Competitions Page 6

Sweat beaded his forehead so thickly that he needed to blot it with the handkerchief from his pocket to keep it from rolling down into his eyes. Homin was no stranger to fear, but Elfini was somehow worse than his mother had been. Mother had been the same sort of woman, incredibly strong and a firm believer in discipline, but she’d given most of that sort of attention to Father, who actually craved and needed it. Only occasionally had she felt it necessary to teach Homin his place, and the lessons had been hard but not unduly harsh. Elfini, though…

  Elfini apparently wanted to break him, just as if he were strong and virile and defiant. Homin whimpered softly as he hid his eyes behind the handkerchief, at a loss to understand how she could think of him like that even for a moment. He hated and feared discipline and so made every attempt to do exactly as Elfini wished, but she still wasn’t satisfied. If only Mother hadn’t taken sick and died…

  But Mother was gone and Father had been so overcome with grief and loss that he’d married Elfini almost immediately. Homin had the feeling Father partially regretted his haste, but it was much too late now to change things. Father might be rather powerful and even feared in his government bureau, but at home he had no more say over matters than Homin did. Possibly less, now that Homin had been drafted as a member of a competing Blending.

  Time and distance were working together to drain the tension from Homin, so he took the handkerchief from his eyes and leaned back in his carriage seat. The drive would be long enough for him to pull himself together, but the day was rather warm and he needed something to help calm him even further. To that end he brought down some moderately cold water from the upper reaches of the sky, applied it to his brow, then sighed in temporary satisfaction.

  “Very temporary satisfaction,” he muttered, already beginning to dread the meeting with Lord Rigos. No one of their class had any interest in wasting time being part of a pretend Blending for the competitions, not when everyone knew who had been chosen to win this time. But the Advisors needed challenging Blendings from the nobility to make the sham look good, so they sent out agents like Lord Rigos to coerce people into cooperation. He still didn’t understand how they’d been chosen, not when people without normal ability were somehow involved.

  But he had been chosen, along with the other four, and now the other four had embroiled him in some sort of secret plot. Homin had been very tempted to tell Lord Rigos about it and then withdraw completely, but the thought of what he might achieve had stopped him. If their rather silly little plot succeeded somehow, they each would have their own wealth, power—and households. He would no longer need to share his father’s house, and would never need to see Elfini again. He could look for his own woman, one who would be gentle with him, just as Mother had been…

  And he would no longer need to lie, as he had about Lord Rigos. Homin had taken the chance that Elfini would, at the very least, be wary of Lord Rigos, and that part of his desperate, hastily-made plan had worked. She did indeed know the Advisory agent, but hadn’t needed to bother threatening Homin into silence. Lord Rigos couldn’t have cared less about the five of them, as long as they were all able to make some kind of showing in the competitions.

  Homin’s carriage now passed the fringes of a pretty little park, a taste of the countryside in the middle of the city for those who didn’t care to travel out to the real countryside. It would have been wonderful to have his driver turn into that park and drop him off, with orders not to come back or tell anyone where he was. Losing himself would have been marvelous, but he couldn’t have stayed lost. As soon as the next mealtime came around he would be forced to return home, where Elfini would be waiting even more angry than she was now.

  And he couldn’t face the thought of her discipline, he really couldn’t. Faint beads of sweat formed on his brow again at what would be waiting for him when he returned home, but he had no idea how to avoid it. There were days and days yet before he would need to stand with the others in the competitions, so even if he begged Lord Rigos’s help he wasn’t likely to get it. He’d be over the disciplinary session by the time he was needed, so Lord Rigos would simply sneer and dismiss the matter.

  But maybe someone else wouldn’t. Homin sat straighter when the thought came, an idea he hadn’t considered before. The trouble with Elfini was affecting his practice performances, and the others in the group would be unhappy over that. They’d all agreed that they would work to be at their very best, and then they’d have no trouble winning over Adriari Fant’s group. Delin Moord had spoken to each of them individually, supporting and encouraging them, scolding them when they needed it, using his charm to get unanimous agreement.

  So maybe Delin would be willing to use his charm on Elfini. Homin had promised not to speak to Lord Rigos, but he hadn’t said a word about Delin. And Delin had said they were to come to him with any problems they might have. It might work, it just might actually work…

  Homin dabbed at his brow one last time before putting his handkerchief away, now actually looking forward to the meeting. Or rather to the time after the meeting, when he would be able to speak to Delin. His membership in the group might turn out to have more benefits than he could have possibly imagined…

  CHAPTER NINE

  Kambil Arstin, Spirit magic

  “Since your guests should be arriving soon, I’ll get out of the way, Kambil,” his grandmother said, giving him one of her usual warm smiles. “But if you need me for anything, don’t hesitate to call. I won’t be doing anything important.”

  “You’ll be working on your poetry, and you’re the only one in the entire world who doesn’t consider that important,” Kambil countered with a snort as he took her hand and helped her out of the chair. “It’s this meeting that’s unimportant, Grami, so don’t even think you’ll be disturbed. If necessary, I’ll see to it.”

  “Don’t do anything rash with that Lord Rigos around, love,” Grami warned, her smile having disappeared. “He’s as nasty and dangerous as his father before him, and the fact that he has no talent to speak of is a point of pride with him. He hates those who do have strong talent because of his jealousy of them, but he’ll never admit that.”

  “I know, Grami,” Kambil told her gently, patting her hand before releasing it. “I knew all about him five minutes after we met, and continue to make sure I never turn my back on him. Have you suddenly decided you did a terrible job of training me?”

  “No, love, I’m just a worrier,” she replied, good humor immediately restored. For the millionth time Kambil noticed that she was still a handsome, vital woman, thank any Unknown Aspect that might have had anything to do with the matter. Grami was Father’s mother, and had come to live with them after Kambil’s mother died in childbirth with the infant who would have been his sister. She’d been the center of his universe forever, and even Father was able to relax and enjoy her presence.

  “Yes, you are a worrier, and I love you for it,” Kambil said, walking her half way to the corridor which led to her wing of the house. “I’ll come to your apartment later, and tell you how things went.”

  She patted his arm in agreement before continuing out of the wide sitting-entertainment area, her step firm and brisk but not at all hurried. Grami almost never hurried, not unless she considered the matter worth hurrying for. She was different from everyone else he knew, kind of crazy, lots of fun, and someone he loved with everything in him. And she never told him what to do, even when she didn’t like what he’d gotten involved in.

  “Like this whole affair,” Kambil muttered, turning back to see that everything in the sitting area was prepared for the arrival of his guests. It might have been some comfort if he’d fallen into evil company through his own efforts, but he’d actually had nothing to do with being made a part of this group. He’d been noticed by some Guild man or other and been assessed a strong talent, so when they’d needed someone with Spirit magic to round out a group, he’d been drafted.

  And now he was part of another group, and that was only a bit mo
re voluntary than his membership in the first. The others had decided that they wanted to be the new Seated Blending, and had made plans to defeat the Blending chosen by the Advisors. It couldn’t possibly turn out to be as easy as his four associates expected, but they were all too emotionally involved with the idea to see anything but the end result they aimed at.

  So for his own safety, Kambil had made it clear to all of them that he was with them. He wasn’t usually a timid man, rather to the contrary, but heroics were definitely not in order with this group. None of them had the least amount of self control, and there was no doubt that they would react violently toward any one or any thing trying to stand in their way. Even Homin Weil, who seemed to be afraid of everything including his own shadow. All that one needed was a trigger of a particular kind…

  Kambil sighed, when he really would have been happier cursing out loud. Because his associates were so far out of balance, he had to be constantly in control of himself in case of an emergency. He was just as human as they were and therefore just as likely to lose his temper over something, but now he couldn’t afford to. Physically he happened to be larger than all of them, but now he was stuck in the role of gentle giant.

  This time Kambil had to take a deep breath before running a hand through his very light brown hair. Unbalance seemed to be catching, because he’d never had this much trouble controlling his temper before. Now all it took was the thought of being in the same room with the others…

  “Excuse me, Lord Kambil,” a voice said, and he turned to see one of the servants. “Lord Rigos’s carriage has just pulled up, and you asked to be informed when it did.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Kambil said, using a final deep breath to pull himself together. “Show Lord Rigos in, and have one of the maids bring the tea immediately.”

  The servant bowed his agreement and withdrew, leaving Kambil alone again for the moment. But that wasn’t likely to last, as Rigos usually arrived only a few minutes before the others were due. Not that most of the others were expected to be on time. Unless the meeting was being held in their own house, Kambil was the only one who appeared when he was supposed to. Rigos knew that as well as he did, but the Advisory agent enjoyed seeing the others squirm when he pretended he’d been waiting for hours.

  “Lord Rigos,” the servant announced, and Kambil looked up to see the small man stroll into the room. It was unfortunate that he was both ordinarily talented and small in stature, as well as fiercely aware of his dignity. He’d certainly been teased unmercifully as a child, and now used his position to get even with the world. His hair and eyes were very dark, setting off his olive skin and framing his usual expression of cruelty hiding just behind extreme boredom.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Kambil,” he said in a voice that would never be deep enough to satisfy him. “Obviously it was too much to hope that one or more of your associates would arrive before me.”

  “If you like, I’ll make the effort to do that next week, when we meet at Homin’s house for the first time,” Kambil said with a friendly, ingenuous grin. “I’ve never been there, but I have faith that my driver will be able to find the way.”

  “I’m sure he will,” Rigos answered with a very small flash of true amusement. “Unlike the drivers of so many of the others, who all seem to lose their way on a regular basis.”

  They were discussing last week’s meeting at Delin Moord’s house, when Kambil had been the only one to arrive on time. Each of the others, when they finally rushed in, insisted in turn that they hadn’t been late, it was their driver’s having gotten lost that caused the delay. When Bron Kallan, the last to arrive, used the same excuse the other two had used before him, the situation had turned pathetically ridiculous.

  “Yes, you’re truly a jewel among the dross,” Rigos murmured as he drifted around the room, looking at the displayed examples of Kambil’s father’s collection of antique teacups. “I feel so much closer to you than I do to the others, as though you and I were just alike and I might tell you anything. It’s my fond hope that you feel something of the same.”

  Kambil was instantly alert, knowing Rigos felt nothing of the sort. The agent hated all of them just about equally, with a bit extra thrown in for Kambil because of his added height.

  “Well, we do have quite a lot in common,” Kambil allowed slowly and thoughtfully, as though he had no idea what Rigos might be after. “Our fathers have almost the same position in society, but you’ve gone ahead and established your own position. I haven’t managed that as yet, so it wouldn’t be fair to say we’re just the same.”

  “I’m sure you’ll begin to establish your own mark as soon as this competition business is over with,” Rigos said, turning to smile at Kambil. He’d enjoyed having his superiority pointed out, just as Kambil had meant him to. “When that happens we’ll be even closer, and right now I’d like to confide in you. As a preview of situations which will certainly come to be, if you take my meaning.”

  The look in Rigos’s dark eyes had sharpened, and Kambil suddenly knew exactly what he meant. Rigos was promising him an influential—and well-paid—position, but in return for—what?

  “I’d like to feel that you can confide in me under any circumstances,” Kambil said, even more carefully than before. “How can I help you?”

  “Well, actually, it would not be me you were helping,” Rigos replied casually, scratching at one ear as he moved back toward Kambil. “A good friend of mine is also involved with doing things with the groups chosen for the competitions, and she’s worried about something. I told her I would think about the situation, and let her know if she was definitely worrying about nothing.”

  “Ah, there’s a lady involved!” Kambil exclaimed with a grin, pretending he believed it. “Now I understand your interest in the matter. Again, how can I help?”

  “You can help me to decide if she’s imagining things,” Rigos answered with a smile that would make a shark uneasy. “You see, she’s somehow gotten the idea that some of the groups have plans they’re not mentioning, like that they mean to actually try to win the competition. We both know they’d have no chance whatsoever doing it, but she’s still afraid they might try. Are her fears, in your opinion, completely groundless, or is she wise to suspect that something might be going on?”

  “I suppose it depends on who the members of the particular groups are, but in general I’d say the poor little thing has let her imagination run away with her.” Kambil made certain to show a good deal of amusement as he said that, as though he were sharing the joke with Rigos. “You really must remind her that none of us wanted to do this in the first place, so sudden conversions to ambition would be completely out of character. They would have to exert themselves and make an effort, after all, and judging by this group I can’t honestly picture anything like that. Can you?”

  “Not really,” Rigos grudged, forced into conceding the point. “When people can’t even manage to make a meeting on time—Well, there was always the possibility that someone would be that foolish.”

  “If they are, they have my sincere condolences,” Kambil said, then gestured to the service a maid had brought and left. “Let’s have some tea while we wait, and continue our discussion sitting down, like civilized people. I’d still like to know what you mean about my achieving a mark of my own after this competition nonsense is over.”

  Kambil let a flash of intense interest and casual greed show briefly in his expression, but not so briefly that Rigos didn’t notice it. An innocent man who was uninvolved in plots and plans would certainly pursue the subject, and that should put Rigos even more off-guard—which it did.

  “When I referred to your future achievements, I was proposing a trade of favors, so to speak,” Rigos explained as he reached out to pour himself a cup of tea, no longer paying more than token attention to Kambil’s reactions. “You attend quite a lot of receptions that the members of the other groups do, which means that if there’s something to be heard, you’re most likely to hear it.
If you’ll do me the favor of passing on anything you might hear, I’ll be pleased to return the favor by recommending you for any post which might catch your eye.”

  “Now that’s what I call an interesting trade of favors,” Kambil said with a distracted nod, as though he were thinking about the matter. “I’ll certainly be glad to pass on anything I might hear, and trust to your generosity when an interesting post turns up.”

  “If you happen to hear anything of real value, my generosity will be just about guaranteed,” Rigos began, then abruptly fell silent when a servant appeared.

  “Lord Kambil, Lord Delin’s carriage is just pulling up,” he said. “He should be shown in in another moment or two.”

  “Thank you,” Kambil said, then turned to Rigos with a grin. “Well, that’s one silver din I’ve won from my grandmother. I bet that Delin would be the first to arrive, but she put her silver on Homin. She thought he would be too afraid to show up late again, but I know him better than that. He’s also too scatterbrained to plan far enough in advance.”

  “Unfortunately true,” Rigos granted with a nod and another cruel smile, apparently believing the story Kambil had come up with on the spur of the moment. He didn’t want Rigos to know that he had the servants watching for people’s arrival, or Rigos might begin to wonder what he could be up to. He’d have to tell the servants to be more discreet in the future… “And we may have to do something about Lord Homin,” Rigos added. “We do need this group to make some sort of showing, but right now—”

  His words broke off as Lord Delin Moord was announced, and they both turned to look at the man. Handsome and charming was too pale a phrase for Delin, communicating nothing of the personal power he radiated when he entered a room. The man was better than six feet tall, almost as large as Kambil, in fact, but somewhat more sleekly built. Women tended to lust after him at first sight, drooling over his long black hair and light blue eyes and muscular body, and Delin was usually only too willing to accommodate them.