Lakhoni (30 page)

“You
will collect your pay in food.” The stout man spat noisily into the dust at
Lakhoni’s food. “And a place to sleep.”

Lakhoni
nodded, having trouble tearing his eyes from the growth sprouting from the
right corner of Master Kalu’s mouth. Was it a mole? It looked like a grayish
brown beetle had burrowed into the man’s lip and died there.

“Fathers
know that these idiots need as much help as they can get.” At this, Master Kalu
spat again, a slimy, brown glob kicking up a small cloud of dust. The man
appeared to be chewing something, but he’d been chewing on it the entire time
Falon talked about how they had met Lakhoni.

“Right,”
Master Kalu grunted. “Cho, get him settled then get to work.” Master Kalu
snorted long and loud, cleared his throat with a deep grunt and spat again.
This was the biggest yet. Then he turned and entered one of the nearby
buildings.

Falon
and Balon immediately set to calling the dogs, prodding them toward a fenced-in
area that was attached to the building Master Kalu had just entered. Cho
sniffed loudly and indicated with his head that Lakhoni should follow him into
the building, the heavy wood door swinging shut behind him. “This’s the
servants’ quarters. There’s more in the temple itself, but we ‘special’
servants get to sleep out here, near the animals.”

Lakhoni
followed Cho through a rectangular room. A sturdy wood table filled much of the
room. Just to the left of the door stood a heavy-looking stone basin with a small
puddle of brown water and bits of food stuck to its sides.

On
the far end of the room, which had to be a kitchen, a banked fire gave off
residual heat. Around twenty wooden shelves lined most of the long walls, with
stone and wood boxes taking up much of the floor space against the walls.

Before
Lakhoni could see any more, Cho led him through another door and turned right.
A few steps later, they crossed into a tiny room filled with leather bags and
boxes of all shapes and sizes, lit only by the light coming from a window.
Hundreds of wood hooks jutted from stone walls.

“Find
a hook,” Cho grunted.

Lakhoni
looked around for a moment in confusion. Then understanding dawned. He stepped
between some boxes and reached up to hang his spare tunic from an empty wood
hook.

“Time
to work,” Cho said. He turned and Lakhoni followed him back outside. As they
approached the enclosed space, Falon and Balon closed a gate that hung from a
thick post.

He
found himself biting his tongue throughout the remainder of the day. Whether he
was helping collect and dispose of dog dung, feeding the dogs, cleaning out the
dog pen, or even cleaning the dogs’ teeth, Lakhoni learned that the other boys
spent little time actually working and most of their time making it look like they
were working. Apparently the technique was to never meet the gaze of anyone who
might be in authority, and always be looking down at what you were supposed to
be doing. Balon and Falon kept up a steady stream of laughing conversation,
with Cho intermittently breaking in with his own thoughts or loudly commanding
them to keep working.

The
long day and dreary work were interrupted first by a stout man with a soft
leather pouch hanging from his thick belt. He never introduced himself by name,
simply grunted at Lakhoni and pointed to the inside of his left wrist.

Lakhoni
understood after a moment of impatience on the other man’s part. He turned his
wrist and the stout man pulled out a bone needle and some ink. Getting the
servant tattoo hurt, but it was nothing like having his head stitched up by
Corzon. The man didn’t even say one word throughout the entire process. Inside,
Lakhoni gloried in his success. He was close now.

Soon
after the tattoo man departed, leaving a soft cloth wrapped around Lakhoni’s wrist,
it was time for a lunch of hard cheese, dark flat bread, and gristly meat. He
wanted to ask why servants in the house of the king would eat so poorly, but
again kept his silence.
Just blend in. Learn how things work, find Alronna,
and then get close to the king
.

As
he returned to work, a young woman with bright red hair rode a large, dark
horse past the dog corral. Servants and soldiers gave way to her, making a wide
lane for her horse. She had to be someone important. Several hours after lunch,
it came time to take the dogs outside the city for exercise. This was the more
interesting part. He instructed Balon and Falon in how to make a dog accept you
as its master without anger, while Cho acted busy with some long leather straps
hanging from the outside wall of the servants’ quarters. By the tilt of the
tall boy’s head, Lakhoni could tell Cho was listening.

Then
they were off, trying hard to keep the dogs in some kind of order. There was
some improvement, but even that first dog, whose name he had learned was Kree,
at times disregarded Lakhoni’s commands to stay close. Lakhoni found himself at
the back of the group, trailing the dogs, with Falon a few paces to his right
and helping him urge any stragglers along. Wondering briefly where dogs got all
their energy, Lakhoni decided that when they got to the fields he would work
with two or three different dogs. He would learn their names and make sure they
got to know him and acknowledge him as their master.

Hours
later, the three dogs he had chosen, Kree, Feb, and Gar, had made progress in
that they would bring his stick back and hold somewhat still, but when they got
around the other dogs it was as if all they had learned flew out of their dog
minds. Lakhoni had noted early on that all of the dogs were males and guessed
that they ranged in age from just a few months to nearly two years. The older
dogs were somewhat less inclined to listen to him, but the younger ones
constantly bounced with barely contained energy.

On
the way back, Lakhoni decided to stay ahead of the pack and try to convince the
dogs to follow his lead. By the time they were entering the gates of the city,
the dogs dashing and dodging wherever they chose, he gave this up.

“They’re
doing better.”

Lakhoni
glanced toward the voice. Balon, his wide face dripping with sweat, grinned at
him. “You’ve got some kind of magic,” Balon said.

“No,”
Lakhoni said. “No magic.” He gestured at the chaotic animals. “Obviously.”

“But
they’re not miles ahead of us, or causing problems everywhere,” Balon said.
“Usually by now we’ve got shop owners and citizens shouting at us to keep them
under control.”

Lakhoni
snorted a laugh.

“Really.
When you’ve got the king’s dogs tearing a pig haunch down and running off with
it, you can’t get mad at the dog. So you get mad at the dog-boys.”

“Dog-boys?”
Lakhoni had an image of a creature that was half canine and half human flash
through his head.

“That’s
us,” Balon said, almost proudly. “It could be worse.”

Glancing
to his left at the flovils, the city blocks in the poor district, Lakhoni had
to agree. A peculiar stench permeated even the stones of this area, reminding
him of human waste, drying animal skins, and burning hair—the stink had no
single source. It just hung over the entire district. The poverty-stricken residents
of the district carried loads of bricks, or hauled baskets of some kind of
bread or other food to sell near the plaza, or just wandered aimlessly.

Balon,
noticing where Lakhoni had been looking, pointed with his chin. “Any of the
boys in there our age would kill to have our job.”

“Regular
food?” Lakhoni asked.

Balon
nodded, kicking at a dog. That one was Chel—Lakhoni could tell by the black
patches that circled three of its feet. Chel had apparently found a smell that
intrigued him. With a sound that was half indignant huff and half bark, Chel
raced to catch up with the pack.

“And
you never know,” Balon said, “if you’re big enough, you could be a guard when
you’ve got your adult height.”

“True,”
Falon said. “Shelu started in a kitchen or something.”

“Shelu?”
Lakhoni had stopped listening closely, deciding to instead figure out a way to
train the dogs faster, but the sound of the unusual name got his attention.
“Who’s that?”

“Head
of the king’s raiding parties,” Balon said quietly, glancing around and sending
a small stone skittering between the feet of a man carrying a massive pile of
cloth on his back.

Cold
tingles washed from Lakhoni’s scalp to his neck, like tiny insects made of ice
falling from a nest above his head. He fought back an insane urge to tackle
Balon and sit atop him until all Balon knew spilled from his lips.

“What
raiding parties?” he asked, unable to hide an eager tremor in his voice.

Balon
stepped closer, shushing Lakhoni with a gesture. “Not so loud.”

“What?”

Speaking
into his chin, Balon looked around furtively. “Everyone knows it’s going on,
but nobody really knows why.”

“What?
What’s going on?”

“Shelu
and his warriors.” Balon kicked at another dog who had found an interesting
scent.

They
were nearly back at the temple compound. Lakhoni wanted to shake Balon to make
him talk faster.

“They
go out, on the king’s orders I guess, and raid our own villages and Usurpers’
villages too. Rumor is that they’re looking for something.” Balon stood up
taller, clearing his throat. The compound had just come into view two blocks
ahead.

“What
are they looking for?”

Balon
shook his head. “Later. But sometimes they bring people back, make them
slaves.” With that, Balon jogged ahead, slapping Chel on the rump to hurry him
along.

Lakhoni
had to remind his feet to keep moving. Then he was running to catch up with
Balon. “Where? Where do they keep them? The people they bring back.”

Balon
grimaced at Lakhoni, confusion filling his face. “Lakhoni, relax. Fathers,
you’d think . . .” The stout boy’s face went slack, his eyes
wide. He cast another furtive glance around. “Who are you?” he whispered, his
voice harsh.

“I
told you.” Lakhoni racked his brain, trying to force a quick lie. “But I’ve
heard about people, like young girls, being taken from villages near mine. I
think I knew one of them.”

Suspicion
still evident on his face, Balon shrugged, opening his mouth to say something,
but at that moment, a loud, deep tone burst from the temple compound.
Instantly, Balon, Falon, and Cho burst into motion, grabbing dogs and herding
them toward the wall of a nearby building. Confused, Lakhoni followed suit. He
wondered at the desperation that had suddenly and completely infused the other
boys. In less than a minute Lakhoni found himself on one knee, each arm holding
a dog tightly around its neck. Cho was sitting on the biggest dog, a huge beast
named Amro, and clinging to another to force it to stay put. Balon and Falon
each sat on a dog and held two others.

Lakhoni
looked toward the compound as another tone, this one louder, filled the air.
“What is that?” he asked, tossing the question behind him at the other boys.

“King’s
gong,” Falon grunted through his teeth. “King’s coming out. Have to clear
streets.”

The
king!
Lakhoni’s heart hammered in his chest. “Gong?”

“Big
round, metal thing,” Balon said, his voice tight with strain. “You really don’t
know anything.” He snorted a laugh.

“He’s
coming!” Cho hissed.

From
his vantage point about two hundred feet away from the compound gate, Lakhoni
watched as ten soldiers marched into sight. They took up positions on either
side of the gate, five soldiers to a side, as if forming a corridor. The gong
sounded again, the deep, melodic tone filled the air with a tense vibration.

Mounted
soldiers, these with more intricate sashes across their torso, followed, urging
their horses through the human corridor. In the middle of the group rode the
man who had to be the king. His hair glistened long and full, his robes
glinting with something that caught the light. From this far away, Lakhoni
thought they had to be some kind of precious stones.

The
mounted procession wheeled their horses to the right, in the direction of the
south gates. The soldiers on foot took up a fast jog, keeping pace with the
trotting horses.

They
were going to pass right in front of Lakhoni and the others.

“Keep
them quiet,” Cho said, his voice tense. “Don’t move.”

A
rhythmic beat from the horses’ hooves hit Lakhoni’s ears, a trembling in the
earth detectable at the same time. Lakhoni couldn’t tear his eyes away from the
face of the author of his village’s destruction. That face shone wetly, as if
the king had splashed water on himself. It extended down his neck and to what
chest was exposed through the intricate, colorful robes the man wore. Why was
the king oily-looking? Was there some deliberate reason for making himself
appear shiny?

“Head
down, country boy!” Balon said, his voice barely detectable over the drumming
of the horses’ hooves and running men.

Lakhoni
lowered his eyes and head, his gaze traveling down the king. Fancy rings
adorned his fingers. A sword—it had to be at least half as long as Lakhoni’s
height—slapped steadily against the king’s right leg.