Lakhoni

by Jared Garrett

  One way to find out. Lakhoni slowly, with smooth movements, rolled to his right, leaving his sleeping pad and blanket behind. Luckily, he had arranged his bed near the edge of the campsite, so it took only two more silent rolls and some low crawling to become swallowed up in the darkness. He stayed low, using his hands and toes to move and keeping the muscles in his stomach tight so that he stayed slightly above the ground.

  Those muscles were trembling by the time he was comfortably away from the campsite and the flickering light of the small fire that remained. He glanced back and saw that Febol hadn’t budged. Lakhoni remembered what Gimno had taught him: sitting near a fire while on guard duty did no good whatsoever. The light from the fire made it impossible to see into the surrounding darkness. Lakhoni knew that he was essentially invisible now, nearly fifty feet from the campsite.

  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.

  Chapter 36

  Civilization

  “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 l
oad 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 so
metimes?”

  “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.”

  Lakhoni couldn’t argue with that.

  Just before the caravan departed from the plaza, dogs began to bark behind Lakhoni. Surprised, he spun and saw a group of huge dogs bounding out of the gate to the compound. Several young men ran after them, trying to herd the animals south to where Lakhoni assumed there had to be another gateway out of the city. After long moments of chaos, the boys got the dogs running in a semblance of order.