Fires of Nuala

by Katharine Eliska Kimbriel

“It’s a place to start,” Crow said quickly.

  “There are other things I wish to know. When I was in the computer, I saw the death toll of guaard for that day. It listed nine.”

  “So? Two bodies at Baldwin’s and Caleb’s, one everywhere else — ” Mailan began, and then stopped, her face suddenly flushed.

  “Not everywhere. You were with Sheel. Who else died that day, Mailan? Was anyone sick?” Fion’s voice was mild, but his expression was taut as he settled onto a crate, loosening his scarf.

  “No illness or accident that I heard about.” Crow’s words dropped like stones into the pool of silence.

  “So… who was authorized to watch Seri Baldwin? How are the alibis? And why did an extra guaard die?” Mailan spoke softly, pacing away from the projection. When she paused, it seemed almost natural. “And the blood… we must check the blood tests.”

  The group as one turned to her. “I keep forgetting… there has been so little time. Rob reb^Dorian of Drake died that night, but not in Seri Sheel’s bed. He was on the floor, in the front room.… Jude said there was blood all over the bedroom, hallway, parlor — But the woman died from a single blow.” Mailan focused on Fion. “He was well-trained, that one, to accompany the Seri on his trip?”

  Fion nodded slowly. “He could have been one of us, if he was not so high in his house.”

  “I want to know how that ninth guaard died,” Mailan said softly. “Once we know how he died… we may know where he died. Could one of the conspirators be cold already?”

  “That may be too much to hope for,” came Sheel’s voice. “But you will investigate the possibility.”

  “But it gives us nothing concrete!” Crow exclaimed, turning to Fion. “Who sent Martin to the heir’s home, and how many of these killers do we have to deal with?”

  “A half-dozen or so?” Darame suggested. “It is best to keep the numbers low in conspiracies. Somehow I think that one of the guaard here would have heard something, if it was a wide-spread rebellion.”

  “But how will we find out who is behind this?” Crow turned back to Darame as he reiterated his demand.

  Carefully re-folding herself into the blanket, Darame sighed. “It is still ‘How,’ Crow, that we deal with. You say the youth at Cort’s was improbable, but not impossible. Who would Martin leave with him, and not question it?”

  “Martin?” Crow laughed. “He thought he was the only one who watched Cort Atare properly! That was why he was always on public duty with him: parties, crowd appearances…”

  “He was an extremely careful man,” Fion admitted. A slight frown crossed the guaard’s furrowed face, and his gaze flicked up to the projection. “Where were the trainers?”

  “Only one on duty,” Mailan said, after a moment. “She was with Seri Fabe’s wife, on country duty — he would not have brought Serae Camelle into the city for a party thrown by Serae Leah.…” Her voice trailed off, and she glanced at Fion, puzzled.

  “Edan had just gone off duty, from watching Tobias. He could have made it to Cort Atare’s door in time,” Crow started, and then jerked, as if struck. “Edan? But Cort — “

  “Cort Atare never used Edan — said he was too young to shadow an old man. Martin definitely would have wondered about that, although if Edan told him it was an emergency… I do not know.” Fion looked grave. “And White — “

  “Martin would have called to find out the nature of the emergency,” Mailan said swiftly. “He was that way — and he had time, if we are correct, and it was before the shift ended. It had to be, or else Reese would have already left! A call to stop him would have told Reese’s second there was a problem… and given alarm too soon.” She sat down next to Fion on the packing crate, her face very still. “Why keep spinning around the truth? Only one person could have dismissed someone of Martin’s seniority without his questioning it, and that is Dirk.”

  A long silence followed Mailan’s whisper. Into the quiet Crow breathed the word “No,” even as Darame offered up a rhetorical question. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  Weak Link:

  A hole in a line of defense where a

  free-trader can exploit a situation.

  Chapter Nine

  STARRISE MOUNTAINS

  NINETYTHREEDAY, LAUDS

  Another sleepless night drove Sheel from his bedchamber. Crystle had left him long before, already accustomed to his nocturnal stirrings, so no one except Jude marked his silent padding down to the fire room. His dreams had been uneasy, full of feverish wanderings and disjointed fragments of conversations. The visual images had been vague and shadowed, or complete fabrication. One in particular haunted him: Dirk, tankard in hand, in a jovial mood, uttering words Sheel had never heard him speak: “Our primary loyalty is to the throne line of Atare, you know. A ruler is a passing thing, but Atare is forever.”

  Mailan or Crow had said those words, trying to explain guaard loyalty to Darame. She did not understand. How could she? How could anyone not born here understand such a thing? A year on Emerson had shown him numerous governments in action; none of them had anything close to the Atare line and its guaard. Has anyone ever built half their rule on genetic cleanness?

  Entering the fire room, Sheel was surprised to find Darame seated by the pit, tossing on a mixture of heat disks and fire crystal sticks. What was the time? Surely still well-centered in lauds. Much too early to start breakfast.

  A smile pulled at his lips as he said aloud in Nualan: “Surely breakfast does not require such early rising.” After several pointed comments about the food, Darame had spent her first few days in the cavern delicately weaning old Harald from his cooking pot. The man’s wife had sent ample and varied stores, but her husband’s talents had little to do with meal preparation. Sheel suspected the old trader secretly had been happy to turn things over to the newcomer.

  She looked up at the sound of his words, and Sheel stopped a good meter from the pit, startled by her appearance. The hollows under her eyes were black, accented by firelight. Exhaustion had pulled thin lines at her mouth and nose.

  “You are sleeping worse than I am,” he said, shocked into bluntness.

  Darame smiled wanly. “I seem to have a faulty thermostat. Either I am cold, or I sweat from the mound of blankets Mailan tosses over me.” Her answer was in careful, unaccented Nualan, but the sheer attempt always amazed him. Few people tried to speak Nualan, far fewer succeeded at it; its marked formality was foreign to any language used in the Seven Systems. He had learned that Darame could converse in so many tongues she could not list them all without thought.…

  Sitting down on a low stool, Sheel noted she had moved the stove into the fire room and was heating some cherry apple cider in a pan. “Cold sensitivity can be caused by many things. Perhaps I can help.”

  Sprinkling some cinnamon into the bubbling liquid, she smiled slowly. “I am not Nualan.” The planet’s name was usually the hardest thing for foreign mouths to form, but she did it handily.

  “Planet origin has nothing to do with it,” he answered, standing to seek some mugs. “My specialty is human anatomy… with a little ‘cat work’ thrown in.”

  “I miss the cats,” she admitted. “Their warmth, their funny ways, their inquisitive little faces peering out at me from odd places. Too bad we had to leave them at your house.”

  He had found the mugs and returned to the fire. An image caught him as he set the ceramic tankards before her, the memory as sharp as smoke. A cold, windswept day, with them seated on his deck, this woman wrapped in one of his capes, her hands busy with the kitten. What was she saying? “All I heard her say was ‘He will place her before me.’” What had brought that thought to him? His dream involving Dirk?

  “Atare?” He heard the word at a distance, its meaning barely registering. “Sheel?” She reached for him, delicate fingers touching the back of his wrist. He glanced up and realized he had paused in mid-movement. Flushing slightly, he let go of the mugs and sat down.

  “Something
you said brought back another image.…” His words trailed off as he considered what she had described. Why would Leah say such a thing to an ambassador — Brant, was it not? Probably she used several of them as confidants, but why did he suddenly picture her telling Dirk those words? For the memory had twisted on him, and she was speaking to Dirk, not Brant.

  “The cats?” she said, pouring them each some cider.

  He shrugged and accepted a mug. “Possibly. Actually, there is something else seeing you brings to mind.” He sipped carefully at the warm fluid. “For more days than I would like to count, Mailan and Fion have argued about the conclusions reached by your little discussion group.” The irony in his voice did not pass unnoticed; she gave him a quick grin. “The storm aided us, there: they would have thundered off to Atare, bursting with theories, and likely provoked many things I would rather let lie. But this flurry of voices has kept me from returning to a remark you made… a remark I have wondered about. Darame, why, when signs pointed to Dirk as being part of a conspiracy, did you say you were not surprised?”

  At first she did not speak. Careful with the hot cider, her boot shoving at what Sheel recognized as a cast iron bread mold half-buried in heat disks, Darame seemed to ignore the question. Then she cast her black gaze at him, eyes slit with concentration. “Same rules apply?”

  That took a moment. Then he remembered her request for immunity from prosecution. He nodded.

  “You are not going to like the” — she lapsed momentarily into Caesarean — “implications of this.”

  “Probably not,” he agreed. “But I suspect I should hear it.”

  “The palace suited my present situation quite well,” she started, setting the mug down by her side. “I enjoyed getting to know your younger sister, and palaces are notorious hotbeds of gossip and innuendo. But there is always a grain of truth in such information, if one knows how to sift it. And, as I told Mailan, I have eyes to see.” She turned slightly, looking at him directly. “Dirk is one of Leah’s current lovers,” Darame said calmly. “The preeminent one, I would say, although one ambassador seems to be giving him a run for it. She has not lived with her husband Richard for several years, although Tobias does, often — and Richard would have her back any time she chose to join him. Dirk is always with your sister, Sheel — always. They are usually shadowed by another guaard, so it does not seem to be duty, exactly. Deepest rumor says he is crazy about her, and would do anything for her. I suspect that is part of the reason people seem to fear Leah: through Dirk she has access to a lot of privileged information, if he chose to give it to her.” She reached once again for her mug. “But that was a hard tidbit to dig up; apparently Dirk does not like the rumor that he is being led about at her skirts, and his hand falls heavily on those who repeat it.”

  “She has a way with men, my sister. They cannot resist her,” Sheel supplied, tacitly encouraging her to continue.

  “Just how strong is she, Sheel? Would a man do anything for her? Anything? Even something… she may not have actually requested?” Darame’s expression was strange, intent.

  “I do not know. Leah does not effect me that way. But she controlled Caleb and Iver with that charm,” he admitted.

  Darame stared down into her drink. “I know I told Mailan and Crow that motive was unimportant when looking at murder, but it can often back up a theory. I like to… play games in my mind. Puzzle games, word games, number games. People often figure into my games.… Sometimes that keeps me alive. I notice things about people, things others take for granted or miss completely. And, most importantly” — she lifted her head as she said this, facing him again — “I connect things other people do not. Or perhaps fear to connect.”

  “That was certainly enough preparation for the ruler of the wealthiest clan on Nuala,” Sheel said gently. “I think you should tell me what is bothering you.”

  “How much does Dirk hate off-worlders?”

  That surprised him — echoing Crystle’s words of days before… He had not thought of that angle. “I… No more than any other Nualan. I think Dirk is a proud man, proud of himself and his line, which is well-off and breeding well. But I do not remember any incident that… would lead me to believe he hated off-worlders.” This was truth; he did not see what she was leading him toward.

  “Before we start arguing fine points, let me tell you some specific things I have picked up while living in the palace. Not why I believe them, just the basic information. All right?” The mug returned to the floor of the cave.

  Nodding, Sheel leaned back against a crate, feeling it slide until it touched a fissure in the rock.

  “To begin with, your sister Leah is an incredibly insecure woman. She has no confidence in herself or her position, and is jealous of anything she regards her province. I suspect she was enraged that you took Tobias — not worried, although she put on a good act, talking about it a lot — enraged. She will not forgive you for it. She hated Cort Atare, partly because he did not name her ragäree, and partly for other reasons. She was fond of Caleb and Iver.… Whether because she had them under her finger, as you suggest, or simply because their characters and hers matched well. She does not trust you, or so hints lead me to believe. I suspect she thinks you favor Avis over her — ” She held out her hand as Sheel started to speak. “I know, Cold Sleep divides your family into obvious blocks, of course you would be closer to Avis. I said ‘favored,’ which was what I meant. And she hates Avis.”

  Something about the way Darame said “hate” sent a shiver up Sheel’s spine. It was emphatic.

  “Not that Avis is ever discourteous, or condescending, or any such thing to Leah. In fact, she is very careful to keep from offending Leah. But it is understandable, considering the age difference, that they would not be close. At any rate, Leah hates Avis, is jealous of her, watches her constantly. She certainly thought Cort Atare preferred Avis — which, as a person, he probably did.”

  “Dirk?” Sheel asked.

  “I shall return to Dirk. Another question for you. What could helping Leah get someone?” As Sheel started to frown, Darame continued: “I mean, what exactly does her power base consist of? What can she give for services rendered?”

  Sheel sighed and reached for the pan of cider. “Leah has what any member of the royal family has, I suppose. Large amounts of mining stock and influence. She has quite a bit of control in the trading industry, I understand, and, as you suggested, I have heard rumors that she will use blackmail when nothing else will serve her ends. Although be careful whom you tell that to: there is no proof that I know of, and as blackmail is illegal, that could be libelous.” He lifted an eyebrow at her. “Her lovely body, of course, has often gotten her what she wanted. A vast network of embassy friends and informants of the highest level —“

  “Is it because of Leah that Dirk is captain?”

  Sheel considered the question while he poured some more cider for himself. “She could not have arranged it… but she had Caleb’s ear, and Baldwin listened to Caleb. Cort, of course, would at least give Baldwin courtesy hearings. Dirk has had a very distinguished career, Darame. He was the popular choice for the position.”

  “The Atare and the trainers select the captain. If several trainers were offered inducements to make him captain? If he was already in the running, anyway?” She looked intent once again.

  “No. I doubt that. But if careful maneuvering made Dirk Cort’s main choice, they might take it as a sign to follow his lead. Cort respected strength, and preferred to deal with a strong captain, rather than a board of trainers.” One on one, Sheel added to himself.

  “Yet I understand Dirk did not approve of Cort’s handling of the Dielaan incident.” She seemed to choose her words carefully.

  Smiling, Sheel paused to sip some hot cider. “No. Dirk does hate Dielaaners. Our rivalry extends back more than a thousand years. I think Dirk would have liked to use the strength of the extended guaard to crush the Dielaan trade routes, crippling them for generations. Cort did n
ot feel that was a wise move, and made a truce with them, after extracting reparation for the damages they inflicted on the mines.” He stretched his legs off to one side. “Dirk wants to be a warlord, I think. But Cort had no mind to destroy another of the great houses.”

  Darame studied him several moments, and then said: “Here is the big question: can anyone control Leah?”

  This time Sheel looked over at her. “I have been asking myself the same question. Did whoever arranged all this realize that Leah would be Tobias’s regent, and did he — she, they — think he could control her? I do not think Leah can be controlled.” He folded his legs up, wrapping long fingers around his knees. “I never knew her first husband, I was in transit when they returned. They had little over a year before he died in that accident, but I understand they were happy. He was a strong man, it is said, and she preferred him to lead. She lost their only child shortly after — a girl. Leah had to take ship for Caesarea almost immediately, and was still back nine years before we returned from Emerson. I suspect her controlling urges started the second trip — Richard being so pliant reflects that. She fears loss of control, and so she tries to dominate everything, or something like that.” Sheel felt a frown creeping across his face. “I tried to let her know she could confide in me.…”

  “I think it was too late, Sheel. Whatever triggered this behavior in her was entrenched before you returned.” It was Darame’s turn to frown. Taking a deep breath, she rushed on. “Do you begin to see what I am hinting at? You have a neurotic, jealous woman, terrified of losing anything she has declared is hers. A proud, arrogant man controlling the guaard, a man who openly disapproved of his Atare’s policies concerning the guaard. Suddenly there is a string of assassinations, and Iver is Atare. And do not try to tell me Iver could stand up to Leah’s strength, especially with Dirk backing her.”

  “Iver is dead.” It sounded more flat than he intended. “And I would have helped him stand up to her.”