“But he is trusted by your foolish people. When Shelu returns to the city with me, your trusted aide, bringing your disaffected people back to the fold, your sheep will believe anything he says.” The Bonaha stepped close to the king, staring into his face. “Remember, Zyron, the victors write the history.”
The king sputtered. Even from a distance of eight or so paces, Lakhoni saw the desperation in the king’s eyes. “But I don’t have the Guide! My traitorous brother stole both the Guide and the Sword when he ran off with that harlot!”
“I know. And Shelu, my good friend, found and punished them. And I know he brought the Guide to you. On my orders.”
What the king had just said registered with the impact of a lightning strike. His brother?
All in a moment, Lakhoni understood the truth. The king’s voice and face—so familiar. Not a coincidence. A storm had exploded around him, violent winds buffeting him on all sides. For a long minute, maybe more, Lakhoni felt as if he were spinning in place. He heard more talking, then a voice raised, but couldn’t listen.
Why hadn’t his father ever told him? Did Alronna know the truth of their father? That the king was their uncle?
Lakhoni blinked, forcing his focus back to the scene in front of him. Not the king. It had never been the king. No, that wasn’t right. The king had been sending Shelu out, but the Bonaha had been Shelu’s true master.
It was the Bonaha that deserved Lakhoni’s justice. And the king deserved his—
“Death is easy, Zyron,” the Bonaha cried out. “We will find all of your servants and guards that were out here with you and the truth will be what we make it. Your story on the records of our people will end with a servant. The king who was murdered by his own servant.” He nodded at Gimno.
In a smooth, almost beautiful movement, Gimno drew his long obsidian dagger and cut the king down.
Lakhoni stared. The king! Falling to the ground. His uncle. He turned his gaze to the Bonaha. The Bonaha watched the king die, a small smile on his face.
“Such a fascinating thing, to watch life leave a body,” the Bonaha said. He nudged the king’s limp form with a toe. He turned, disappointment written clearly on his small, round face. “The army will surround the city soon. Let us enter before the people begin to panic. The others will find the stragglers.”
Chapter 45
Slaves
The party mounted horses that three halkeen brought out from the forest. With Gimno and Shelu leading and the Bonaha in the middle of the group, they galloped toward the city.
Lakhoni had to get to the city, get to Alronna, before the Bonaha and the others. Mentally kicking himself for not rescuing her earlier, he broke into a run. He had to stay out of sight and ahead of the approaching army of Living Dead. He wished he could stop and do something for the fallen king. Uncle Zyron. But there was no time.
As the south walls of the city came into view, Lakhoni had to squint to see what looked different. The wide doorway—it somehow appeared to be moving. No, it was narrowing. The massive gates were closing. Just as Lakhoni ran within shouting distance of the walls, a dog shot past him, tearing into the city. Chel.
Lakhoni ran hard toward the now thin opening.
A soldier moved to bar him, arms spread wide. “Stop.”
“Let me in! We’re under attack! An army!” Lakhoni gasped.
“Shelu told us the dog-servants killed the king,” the soldier said.
Confusion exploded in Lakhoni. What? Why would they—It didn’t matter. He had to get in. “Yes! And they’re leading the army here! It’s the Living Dead.” He injected as much fear into his voice as he could.
“The Living Dead?” The soldier stepped back, stunned. Lakhoni darted around him, slipping through the narrow opening into the city. “You have to close the gates!”
One of the soldiers on the wall yelled at the still paralyzed soldier on the ground. “Move it!”
As Lakhoni jogged toward the king’s compound, a deep rumble struck, as if thunder had rolled through the earth beneath his feet. He glanced over his shoulder. Both sides of the gate were closed now. Soldiers worked frantically, sliding thick wood beams into notched cavities on each side of the portal, effectively creating another wall on this side of the now closed gates.
At the same time as all of this was happening, soldiers ran everywhere, strapping on belts and swords. Shouts filled the air as the streets emptied of citizens.
In the tumult, Lakhoni made out the words “Invaders” and “Usurpers.”
He glanced backward. The soldiers on the top of the wall were lifting a thick, incredibly heavy-looking beam. It must have been carved out of a massive, single tree. Using ropes and brute strength, they got the beam standing on one end. With shouts and grunts, they inched the beam to the a spot right above the center of the gates and—
A heavy rasping sound that sent shivers across his skin accompanied the beam as it slid into place between the stone blocks that served as gates. Then another loud thud shook the ground. Lakhoni paused and stared. With the beam snugly in place in those grooves in the stone blocks, the gates were as locked closed as anything you could imagine. They should only be able to be opened by either a massive force—the power of the First Fathers . . . maybe—or if someone removed the locking beam. He broke into a run again. Nobody’s getting through that. Except the Bonaha doesn’t have to—he’s already made it through.
His stomach became tight knots when he came into view of Victor’s Plaza.
Hundreds of soldiers ran in small groups, some hauling loads of weapons and others dashing toward the nearest staircase up to the top of the walls. All of them bristled with spears and daggers. Some of them carried vicious stone axes with cruelly pointed and curving hooks on the back of the axe heads. Other weapons that Lakhoni had never seen adorned some of the bigger soldiers. These looked like they had been carved from tree trunks. One end tapered to a handle. The other end appeared to have been charred to the solidness of stone and bristled with obsidian spikes. The biggest soldier carried two of these weapons crossed on his back.
Swimming through the crowd, Lakhoni had the impression of moving through a forest of people—all in furious motion. A distinct odor of people, dirt, and something sharp that carried a feeling of fear struck him. He was bumped hard several times before he made it into the temple compound.
Soldiers strode about on every level of balcony of the temple, with one soldier standing at rapt attention on each corner. He noticed that they were all looking in the same direction: toward the south gate. Where he had just come from. Without meaning to, he spun and looked back down the road. There was no way for him to see the gate, or what lay beyond.
Lakhoni flew through the temple compound doorway, dodging the soldiers and servants, and headed to the dogs’ area. As he reached the back of the compound, soldiers emerged from the stables, leading huge, saddled horses. Horses. Titan. Was Ree back? Was she somewhere in the forest? Ree, my cousin. The world had changed completely. Fathers, keep her safe.
The dog building and corral were empty. No dogs had come home. What were Balon and Falon and Cho doing? Were they still hiding in the forest? Were they waiting for him to come back? He hoped he could find them after he rescued Alronna.
He slammed into the building, bowling over Master Kalu. The Master shouted protests, but Lakhoni could spare him no time. He made for the room at the back and grabbed his pouch, shoving his dagger into it and slinging it across his chest.
Back in the kitchen, he grabbed a handful of flat breads, shoving most of them into his pouch but using one of them to scoop stew out of the pot over the fire. He inhaled the food.
“Boy, what’s happening?” Master Kalu’s labored breathing grated on Lakhoni’s skin.
Speaking around the food, Lakhoni made up a quick story. “We’re under attack and one of the soldiers gave me a job. I have to clean out the stables or something.” He forced the hot food down his throat “He’s waiting for me.” Lakhoni scooped a
nother huge pile of thick stuff into his mouth, chewing fast.
He spotted a block of hard cheese sitting atop a stone box. He snaked out a hand, snagging the cheese and shoving it in his bag.
“But why are you stealing this food?” Master Kalu trundled toward him.
“The soldier told me to gather food.” Lakhoni slammed the door behind him. Not wasting a moment, he lifted a crate that held strips of leather. Balancing the crate on his shoulder, he hunched over a little, wanting to blend into the crowds of people.
Bread and cheese were better than nothing for the journey he and Alronna were to take. He darted toward the slave barracks, seeking his center. Even with his head down, he had no trouble observing the goings-on around him. The horses had disappeared and most of the soldiers were out of sight now too. Servants and slaves still ran every which way, many of their faces tight with fear.
Casting one final look around, Lakhoni set the crate down and slipped into the slave barracks. When his eyes had adjusted to the dim light, he saw that many faces were staring at him. He turned to the room on the left. “Sorry,” he said, his hand out as if to calm the scared-looking women. No, some of them were just girls. “I’m here for Alronna.”
Confused expressions were the only response.
Lakhoni shook his head. Where was she? His heart dropped, feeling like a fist had suddenly gripped it. “Okay, is there a Ronna?”
She wasn’t here. He dashed to the other room. “Ronna. Have you seen Ronna?”
The fist around his heart clenched tighter. His breath came in painful bursts. “Where is she?”
A small voice came from the first room. “She’s gone.”
Lakhoni ran back. He was so close. She had to be here.
The huddled slaves stared at him. One of them met his eyes more bravely than the others.
“What did you say?” Lakhoni asked.
“Ronna was taken.” The slave, she couldn’t be much older than ten, dipped her head. “The devil took her.”
A new fear gripped his heart. Was she— “What do you mean? The devil?”
“Shelu. He took her. Last night.”
Lakhoni could now make out bruises on the slave girl’s face and arms. “Last night? He took her? Where?”
“Don’t know,” the girl said. Her eyes didn’t leave the floor.
“Why?” Even as he asked, he knew there would be no answer. “Did he say anything?” He scanned the slaves’ faces frantically. Maybe the girl was wrong. Maybe Alronna was still—
“Something about the time coming. No.” She shook her head. “No, he said that the time had come.” Now the slave girl looked up. “That’s all.”
The time had come?
“That’s all he said?” Lakhoni asked.
“Yes.” The girl fixed him with a curious gaze. “Who are you?”
Shelu and the Bonaha had the Guide. And now they had his sister. If they had the Sword, or knew where to find it somehow, they wouldn’t need Alronna anymore.
He met the slave’s stare. “I’m her brother.” Lakhoni spun on his heel, forcing himself to recall each moment of training with the Living Dead.
Shelu was right; the time had come. Time for him to find Alronna, and perhaps serve justice on some murderers.
Chapter 46
Cousins
Lakhoni emerged from the dimness of the slave barracks into the shadow of the great mountain. The sun had almost fully disappeared behind the mountains now, leaving the sky bright but the city in the strange darkness. The temple. The Bonaha and his group had made it back to the city not long before him. Long enough, of course, to convince the city that it was under attack. They must have gone to the temple. Had Shelu moved Alronna into the temple last night in preparation for today’s treachery?
That had to be it. Lakhoni stepped away from the barracks quickly, aiming for the nearest door into the temple. Before he made it across the alley, the door opened outward, disgorging several servants. Lakhoni got a look inside before one of the servants closed the heavy wooden door. He counted maybe three people in the kitchen, working furiously. Too empty. He needed to find a different way in where he wouldn’t be noticed.
Arriving at the corner at the front of the temple, Lakhoni saw at least a hundred soldiers standing in orderly ranks with a shouting man on horseback between them and the compound doors. The mounted man’s sash indicated that he was a commander. Each soldier carried a long spear and a sword of metal.
The front door won’t work.
Lakhoni turned casually and walked back the way he had come. He still hadn’t been on the other side of the compound, in what he expected was another alley like this one.
The noises of the man shouting orders faded. Lakhoni picked up his pace.
Rounding the back corner of the temple, Lakhoni scanned the area. Nobody paid him any attention. He crossed over the canal and came upon the corner of the temple. He slowed, casting his senses before him. He detected movement—lots of it. He stopped and lowered the crate of leather scraps, working his shoulder carefully to ease the muscles there. Raised voices of men came to him from down the alley. He felt and heard the thudding of feet on the ground.
He eased forward, stealing a look down the alley.
What he saw made him nearly jerk his head back. But he fought the urge and made his retreat as natural and smooth as possible.
More soldiers, possibly another hundred, were gathering in the alley in ranks, facing the front of the compound. These men carried bows and bristling quivers, their bows already strung and hooked across their chest.
Lakhoni turned, scouring the spacious area between the back of the temple and the back wall of the compound. The horse stables were quiet now. Nobody entered or exited the servants’ quarters at the far end.
He’d have to use the canal.
As he approached the rushing water, he followed its path with his eyes. It ran under the back wall of the compound, spanned the hundred or so feet of distance between the wall and the temple, and ran under the temple wall. One of the huge stones that made up the temple’s exterior straddled the rushing water.
He stood at the edge of the water and stopped as a servant hurried out of a back door of the temple and into the servants’ quarters.
Lakhoni glanced around one last time. Nobody in sight. He dropped into the water, all thoughts scoured from his mind in the sudden, icy cold. His feet hit the bottom, but were quickly yanked out from under him by the current. He had time for a quick breath before the water closed over his head.
The frigid water, at least, was clean. But his body filled with the noise and pressure of it. His leather trousers grew heavy. He oriented himself so he could lead with his feet but still see where he was going.
Everything went dark. He was under the temple wall. His feet hit hard against something, lessening the impact as he crumpled against it. Most of his air exploded out of him. Panic crept into the blackness in his mind. He fought it back, searching with his hands.
A series of bars blocked the way. He used them to pull himself up, praying there would be space—
Pain flared at the top of his head as it hit stone. He pulled back down. No! His chest ignited with pain and pressure. He eased back up, letting out his breath slowly, trying to prolong the time he had left. The top of his head hit the stone again, this time without the pain. There! He felt something different up there. He tilted his head back, easing his face upward.
Cool wind washed down from his forehead to his nose and mouth. He filled his lungs with the sweet taste. He could make out nothing, although there was still some light that came from the entrance to the water tunnel.
He considered his predicament. Metal bars kept him from going any farther into the temple. And the current would probably prevent him from going back the way he had come. The canal was far too wide for him to be able to brace himself on either side and make progress against the rushing water that way.
He arched back again and sucked more air, fighting
to calm his heart and keep panic at bay. Not going to die here. He sought his center.
It wouldn’t come. Was it the water? The temperature? That he could see nothing?
The frigid mountain water was all he knew. It swept across and through him, making his skin feel like ice. For a moment, he knew if he stayed there long enough, he would simply dissolve into the current. Pressure on all sides. The steady thrum of the current filling his ears. The drumbeat of the water hitting . . .
Hitting what?
No, that was his heart beating in his head, at his temples, and behind his closed eyes.
He could let go. He wouldn’t die, but fade. It would be a Dance with Water.
A long, slow breath in, here in the current, and he would become a part of this stream and find his way to the vast ocean. Ceaseless pressure, skin like ice, the water vibrating with life. The beat of his heart, slowing.
The beat. Like a village drum. Lakhoni latched onto that beat. He pulled himself toward it. The water fought him, seeking to own him.
No. He would not be taken.
He listened with every part of his being to that beat. Sticky darkness wanted to hold him. He struggled, pushing the water’s clinging embrace away. All in a moment, he crossed over . . . something, and the water’s hold broke.
He pushed up, taking in life-saving air from the space between water and stone. He blinked, trying to clear his head and cast off the water’s insistent embrace. Fathers, what . . . what was that? How long had he been down here?
He had to get out. Get to Alronna.
He focused on his heartbeat again and found his center after long minutes. Calm filled him, the final vestiges of that dark cloud that had filled him dissipating.
Filling his lungs, Lakhoni submerged and explored the metal bars. He counted eight. They were nearly as tall as him. They were thin enough that he could wrap a hand all the way around one. Each was buried deep in the earth of the canal bed and also in the stone that was the ceiling of the tunnel. Returning to the surface regularly, Lakhoni found that the bars were spaced so that he could get an arm and a shoulder through, but his chest was too big to fit.
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