Tyrant Trouble (Mudflat Magic)

by Phoebe Matthews

  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.

  CHAPTER 9

  The games. Raised platforms edged an empty field that was about double the size of a high school football field. Some of the platforms had canopies with banners flying from the posts that supported them. In their shade were long benches on different levels, like bleachers.

  On the centermost platform was a raised stand with a draped seat for Kovat, putting him higher than everyone else. Steps led from the field up to the platform, each step edged with poles topped with banners. At the base of the stairs and a bit to the side stretched the scruffy dog I had seen in the castle. As always, he lay with head on paws, ignoring everyone.

  “Who or what is that dog?” I asked Nance.

  She smiled, before forcing her face back to its solemn temple expression. She murmured softly, although I doubted anyone could hear us over the crowd noise. “An old pet of Kovat's. Useless, but he is fond of it.”

  “I haven't seen any other dogs.”

  “The hunting dogs are kept in a kennel.”

  Nance and I sat on a bench to the right of Kovat, and Erlan and his wife and daughter were on his left. Behind them stood a row of servants and at the back of the platform stood a row of guards. Bleachers on the side platforms were filled with the banquet guests.

  “Who are they?” I whispered to Nance.

  We leaned toward each other, trying to remain unnoticed with our scarves pulled forward, but that was impossible, seated as we were beside Kovat.

  She whispered, “That row, those men are all captains of Erlan's army. The one in green on the far platform is Wenslaven, son of Wensel, who rules the land adjacent to Erlan's city and the three with him are his sons. I rather think the youngest one hoped to be promised to Alakar. He asked to be in the games, but Kovat refused him. An insult, truly.”

  “What's your gossip connection, girlfriend?”

  She dimpled and whispered back, “Lor hears it from the guards. Just watch. I have seen Alakar twice glance at him.”

  “That's terrible,” I said, thinking Alakar should marry whom she pleased.

  Nance replied, “It will be if Kovat sees her rolling her eyes at the son of Wenslaven.”

  The games that followed equaled the chaos of the banquet. Watched by gaudy spectators and stuck with grand and lengthy toasts plus the background babble of the crowd, combatants managed to pass most of the day standing in knots arguing the rules, which made me homesick for Saturday afternoons in front of the TV. Was this their version of a time-out?

  The contestants were young men from both armies, and also sons of captains and a few others whose relationships to Erlan and Kovat were complicated. Nance tried to explain marriages, alliances, chosen heirs, and so forth, until my head ached. Or maybe the headache was from trying to keep my lashes down while I searched the seating area. With head ducked and half-turned, this maneuver made me cross-eyed.
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br />   Nance hissed, “What are you doing?”

  “He's behind Ober,” I whispered, took another quick glance, saw the hooded head swivel away.

  We were both doing this furtive watch thing and me thinking maybe I should just stand up and wave to the bastard. I might have, except Kovat was between us and I didn't think he would be amused.

  “Who's behind who?” Nance asked.

  “Ober's Deathwalker critter. He keeps watching us.”

  Nance paled and whispered, “Stop that! Do not look at him again.”

  When Kovat nodded at us, Nance and I removed our scarves and stood up in our temple robes. As usual, Nance had wound up my hair with ribbons and gold threads. As usual, my hair was already slipping out, a few messy strands hanging in my face. We chanted over the bowed heads of the contestants, promising that the Daughter of the Sun would insure victory to the most courageous.

  A chill wind whipped our robes and pulled loose another strand of my hair. As I turned to gather up my scarf and sit back down, I found myself meeting Ober's stare. She looked away.

  I turned to hide my face from her and whispered to Nance, “Whenever I look in that direction, Ober is watching us.”

  “I think its you she watches. I wish I knew why.”

  The men on the field formed themselves into teams and were identified by colored arm bands or ribbons tied to belts, same old same old, a playground method. Not that there was anything playground about the games.

  These guys played for blood. Occasionally the groups broke, the crowd roared and opponents from the two armies challenged each other to a variety of weird confrontations I could not figure out, despite Nance's explanations.

  What occurred was this. Either one on one or group against group, moving, sometimes on foot and sometimes on horse, all carrying similar weapons or all barehanded, they threw themselves at each other. The purpose eluded me. It was, I think, clear to the onlookers because they roared in unison, both cheers and insults. A bit like a soccer game or even football, with weapons added, except there were no goals and no one was actually trying to move in any direction on the field.