Fires of Nuala

by Katharine Eliska Kimbriel

  “But you were supposed to be dead, Sheel. Then what? Would Iver have named her Ragäree?”

  “No. It has been done, but it would be bad form to do it before she had a daughter. But he would have treated her as the ragäree.” This was treading on dangerous ground; Darame was entirely too quick. It could be disastrous for her to start thinking about Leah’s fertility, and speak of it aloud.

  “Something you would not have done, since for all you know Leah might have nothing but sons the rest of her life, or no more children at all.” It was Darame’s turn to stretch. “So, perhaps Dirk would have gotten a lot of things out of Cort’s death. But why not stop at Caleb? Why use Iver?”

  “Caleb was a selfish personality,” Sheel admitted. “Assuming the chain of office might have changed his prior loyalties considerably.”

  “So — Iver. But then Iver died.… You think because he knew the guaard was behind this?”

  “At least a few guaard,” Sheel corrected. “He would have told Dirk and Leah, just as he told me, but how he did so, I do not know — ” He broke off at the look on her face. The woman was suddenly quite pale. “Darame?”

  A jerk of her body, and she was leaning forward, reaching for thick pads to shield her hands. “I forgot about the bread, I hope it is not burned.”

  Sheel closed his reaching fingers, stopping short of her shoulder. “What else?”

  “Have you noticed how similar the situations are in Atare and in Seedar?” she said quickly, pulling the enclosed bread pan from the fire. “I have trouble thinking it is coincidence.”

  “I cannot believe it is coincidence,” Sheel answered, sitting back on his heels. “But I cannot connect Dirk to Seedar. Can you?” This last was silken; Darame’s musings were too close to his own, and threatened to bring up something he did not want to face.

  Breaking open the hinged mold, Darame removed a long roll of bread. “Crusty but not burned; excellent. I thought I saw some honey around here somewhere.”

  Sheel stood up. “It is in the next room. I will bring it in here.” He moved quickly into the corridor. Jude remained in place, like a bas-relief carved from the wall, while Sheel retrieved the honey pot and carried it into the fire room. The break in conversation had given him time to compose his face. Do not think about it. At least not yet.

  Crossing his legs, Sheel folded down beside her, handing her the honey. As their hands brushed, Darame actually jumped, as if touched by static electricity. Guiltily she lifted her face, meeting his gaze.

  “I… I am not ready to theorize past this point. Everything else is still very confused.” It sounded rather weak, but at least she was admitting the cause for her distress.

  “More confused than seeking motives for Dirk being a traitor?” Sheel regretted the words before they finished leaving his mouth.

  She shook her head as she broke off a piece of bread. “Motives are always a mess to deal with. But, Atare — “

  “By now I would think you could use ‘Sheel’ comfortably.”

  Silence. A few more deep breaths. Then: “I agree that connecting Dirk to Seedar is difficult. I imagine he dislikes the other clans almost as much as Dielaan.”

  “Almost — not quite as much.” Sheel felt his dimples fighting to break out. When she fixed her dark gaze on him, however, he lost all desire to laugh.

  “To a certain extent, Dirk could be a single threat, acting on his own to get something for himself and the woman he seems to adore. Or…”

  “He could be working with Leah to actively place official power into her hands.” Amazing how steady his voice sounded saying the words, beating her to them. They were not surprising words; something within had been thinking along those lines for a long time. Can you not protest, not even the slightest? She is accusing your sister of condoning murder!

  “It is worse than that, Sheel. If Atare and Seedar are truly linked, then there must be someone else involved. Someone who unites the others, and pulls their needs and desires together. Someone who recognized both your sister and the guaard as weak links in the Atare chain… and is exploiting those weaknesses.” Her voice was barely audible over the crackle of the fire.

  “And you think you know the identity of the third person.” He said the words as fact.

  Darame nodded.

  “Will you tell me the name of that person?”

  The woman shook her head slightly. “Not yet.”

  A feeling of disquiet crept into Sheel’s stomach. He recognized it as disappointment.

  PRIME

  “I wish you would stop rationalizing!” The volume surprised even Fion; his mouth closed abruptly and he reddened.

  Mailan had always felt that the best defense was silence; she did not respond. Her hands did hesitate, however, as she sorted through her belongings, deciding what she would leave and what she would need in the foothills below. Fion’s hand shot into her line of vision, seizing her left wrist.

  “Look at me.” It was an order. He had been her trainer; old habits died hard. She turned her head, looking down at him. “There is no more to be said. It never could have been anyone except Dirk — you see that, now? Unless one of the line has indeed betrayed us all. Do you think Iver went and supervised Cort’s death before engineering his own attack?”

  “Of course not.” She turned back to her packing.

  “Then stop torturing your conscience! I know well that however much you dislike Dirk and his inner circle, you would never accuse them of such a thing without proof.” Fion leaned toward her, his lips almost brushing her shoulder. “So find the proof.”

  That stopped her. She turned and dropped to the cot with a thump, giving the guaard a steely look. “Do you think a guaard would leave proof of his passing?”

  “Dirk? Unlikely. I doubt he switched Martin and Reese’s names. But his followers are clumsier. Iver saw that a guaard stabbed him — perhaps even saw who stabbed him. Somehow an extra body showed up on the count that day, a body that no one was supposed to notice. Such mistakes may lead to the proof we need!”

  “And if it does not?” There. She had said it; the fear of her heart. If they could not prove it — then what? Return to Atare and spend the rest of their lives looking over their shoulders? Ring Sheel’s home with trainees? Take others into their confidence? Jude and Ayers were shaken by the news, true, but Crow’s shock still had not completely abated, which was one reason he would accompany her on her mission. How would other guaard respond to the reality of a traitor in their midst?

  Fion smiled faintly. “Maybe we will hire our own assassins.” He chuckled as he said it, but his eyes were very dark.

  “Fion.…” Mailan reached for a stack of socks. “You mentioned once that you could only think of trivial reasons for Dirk to turn on Atare. What were you thinking about?”

  Frowning slightly, the man sat next to her on her cot. “They are things only a petty man would use to keep score. I have never thought of Dirk as petty.”

  Mailan smiled, a twist to her lips. “Yet I have always thought him petty.” She turned to look at him. “Fion… you are not of Dirk’s generation, and I doubt he sees you as a threat. He is too arrogant to see threat in a man close to retiring from the field.” Grinning at her friend’s lifted eyebrows, she continued: “I do not wish to sound conceited, but… if there had been an older choice for captain willing to take it, who do you think the successor would be? Dirk? Or would he be back running his family’s wealth by then, and someone else be chosen?”

  Fion reached to tug on one of her curls. “Troublemaker. You would be right up there in line, as you well know. And that is a good point: Is Dirk willing to give up the prestige and wealth of his family position to continue as a guaard? Many think not, which is why some gave the captainship to him now. They expect him to retire in a few years.”

  “At any rate, he has always gone out of his way to make things hard for me… as if it hurt his pride that an ignorant mountain girl was as strong a guaard as he.” She waved off his
interruption. “I am telling this from Dirk’s point of view, remember. To me, pettiness is his middle name, and White nothing but a sneak. But those trivial things?” she prompted finally.

  “Two things keep coming to the surface of my mind,” Fion confessed. “Have you noticed Dirk has not married? Others of his rank either chose an off-worlder who came here to marry, or left for Caesarea. Dirk loved a native, apparently… but her family forbade the match. They wanted ‘clean, outside genes.’ I know Dirk resented that. He started competing for active work in the guaard not long afterward. And then… did you know that Dirk is an Atare?” Fion looked at her sharply as he spoke.

  “So are we — You mean he is throneline?” Mailan realized the volume level of the discussion had increased, and lowered her voice. “Are you sure? He does not have the eyes.”

  Fion smiled. “‘Are you sure?’ Dirk’s eyes are corrected. Even I have never been around when he cleans the lenses, every month or so. Besides, you know as well as I that the eyes do not breed true from the men. When the trait is present, it appears, but when it is not — none of that line ever show it. It is a strong trait, but while it always overcomes off-world genes, Nualan genes are stronger. That is why so few of the unnamed have the eyes.”

  “His father?”

  Fion shook his head. “Further back than that. But Dirk’s family was entwined with Atare long before he became a guaard. That is all I know.”

  “Have you noticed how closely Dirk attends to the Serae Leah?” she asked, suddenly changing the subject.

  “She seems to prefer him to other guaard, and The Atare apparently did not object to surrendering Dirk’s talents to her.” Fion’s expression was carefully neutral, implying he did not speculate on that situation.

  Mailan felt a smooth, narrow smile settle over her features. Sparks of The Path: certainly Fion had wondered as much as she had, although naturally she had forgotten about it in the hysteria surrounding the deaths of Cort and his heirs. One of the latest rumors to surface was that Dirk, too, had access to Leah’s bed. Did that change any theories their little group had dissected? Well, she was not going to point that one out to Sheel, if the rumor had not yet reached his ears. But she and Crow would have to investigate it. “I think I will ask The Atare what he and the Caesarean spoke of this morning.” Glancing at Fion, she added: “That woman knows more than she tells, and I will not tread these paths until I know what she hides. Too much rides on it.”

  “She will not volunteer information until it serves her purpose.” Fion sounded neutral, usually a sign of disapproval. But then his devotion to the line was absolute. Mailan freely admitted she was Sheel’s guaard first… and for some reason Sheel seemed to want — no, need — that woman in his shadow.

  “I think I can force it from her,” Mailan murmured, thinking furiously. It had occurred to her last night.… Something Darame had said, or not said, in her talks. Not much about Avis. The off-worlder had liked Avis — a chink in her shield. Anything Darame knows that we do not endangers Avis. We will be like stampeding tazelles without the complete story. She was on her feet and heading toward Sheel’s sleeping area, her last words echoing in the corridor: “To defeat that one, you must tell her the truth.”

  o0o

  Darame shifted once again before the firepit, trying to find a position that was both warm and comfortable. Such a blessing that these heat disks and sticks — fire crystals, wasn’t it? — gave off so little smoke. At least the wind was from the right direction; the natural flue which rose within the cavern was carrying most of the smoke outside. A murmur of soft voices was harmony to her thoughts, the clink of breakfast dishes reminding her that the meal was not long past. Cooking had occupied her mind, keeping it from facts she dreaded facing. Now, there was no place to hide.

  Well… she would face the nightmare, even if it was not of her making. So, Sheel was certain Iver had told Leah and Dirk about seeing a guaard stab him. How much had he seen? A slip of uniform? A face? Several faces? Words she had nearly forgotten now haunted her — words that had meant little when she overheard them. As clearly as the moment it happened, the scene rose up before her: the pale blue light of Brant’s office and the swift entrance of Serae Leah framing the words.

  “Brant, you must speak to Iver, he is raving on about last night and demanding an inquiry — “ No more; Leah had then noticed Brant’s company, and stopped speaking.

  Did you ever explain to her our unique relationship? Darame wondered, nodding approval as Quenby Ragäree’s little girl brought her stitching for the silver lady’s inspection. Probably not, judging by Leah’s treatment of the off-worlder. Then again… Leah perceived all women as competition, in all things. Maybe Brant had mentioned his companions.… I hope not.

  Sheel had his link. Serae Leah had said “you.” As if Brant had some influence with Iver, and could somehow sway his thoughts, his line of thinking. Brant had claimed inroads with both Iver and Caleb, of course, but… that Leah should ask Brant to intervene…

  Darame realized she was shaking. Are you a kingmaker, man who would be king in all but name? It had been years since she had played chess, or even found anyone else who knew the game, her father’s favorite puzzle. And you — blinded by your own involvement, worried about knights and missing the bishops! Are you pawn, blindly following the path Brant has set your feet to, or will you be a queen, and cover the board with your schemes? Pawn or queen — the eternal question, the question her father had always asked her when things got tough. But then he had treated his child like an adult, always.…

  Leah and Dirk… and Brant. Of course Sheel would not see it — he had no knowledge of how the free-traders arranged their games. But Darame knew what part was Brant’s, and now understood that he had played his hand too well. Find the weak links, and exploit them: the age-old rule. To an outsider’s eye, Leah was an obvious weak link. She had to be, or else Brant would not have bothered with her. Sex, like everything else, was merely a corollary of power for Brant. Avis? An ace up the sleeve, as the old card-skimmers would say. Iver? Gulled, she was sure. Iver was not subtle enough to be trusted with details, even if he had agreed to any schemes, which she doubted. Darame suspected that Iver was a fifth suit: a dupe used to deceive opponents as to the real depth of one’s game.

  The Serae was obvious, but how did Dirk fit into things? As a necessary power piece, yes — but what bait was Brant using? Blackmail was his least favorite form of inducement. What could Brant offer Dirk that would make the guaard turn on his ruler and peers?

  And Seedar. Again Darame cursed the tribes as a whole, wishing for some form of friendly communication. Only trickles of information passed from one city-state to another, unless it concerned gene recombination. Not until a ragäree had both feared for the lives of her heirs and was unable to trust her near kin had a dialogue been established. And if there had been no Avis — no sympathetic, patient ear free of judgment? What would Quenby Ragäree have done? What was happening in Dielaan… in Kilgore, Andersen, and the other great cities? Brant knew how to set up black market undergrounds; Darame had helped him do it in one city on Caesarea. That scam was still pouring money into Brant’s accounts. Now that she concentrated, she remembered Fion saying something about off-worlders traveling on the great roads.…

  A scam with Leah and Dirk, and a scam without them… and courting the unmarried daughter of the line on the side. Darame straightened as potential presented itself to her. Sweet saints, Brant! Get rid of that neurotic woman and Avis’s young man, and you could be running the entire coast within five years! It was a kingmaker play in more ways than one.… Was Brant willing to follow through? To risk everything and anything for the goal he sought? Even your own skin?

  “Darame?” The word broke into her disconcerting thoughts. Glancing up, instinctively drawing her poncho closer, Darame realized that Sheel and Mailan were standing next to her.

  “Did you bring saffra?” she asked them, and was rewarded with one of Sheel’s increas
ingly rare smiles. That smile struck her like a blow, cutting into the depths of her musings. This is what you came for, foolish child. You followed the memory of a smile.…

  “I will get some for all of us,” came Crystle’s voice from somewhere off in the dimness of the area. A rustling of material was followed by soft footsteps as the woman departed the room, the Quenby Ragäree’s little girl close at her heels, if the echoes were any indication.

  “I have told Mailan about our talk early this morning,” Sheel said without preamble. “She would like to pursue several points with you. Any help you can give my retinue would be appreciated.” The man settled himself upon one of the peeled bark chairs the potters had left; Mailan remained standing.

  Retinue. I suppose they are your retinue at that. Strange to see a monarch cut off from his advisors.… Afraid of his advisors? Could the web of treachery stretch further into the royal sphere? But Brant liked to keep his conspiracies small.…

  “What do you need to know?” Darame asked carefully.

  Mailan drew herself up and took a few thoughtful steps away from the firepit. Keeping her back to the pair, she said: “Thank you for speaking of what we all feared to mention — that the Serae could be involved in this somehow. I still find it hard to believe that she would agree to a dozen deaths to reinforce her power base, but” — Mailan shook herself abruptly — “we may never know the entire truth. Better to concentrate on weeding out the sandburs in our compound.” She turned back to Darame. “I suspect you know I dislike my captain.”

  “The possibility had occurred to me,” Darame said gently, a smile drawing in one corner of her mouth.

  “Still, with a charge so serious, I feel I must have total proof of the deed.” Mailan allowed herself a brief smile in return. “Just knowing Dirk’s personality, I could believe he would kill what he saw as a useless old man. But why choose Iver over Caleb, who had a grudge against Dielaan?…” She shrugged.

  “How much do you know about Dirk’s personality?” Darame asked, watching the woman’s delicate face. Not pretty, precisely, but those huge eyes would draw attention from any healthy man.