Lakhoni (24 page)

Regg
said nothing, but tossed his head to the left as they crested a foothill.

Frowning,
Lakhoni followed the motion. And for the second time that day, shock froze him
where he stood.

The
road ran just east of the mountains as it wound south toward Zyronilxa. East of
the road rolled low, sandy hills. And east of those hills—

An
expanse as vast as the sky stretched past the world and into the unknown. It
was as blue as the sky as well, the color before the terrible spring storms.
Somehow every part of it was moving. Lakhoni had no idea what he was seeing.

Once
again, Yed came up behind him and prodded him. “Pup. This is getting old.”

Lakhoni
quickly caught up with Regg. “What is it?”

“What’s
what?”

Lakhoni
pointed, his eyes wide.

“You
ain’t never seen it before?”

“No.”

“It’s
the sea.”

First
Fathers!
Lakhoni
couldn’t tear his eyes away.
The sea. The many waters that the First Fathers
had crossed to come to this land
.

“And
Zyronilxa’s less than a day away,” Regg added.

From
my village to the end of our lands. And I’m not done yet.

Heat
reflected off the tightly packed dirt and gravel of the road, baking Lakhoni’s
feet and legs. It didn’t approach the sweltering, blanket-like heat of the
brick yards, but it was enough to make Lakhoni long for a cool forest brook.

Weaving
like a gigantic summer serpent through the foothills, the road took the caravan
away from the mud bog and ever closer to the city of the king. As they crested
each hill, Lakhoni squinted, peering into the rolling distance. Hours passed
and the city never appeared.

“Regg,”
Lakhoni said, walking to the deeply tanned man’s left. “You’ve been to the city
before?”

“Yep.”

Considering
each word so that he didn’t give away his intentions, Lakhoni asked, “What’s it
like?”

A
moment passed. Lakhoni was used to the strange rhythm of conversations with
Regg now, so he bore the silence as stoically as he could.

“Big,”
Regg said. He snorted and spat into the dust of the road, brushing his prod
gently against Dara’s left shoulder. “Really big. Smells too.”

“It
smells? What do you mean?”

“Lots
o’people in one place make fer a big, bad stink.”

“What
kind?”

“What
kind of what?”

“What
kind of stink?” Lakhoni asked.

“Think
about’t.”

Lakhoni
thought about it. Lots of people. Probably lots of houses. But all in one
place. There had to be animals there, and crops. “So it smells bad? Like people
and animal dung?”

“That
‘n more. They’s got too many people, and too many people ain’t got nothin’.
People with nothin’ don’t much care about t’smell.”

“People
with nothing?”

Regg
gave Lakhoni a long, strange look. “Where’re you from again?”

Bewildered,
Lakhoni gestured behind them. “West. Far to the west.”

“You
never seen poor people?”

Oh.
Lakhoni
mentally rolled his eyes. “Sure I have. But why would somebody live in a city
if they have nothing? There’s plenty out here.” He waved a hand at the hills
and, a few miles to the west, the living ocean.

“Good
question,” Regg said. He chewed on the idea for a moment. “City’s like a baby
ox. It comes out, stands up, and looks like it’s got a future. That ox c’n make
a man rich nearly over night, if he works it right. But if that ox goes lame,
it’s all over. And you can’t always control the laming of that ox.”

It
took Lakhoni a few minutes of pondering to figure out what Regg meant.
“So . . . people go to the city because they think there’s a
promise of money or a good life?”

“Yep.”

“But
it doesn’t always work out?”

“Yep.”

“Then
why don’t they just leave? Go back or find a new place to live?”

“Dunno,
really,” Regg said. “You figger it out, let me in on it.”

Lakhoni
tried to understand what would make a person, or a family, stay in a smelly
place if they had a terrible life or no home. The way Regg talked about
Zyronilxa gave the impression he was talking about a different people than the
ones Lakhoni had grown up with. Everyone in the village had an important job,
an important role, in the life of everyone else.

Nobody
was poor there.

“It’s
prob’ly about comfort.” Regg snorted and spat again. Lakhoni followed suit. The
dust was growing worse. “Or fear. Or both.”

“What
else?” Lakhoni asked. “How do people live?”

“In
houses. Sometimes two or three families to a house.”

“The
king lives there, right?” Lakhoni worried he was being bold, but he reminded
himself that there was no way anybody could suspect what he was about.

“Yep.
Old Zyron’s in his big temple.”

“King
Zyron lives in a temple?”

“Sure.
Big place. Three, mebbe four levels, mebbe more. Like a pyramid with t’top cut
off.”

Four
levels? That had to be immense! “But is it really a temple?”

“The
priests live there with him. They do rituals there. He preaches from a big
stand at the top.” Regg squinted at Lakhoni. “They call him ‘Holiness.’ Sounds
like a temple to me.”

“Does
he ever come out?”

Regg
gave Lakhoni another look, making a face. “Out of his house?”

Lakhoni
thought fast. “Yeah, I mean, to hunt or something.” He adopted a reverent
voice. “It would be great to see the king.”

“Sor’d’fars,
course he does.”

When?
Lakhoni
thought. “Maybe I’ll see him some time.”

“Maybe.”

Lakhoni
suppressed the urge to ask more about the king. He had to think of something
else to talk about.

“Regg,
what does ‘sordyfars’ mean?

Regg
grunted and broke into a small laugh. “Can’t yer unnerstan’ yer own lingo?”

Lakhoni
tried to think of a way to answer diplomatically. “I guess not.”

“Sor’d’fars.
You know. Firs’ Fathers had dem a sor, special ‘un.” Regg spat. “Came from a
wicked man name’a Nubal.”

“The
Sword of Nubal?” Lakhoni remembered the tales told around his village fire.
Understanding dawned. Regg was just cursing when he said those things. Sword of
the Fathers.

Lakhoni
laughed. “Sorry. I should have known.”

“Not
t’worry.”

Lakhoni
thought for a moment. “And if I want to find work there, or a place to live,
what should I do?”

“Yer
fixing to stay there?”

“I
have nothing else,” Lakhoni said, sticking to his story.

“Don’t
rightly know,” Regg said. “Never tried it.”

Lakhoni
noticed the sun had dropped significantly. “Any advice?” They would have to
stop and set up camp soon. It would have to be near grass, for the oxen. He
began to look around to see if he could predict where the next campsite would
be.

Regg
took a while to answer. “Well, if yer determined to stay, best bet is to learn
a trade.”

“A
trade?” Lakhoni kicked a loose stone. “You mean like building houses, or
cooking, or something like that?”

“Yep.
Only, cooking’s done jes’ by the women in the city. Men do the other stuff.
Make weapons and such, tables, clothes.”

That
shouldn’t be too hard. He just had to find someone who was looking for help.
And Lakhoni didn’t see why he would need to work for money—just food and
somewhere to sleep while he made his plans. There had to be somebody in
Zyronilxa who could use him.

“Or
you could be a servant t’the rich,” Regg said, a smile creasing his face.

“I
already do that,” Lakhoni said. A thought came to him. “Does Paztar live in the
city? Do you think he would take me on permanently?”

“Nope.
He’s got hisself a big home somewhere southwest of th’city. Plenty of servants
there,” Regg said.

Shoving
disappointment aside, Lakhoni shrugged. “I’ll find something.”

Regg
gave no response.

Lakhoni
continued peering into the distance at the crest of each hill, but by the time
dusk had painted the world around him with silver and shadows, there had still
been no sign of the city.

The
wagons were angling off the road before he spotted the campsite. Lakhoni
unloaded the food supplies while the other men went about their work and the
merchants lounged, waiting for their tents to be set up.

“Soup
again?” Razo sneered and bumped none too gently into Lakhoni as he passed the
fire pit.

Lakhoni
grunted, deliberately ignoring the guard.

“Better
than cured salt meat,” Yed said from the north side of the cleared ground. Yed
bent to hammer a stake for Zello’s tent into the ground.

Conversation
during the meal of soup and tough bread was louder and more energetic this
night. As Lakhoni ate, he listened in, hearing what sounded like plans for
their time in the city. It appeared that Febol and Lem had families in
Zyronilxa, for they spoke of home-cooked meals and children. Three of the
ox-tenders also spoke of families and how they would spend the next evening.

Tomorrow.
Lakhoni gazed
up at the darkening sky and noticed the stars glimmering into view at the
eastern edge of the deep blue blanket. One more evening spent on the road. Regg
had said they would arrive in the morning, but they couldn’t possibly be all
that close to the city, since Lakhoni still had seen no sign of it.
Not that
I really know what the signs would look like.

“Piece
o’ gristle?”

Lakhoni
turned and noticed Regg seated on a box that he must have dragged over. “What?”

“You
look like yer chewin’ on a tough piece o’ meat,” Regg said.

“Oh.”
Lakhoni swallowed. “No, just thinking.” He wondered what had prompted the usually
taciturn Regg to initiate a conversation.

“So,
yer thinkin’ to stay in the city?” Regg asked.

Lakhoni
searched the man’s face, feeling as if Regg was holding something back. “Yes.
Nowhere else to go.”

“Well,
ya’ done good on this soup,” Regg drawled. “You could probably work as a
caravan cook, if ya wanted.”

Lakhoni
grunted softly, not sure how to respond to the compliment.

Regg
worked a bite of hard bread around in his mouth. The man was clearly nervous about
something. After near a minute of awkward silence, the man spat a small chunk
of bread into the darkness. “Listen,” he said, his voice a low mutter. “What
I’m gettin’ at is that yer a good worker, a good cook. I run ox direct, never
stop. Live on t’road. You could do the same.”

After
a moment spent figuring out what Regg was saying, Lakhoni leaned back in
surprise. “You mean work with you. Not stay in the city but stay on the road.
Like a team.”

Spots
of darker color appeared on the man’s cheeks. “Got it in one.”

Lakhoni
pondered the offer for a few moments, unsure of what he could say that wouldn’t
offend Regg and also not reveal too much. Why would Regg make such an offer? In
the two days that Lakhoni had been with the caravan, Regg hadn’t talked to any
of the other men. He hadn’t even talked to Jeno, his partner with Paztar’s
oxen.
Am I the only person he’s talked to for his entire trip?

Finally
it dawned on him.
Regg’s got no friends.
Lakhoni had to duck his head
and focus on his breathing for a moment as a wave of emotion rolled over him.
Regg had an idea of what Lakhoni was going through, how he was alone in the
world, and Regg was trying to reach out and be a friend.

I
have to say no. I have to leave another friend behind.
How much was this journey
going to take from him?

Regg
had to have been working himself up to inviting Lakhoni to work with him, it
had obviously taken an effort. Lakhoni couldn’t bring himself to deny the man.

“That’s
a really nice idea.” Lakhoni cleared his throat. “I’ll need to think about it.”

“Fine,”
Regg grunted.

Of
course the answer would be no, but that didn’t mean Lakhoni had to say so right
away. The silence expanded, filling the space between Lakhoni and Regg.

Regg
stood, cleaning his wooden spoon on his trousers. “Good soup,” he said,
stepping into the darkness beyond the light of the campfire to make his way to
the stream.

***

Stars
glimmered like dewdrops on a field of black. Lakhoni lay on his back, eyes
searching the sky for guidance. The king. How would he get to the ruler of the
people of Zyron? He ought to have a plan in place, some kind of approach that
he should take when he arrived in Zyronilxa. How could he find Alronna in a
city that he had never visited and in which he knew nobody? Tension filled him;
he needed to move, despite the hard work and long walking of the day.

He
resisted the urge, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He glanced to his
left, around the campsite, seeing that Febol was on first watch. The large,
scarred guard sat on the bench of fat Zello’s wagon. Lakhoni watched as the
complete silence of the night stole over the campsite and settled into Febol’s
bones. The guard hunched slowly until he held his chin in his hands, his knees
supporting his elbows. Soon, the man was completely still. Lakhoni wondered if
he was sleeping.

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.