Lakhoni (25 page)

He
searched the landscape for a somewhat hidden area. The tension he felt while
lying down had ebbed somewhat, but now was a good opportunity to practice the
training he had received from Gimno.

Several
trees grew in a cluster near the far bank of the stream. He could work behind
the trees; they would hide him and muffle sounds he might make—although total
silence was the goal.

Standing
behind the trees, Lakhoni followed the steps to center himself, feeling the
earth beneath him, his heart beat slowing until it was steady like the drums in
village celebrations. When he achieved communion with his body, as if he could
see each muscle from both the inside and outside and feel the strength in them,
he reached for the knife he always carried on his waist.

Knife
fighting, Gimno had taught, was more a battle of planning and strategy than of
strength. Each slash, lunge, and dodge should be part of a unified strategy of
outthinking your opponent so that you could weaken him with pain and blood
loss. The kill could wait.

Lakhoni
closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a minute, willing his senses to provide
him with a complete picture of the dark world around him. Gentle wind from the
northeast whispered through the young leaves on the trees, a counterpoint to
the chiming of the small stream. The fresh smell of water and moist dirt filled
his nostrils as the hair on his arms and neck stood slightly in the cool
breeze.

He
needed to test his muscles and skills. His training with Gimno felt like years
long past. He envisioned Razo in front of him, a steel dagger in his hand.
Razo’s size and strength would likely make him fight like an ox, willing to
take hits and overpower his opponent with sheer might.

Reminding
himself to continue breathing evenly, Lakhoni spun into movement. First, he
dropped under an imagined slash from Razo, and kicked out, aiming for a knee.
Moving smoothly, he leapt up and to the right, dodging a return swing aimed at
his neck, knowing that he could never pit his strength successfully against
that of Razo. Ducking slightly, Lakhoni darted forward, leading with his knife
and seeing himself score a hit on Razo’s ribs.

He
was out of breath; his heartbeat already too fast.

Shaking
his head, Lakhoni stopped and centered again, forcing his lungs and heart back
under his control. He recovered and, imagining Razo, began again. Knees bent,
leg muscles tight but always moving, on the balls of his feet which were always
spread just over shoulder length apart. He fought with his eyes open,
superimposing the imagined guard onto the night-blanketed landscape.

Sweat
dripped down his body as he finished his imagined battle. He leaned back,
allowing a slash to go wide, but then spun on the balls of his feet, inside the
swinging arm, leaping powerfully, and slashing hard at what would be Razo’s
neck.

He
landed fluidly, one hand going down to help him stay on his feet and in
control.

It
would have been a killing blow. And even if it didn’t kill the man, it would
have slowed him enough that Lakhoni would have another chance to finish the
job.

“Never
stab with a knife. Always slash,” Gimno’s voice said in Lakhoni’s head. “Bone
will catch your blade and stop it. Your movement and speed will keep you
alive.”

Lakhoni
sheathed his knife and stood still, savoring the heat he had built in his body.
Sweat rolled down his neck and down his back. He closed his eyes, and instead
of questing out with his senses, turned all of his attention inward.

Mind
clear, worries evaporated by the exertion, he pictured the coming days.

He
would need to find a place to live, or at least sleep. And he’d have to observe
those around him so that he could quickly adopt their mannerisms and habits,
blending in. He’d study the king’s temple and find a way into the place, or at
least find a way to get work in the king’s household.

Then
he’d patiently bide his time and get closer to the king, learning the man’s
daily habits and where he would be most vulnerable.

In
the back of his mind, as Lakhoni made his plans, he realized that his approach
mirrored the strategies that Gimno had taught him about making an attack. While
moving closer to the king, he would find where Alronna was. If she was in the
temple, that would double the need to get work in the king’s household. His
mind and plans settled, Lakhoni made his careful way back to the campsite, his
bedroll, and slumber.

“Lad,”
Regg called back to Lakhoni.

Lakhoni
lengthened his stride just as the caravan began climbing yet another hill.
Reaching Regg, he matched the ox-tender’s pace.

“Top
o’this hill. Keep yer eyes peeled.”

“What?”

“Just
watch at th’top of this hill.” Regg nodded at the hill they were climbing.

Lakhoni
nodded.

As
Paztar’s wagon crested the hill, Lakhoni strained to see into the distance. He
waved to disperse the dust clouds surrounding him. That didn’t work, so he
hurried forward then stepped to the other side of the road and blinked to clear
his eyes.

Dark
shapes rose far off, beyond the shimmering heat that ghosted off the road. The
shapes were far too regular to be natural, but they were so tall! Zyronilxa. It
had to be.

Lakhoni
glanced at Regg. When he caught the man’s eye, Regg nodded. “Two hours.”

Finally.
A surge of pride and excitement filled Lakhoni. Despite never having been
further than four days from his village, he had made his way to the city of the
king.

Two
hours later, Lakhoni felt like he was walking in a trance down the gradual
slope, his legs moving out of simple habit. All of his attention and every
sense drank in the stupefying sight that was the city of Zyron. His eyes were
not big enough to grasp the scope of the city that filled the wide valley
leading to the sea.

A
wall at least twice as tall as him curved to each side of a gate that gaped
about twenty paces wide. The wall looked like it went hundreds of feet on the
east side, until it made a sudden turn toward the ocean. The west wall curved
around until it met the base of a massive, ancient-looking mountain that loomed
over the city like a godly sentinel. The hazy, regular shapes he had made out
from the top of the hill two hours ago were towers, standing at least fifty
feet high. Higher even!

“Keep
up, lad,” Regg called.

Lakhoni
walked faster, eager to get inside the walls. The front of the caravan had just
reached the guards that bristled with spears and vicious-looking spiked
weapons. At least ten guards stood between the caravan and the inside of the
city.
There is no way they will know.

In
addition to what looked like stiff leather armor, all of the guards wore a
leather sash over one shoulder. No two sashes on the guards looked the same;
some had ochre-colored stripes lining them while others had red ones. One
particular guard had a series of three blue stones set in the top of his strap.
This guard motioned for two other guards to step in front of Zello’s wagon.

The
two guards raised their hands, waited for the oxen to stop moving, and began
speaking to Zello. Lakhoni, not wanting to draw attention, kept his place next
to Regg. Zello and both the guards had bored faces during their exchange; this
had to be a routine conversation. Now Zello gestured back toward his wagon bed.
Lem strode to the back of the wagon and uncovered the load of bricks, holding
the cover up while the city guards glanced over the brown stacks.

The
city guards returned to the guard with the blue stones, who nodded.

That
must be the chief of the guards. Maybe that’s what the blue stones mean.

Cor
and Shiz, Zello’s ox-tenders, prodded the huge beasts back into motion and the
caravan started up again with a rumble.

Lakhoni’s
heart beat faster; this was it. As they passed through the gate, which could
easily have fit all three wagons driving abreast, Lakhoni took a moment to
study the huge rocks that comprised the wall. Each stone looked like it was ten
hands on each dimension. And the wall stood four stones tall!

Nothing
could break through such a wall. More than that, though, the huge blocks of
grayish-brown stone were fitted so smoothly on top of each other that there was
almost no seam. A monkey would have trouble climbing the walls of Zyronilxa!

The
moment Lakhoni passed through the huge gate, smells, sounds, and movements
exploded in front of him. Incredibly long, low buildings stood directly in
front of the gate, with a thirty-pace wide road running between them. More
guards, or maybe they were soldiers, walked in and out of several doors that
lined the walls of these buildings. Each building could have held four or five
of Lakhoni’s village. Deeper into the city, and between the soldiers’ buildings
and the city walls, stretched tightly packed buildings, some of them as many as
ten paces high.

Lakhoni
walked between the soldiers’ buildings behind the wagon caravan, trying to take
it all in. There were the towers he had seen from so far away. Stopping for a
moment to try to keep his bearings, Lakhoni saw that this end of the city had
two towers, one on the northwest wall and one on the northeast wall.

And
those were soldiers lining the top of the walls. How did they get up there?

He
cast about and finally realized that the smaller blocks that had looked to be
set haphazardly against the inside of the walls were actually deliberately
carved blocks of stone: they were stairs. The city of Zyron had clearly been
built to withstand an assault from any army.

And
the people! Men pull small wagons whose sides opened yelled to the crowds of
people, clearly selling wares of some kind. Children dashed everywhere, most of
them wearing only loincloths.

And
the odor. It wasn’t as awful as he had imagined, but was this really the smell
of civilization?

Dumbfounded,
Lakhoni caught back up with Regg. “This is amazing. I never
imagined . . .”

“She’s
a big city,” Regg agreed.

“Big?
It’s huge! Those soldier buildings could hold at least five of my entire
village,” Lakhoni said. As they walked, he noticed that the endless rows of
tightly packed buildings were residences. And there were tight alleys that
appeared to weave between many of the buildings.

“Barracks.”

Puzzled,
Lakhoni turned to Regg. “What?”

“They’re
called barracks, where t’soldiers bunk,” Regg said.

“Oh.”

“And
these are called
blagros
.”

“Blagros?
That’s the old language, isn’t it?”

“Somethin’
like that,” Regg said.

“How
old is this city?”

“Older’n
me.”

Lakhoni
laughed. “Fine. What’s a blagro?”

Regg
gestured left and right at the stone buildings. “These big sections of houses
and such. There’re nearly thirty of ‘em in the city. Hundreds of houses and the
like squashed into big circles.”

Lakhoni
fell silent as he tried to comprehend what Regg was describing. It became much
clearer when the caravan crossed through a complex intersection. Craning to see
in all directions, Lakhoni counted four wide roads coming from different angles
to intersect in a space that could have held maybe half of the cavern of the
Separated. The roads all curved slowly around the huge sections of homes—no,
they were blagros—which filled the city.

“Did
you say hundreds of houses in each blagro?” Lakhoni asked Regg, scooting closer
to Dara’s huge, whuffling form in order to avoid an oncoming cluster of men
running while pulling wagons behind them.

“At
least,” Regg said.

“How
many people live in a house?” Lakhoni studied one of the tall structures. The
base of each house was wider than the next level, and the top level was the
smallest. But even so, each level had to be around fifteen or more paces long
on each side. The houses looked like nothing more than three boxes stacked on
top of each other. And they were built of the bricks from the brick fields.

Odd-looking
doors and ledges appeared in strange places. The doors were low; a person would
have to hunch to get through them. In some cases ladders stood on the ledges,
and in other cases there were rocks, bricks, and even thick, wooden poles
sticking out of the walls. As Lakhoni watched, a young man slid smoothly out of
one small doorway and then darted up a series of bricks. The boy dashed across
a tiny ledge, then disappeared through another doorway on the third level of the
house. Another smaller boy immediately followed.

“Depends,”
Regg said. “Mostly one family on each level.”

“So . . .
three families per house?”

“Sometimes.
But usually it’s brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, grandmothers all living
in one building, or a bunch of close buildings.”

“So
you might have a big house with one complete family in it?”

“Yep.”

Lakhoni
tried to calculate the numbers. If a family had mother and father and a few
kids, that probably meant each level had at least five people. Fifteen or more
people per house. Hundreds of houses in each blagro.

“That’s
impossible,” Lakhoni said. But even as he said it, the caravan trundled over a
strong wood bridge that spanned a narrow canal which ran down the side of
another huge intersection. Everywhere Lakhoni looked rose more homes.

“What’s
impossible?” Regg asked, clucking to Dara as she bent to sniff the water
running through the canal.

“You’re
saying that there are . . . something like a hundred thousand
people in this city,” Lakhoni said.

“More.”

The
homes on the blagro on his right were in better shape. The doorways were taller
and many of them had fancy-looking roof tiles on them. The houses on the left
looked like all of the others he had seen. Lakhoni turned to Regg, his mouth
opened to ask.

“You
see it,” Regg said.

“The
difference?”

“Yep.”
Regg gestured over Dara’s back. “This side’s the edge of the First Tier.
S’where the rich people live. Near the temple.”

“The
First Tier?”

“And
that’s the Second Tier.” Regg pointed to the left. “Biggest part. The Third
Tier’s near t’south gate. Also called the
flovils
. Poor people down
there. Smells bad too.”

“So
the rich and the poor people live in different parts of the city?”

Regg
raised his eyebrows, reacting to the surprise in Lakhoni’s voice. “Sure do. Why
wouldn’t they?”

Lakhoni
had no answer to that question.

Now
they were coming upon another large intersection. But instead of another huge
blagro on the far side of the streets, there stretched a massive, open space
with something large protruding from the ground in the middle of it. He had
been asking Regg too many questions, so he bit his tongue and tried to
understand what he was seeing. The open space came into view. Immense walls
enclosed a huge compound on the right of the space. The walls extended at least
a hundred paces on the side facing the open space, with a wide gate/doorway
breaking the smooth line. The north compound wall stretched another two hundred
paces or more until it ended at the city wall.

No,
that wasn’t the city wall; that was a mountain. The huge, wizened mountain
range loomed at least a thousand feet above the city. The early afternoon sun
could still be seen above the mountain, but would likely disappear in the next
hour or two.

The
compound had to be the king’s temple. And the open space?

“Is
this something like a public place? Do they have a market here sometimes?”

“No
market,” Regg said. “But a public place, yes. T’king talks to th’people here.
The tithes’re put here too.”

“Tithes?”

“Once
a month. Everybody in t’city’s got to bring a tenth of their best goods to the
plaza for the king and his priests.”

“Why?”
A tenth of their
best
goods? The king’s a thief!

“Because
the king says so.”

Now
the caravan trundled over a bridge that spanned a wide canal stretching the
length of the—what had Regg called it? The plaza. Hundreds of people made their
way in different directions. Children carried baskets of baked goods or
produce, while men and women yelled from behind rolling tables. Lakhoni watched
as a boy and girl chased a small, brown goat out from an alley between houses.
The goat bleated and disappeared down a different alley, the kids giving chase
and laughing wildly.

“But
does he give a reason?” Lakhoni asked.

“Sure.
Tithe humbles you before the Great Spirit an’ all that.” Regg winked at
Lakhoni.

“The
Great Spirit doesn’t need money or goods,” Lakhoni said. Regg’s silence made
Lakhoni curious. He caught the man’s gaze. “Do you think the Great Spirit needs
those things?”

“What
Great Spirit?”

Shocked,
Lakhoni looked away. Assuming he was joking,
Lakhoni decided to play
along. “You know, the one that led our First Fathers’ fathers from captivity?
And led our people across the waters?”

“Good
scouts, luck, and a big boat,” Regg said. There was no smile or softening in
the man’s tone.

“Wait.
You actually don’t believe?”

“Why
should I? I don’t need the Great Spirit and it don’t need me.”