself and his son.”

  “That's archaic, not to mention wicked.”

  “Wicked? How else, then, are marriages arranged?”

  “By the people who intend to marry, of course.”

  “Do you mean to tell me your family has not promised you to anyone, Stargazer?” Nance cried.

  Oh,
lordy, as though the aunts couldn't make enough bad choices for themselves.

  “Tell me this. Why do Kovat and Erlan want each other's lands so much?”

  “For grazing, of course. We have a river that never freezes, while Erlan's rivers turn to ice and for a while each winter, snow buries his land. He brings his flocks to winter down here. And in late spring, when our grasslands begin to dry out, our flocks must cross Erlan's borders to reach summer pastures. If Kovat does not send warriors to escort the shepherds, somehow animals disappear along the way.”

  “Summer pasture? What is that?”

  “The lower pastures go brown in summer. The flocks must be driven up into the foothills to find grass. It is one reason Kovat fights the other rulers. We need to search constantly for new and better grazing.” Nance yawned. “If we do not sleep now, I will fall asleep at the games.”

  I held up my hand and Nance froze.

  She heard it too, a soft rustle, a footstep. In the courtyard. No one entered our courtyard without first knocking and being admitted by the guard. We stared at each other, unsure what to do. All right, this wasn't my city and the chance of housebreakers was nonexistent, as far as I knew. Standing slowly, trying to keep silent, I held out my hand to her to follow as I crept toward the doorway. We left the door half open at night to let in air, so I curled my fingers around the stone edge and peered out.

  “Would Tarvik command the guards to open the gate?” I whispered to Nance.

  She shook her head. “Never has.”

  The courtyard was brighter than our room, the pile of embers in the center casting a low red glow, and the sky was so filled with stars and moon, their faint light touched the shadows. There could be someone or no one standing in the dark, moving along a wall. We both stood silent, listening. All I heard was the two of us breathing.

  “Tarvik?” Nance said.

  With a guard at the gate, there was really nothing that could harm us, right, and so I stepped out into the yard, started to turn slowly to stare at every shadow, but I got only as far as the gate.

  “It's open, the gate is open,” I told Nance.

  “I closed it and shot the bolt,” Nance said.

  And even if she forgot, the guard would close it. A flash of reflection near the embers caught my eye. I crouched down, reached out, saw it was nothing more than a popped ember, and then saw the odd brushing of earth, the imprint of a pointed boot at the fire's edge.

  Not the guard, they all wore heavy boots with round or square toes. About now my instinct was to run back in the chamber, bolt the door and hide under a pile of sheepskins, but if I did, I'd spend the night quaking, right? So I turned off my brain and ran to the gateway, stared out, saw nothing, looked to the side where the guard always stood, saw nobody, heard a low rustle of sound, looked down.

  Our friendly neighborhood guard lay stretched out on the ground, face down, not moving. Calling for Nance to help, I squatted down by him and rolled him over.

  “Too much mead,” Nance sputtered.

  Leaning over him, I held his face between my hands and sniffed. “He hasn't been drinking.”

  “Then what's the matter with him?”

  Hot sticky on my hand? I carefully turned his head, couldn't see in the dark but I could feel the wound at the side of his head, a slight bump and a trickle of blood. After sending Nance for a rag and a mug of water, I tried to check him for any other injuries. I didn't expect to find any and didn't, so I hoped it meant I could move him, as though I'd know. Sometime in the past I should have sat in at one of those first aid lectures at the Neighborhood Center, obviously. All I had to go on was a guess. When Nance returned, we pulled him to the wall and sat him up. With the wet cloth I dabbed at the bloody spot.

  He moaned.

  “I'll shout,” Nance said. “The guards up at the castle will hear.”

  “Don't.”

  He was coming round, his eyes fluttering.

  We saw this guy daily and he always smiled, except when Kovat was in town, never gave us any bother, stacked wood when we needed more, delivered to the gate whatever we asked for. If I could box him up and ship him home, what a terrific addition he'd be to my house.

  “Why not?” Nance asked.

  “What if your uncle thinks what you did, that he drank too much?”

  She didn't have to answer. We both knew really bad things would happen to a guard who slept on duty. So we brushed him off, washed him up a bit, and when he came round, gave him water.

  When his brain woke up, he looked terrified.

  “Somebody hit you,” I said, crouched down next to him, hanging on to the mug of water for him. “Did you see who it was?”

  He started to shake his head. I bet that hurt, because then he whispered, “No. I don't remember seeing anyone.”

  “Okay, he snuck up on you. You're gonna have a lump on your head.”

  “I am fine.”

  Shaking, wide-eyed, heart probably racing. So fine, in fact, he teetered on the edge of dying of fear and it wasn't his assailant he feared.

  “Sure you are. Listen, we aren't going to tell anyone. You don't need to, either.”

  He looked at me for several slow minutes, then took the mug from me, his rough fingers brushing mine, and gulped the remaining water.

  He whispered, “Thank you, lady,” and we both knew he wasn't thanking me for the water.

  A glance at his boots took care of my other question. Like I thought, they were square across the toes. It was easy to guess who had knocked out the guard and entered our courtyard. Had he stood outside to listen to us? Had we said anything? I really hoped he'd gone off bored silly.

  “Don't joke about death,” Nance said as we walked back across the yard toward our door.

  “He isn't death.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  Did I believe in Death with a capital D? A hooded skeleton carrying a scythe? Oh come on, of course not, but she had a point. He fit the role, had the look, exhibited all the warm charm, plus he'd attacked our guard and managed to silently climb high enough on the wall to reach over and push back the bolt.