He tried each space. All were too small.
Maybe he could make one bigger.
He tested each bar for movement. The third from the right gave way a little. This one moved a bit in the bed of the canal.
Hope flared.
Taking a deeper breath, Lakhoni used the loose bar to pull himself down to the canal bed. Completely blind, he scrabbled at the dirt, trying to loosen some and allow more space for the bar to move. Many minutes passed as he dug, pulled himself up, grabbed air, pulled himself down, and dug some more.
He tried the bar again. More movement, but only a little. He inserted an arm through the space and tried to squeeze through. Still too tight.
This was too slow.
He dug into his pouch and pulled his dagger out. Once free of the cloth, the dagger was nearly stolen by the current, but he caught it tightly before it could slip away.
Breathe, pull down, dig at the hard earth, pull up, breathe. Again and again.
He tested the bar again. There was much more movement now. He tried to get through again. Still too tight! He let all the air out of his lungs and tried again. That was a little better, but still not enough.
But if the bar was moving on the bottom, the space should be wider on the bottom.
Lakhoni replaced his dagger. Down again. The current pulled much harder now; he couldn’t position himself to slide an arm through first.
He turned his head to the side and tried again, pressure building in his chest.
There! Now his shoulders were through and he had to wriggle and push on the canal bed with his feet to move. The bars squeezed tightly on his back and chest. He wriggled, bubbles escaping from his nose. A little farther.
Suddenly he could move no more. Not forward or back. Lights flashed behind his eyes as the weight of the temple pushed down on him. He wriggled furiously, kicking as hard as he could.
Stuck.
Clouds of panic built. He squirmed and kicked in a frenzy of motion, losing much of his air. Movement! He released the air in his lungs in a painful explosion, kicking and shoving and pushing.
The bar scraped painfully on his chest bone and he slid through, suddenly and instantly free of the confines of the iron. The current caught him and before he could stop himself, he sucked in water. Red agony seared his throat and chest. He scrabbled around, finding what he hoped was the canal bed and pushing up hard.
Fighting the need to breathe, Lakhoni twisted his body trying to get his face to the surface.
His head hit the stone ceiling. More pain flared, but nothing compared to the death that filled his chest. He turned and tried to slow his forward motion with his hands on the ceiling, tried to get his face above the water.
Suddenly warm air. A thought that he should try to stay quiet flashed through his mind but was swept away by coughs. Blinking rapidly, Lakhoni found himself being carried by the canal’s current out from the tunnel and into a dimly lit room. He struck out desperately for the nearest bank, caught a glimpse of a wood stick or pole hanging over the water, and grabbed hold. He clung to the pole, hacking and sucking in air, praying that nobody was near. The current still buffeted him, but he was able to stay in place now.
He was able to focus after a few moments. The pressure in his chest eased.
The temple.
I’m in.
He needed to get out of the water. Warmth felt like such a long time ago.
He took stock of his surroundings, finding that if he angled his body a certain way the current would push him and his lifeline around and closer to the bank. Once at the bank, he found ladder rungs embedded in the bank of the canal. The bank here was made of the same stone as the rest of the temple. He cast a quick look around the room, seeking movement in the shadows at the corners or in doorways. Nothing. Had the Fathers blessed him to arrive in an abandoned or rarely-used room?
He clambered up the rungs, his fingers stiff with cold. He lay on the floor, also stone, for a long while, listening. Faint voices and other noises reached his ears as he lay there. But none of the noises grew louder, heralding somebody’s approach.
Lakhoni would have lain there longer, letting his body warm up in the pleasant air and his clothes dry more, but the urgency of his task filled him. Alronna would be with the Bonaha and Shelu.
He explored the room quickly, noting long, narrow windows that admitted pale light and wide, tall doorways on opposite walls. These doorways had no doors. He wondered how he could have made all that noise coming out of the canal without detection. As he did so, he realized that the noise he had been submerged in was even louder in this room. The rushing river water in the canal sang an echoing maelstrom of noise in this room, the stone walls magnifying the volume.
First the canal had tried to kill him and now it had likely saved him from detection.
Lakhoni quickly determined that the room served as a water supply room. Stacks of wood and clay buckets reached the height of his head. These buckets had handles on them that swiveled up and could be hooked on the hanging stick that had helped him escape the canal’s current. That was obviously how the servants filled the buckets without getting wet every time.
The room’s laundry function became obvious when he saw that part of the canal had been redirected into a steaming pool, with piles of ash-soap and stacks of scrubbing boards nearby. Piles of woven brown cloth were stacked neatly on shelves. He tried to figure out how the water was heated, but could find no clue.
Loud voices came in through the doorway on this side of the canal.
Lakhoni darted to a wall, opening his senses. He stayed close to the wall and crept toward the doorway.
“ . . .come in here,” said a deep voice. It sounded like it came from a man standing just out of sight in the hallway.
“Not even servants,” said another voice, this one deep as well.
“Nothing more to report?” This voice sounded slightly farther off and was higher than the other two voices.
“No, sir,” said the first voice.
“As you were,” the third voice said. “No one enters, not even servants.” The sound of footsteps faded away.
“Hey,” the second voice—it was a little deeper and sounded like it came from a larger man—said. “Why are we guarding water?”
Lakhoni heard a snort. Then, “I know. They think someone might poison the water but—”
The second man grunted.
“Right. It’s moving too fast for that to work,” the first voice said.
“So we’re wasting our time,” said the second man.
“That’s right.”
“Well at least we won’t go thirsty.”
Lakhoni leaned against the wall as the guards lapsed into comfortable conversation. Now what?
There had to be some way to get past the guards without raising an alarm.
Maybe a distraction. Lakhoni searched the room from his position against the water room’s wall. Something that would draw the guards away from the door.
To where?
Discarding that idea, Lakhoni wondered if it might work to simply wait for the guards to move on, or be reassigned to somewhere else.
No, that would take far too long. He had to get to Alronna fast. Not knowing what they were planning, what they intended to do with his sister, was frustrating. He had to move.
He scanned the room again, hoping an idea would come to him.
Buckets, scrubbing boards, soap.
He noticed the other door again, directly opposite from his position next to this guarded doorway. Surely that door had soldiers posted as well.
At least it sounds like nobody is going to come in here. Not even servants.
He darted across the room, careful to hide the noise of his movement under the voice of the rushing water. After a moment of focusing his senses, he heard two voices—both coming from men just outside the door.
Fathers! Is there no way out of this cursed room?
He focused on the laundry area again. That was
it.
But which door to try?
He would decide when the time came. First, he had to change.
Lakhoni hurried to the shelves of folded cloth, hoping his guess was correct. Yes! They were stacks of the loincloths worn by temple servants. He chose a cloth that looked like it would fit and undressed. He fastened the loincloth around his waist and rolled up his old, worn clothes, going to shove them in his beaten up bag. He opened it and found pasty mush. The bread and cheese! He mentally chided himself. He hurried to the rushing water, cleaned off his knife and washed out the bag. He shook the bag as dry as he could, then shoved his rolled up clothes into the bag, followed by his knife. How to keep hold of the bag? There was no way to hide it under the simple cloth he now wore.
Casting about, he grabbed a tall stack of the clean clothes. He shoved his bag in the middle of the stack. He spent a long minute patting and arranging the cloths so that the lump his bag made was less detectable. There was still a lump, especially due to the wet clothes, but hopefully in the confusion of the attack on the city, nobody would bother noticing.
He looked left and right, wishing he had some way of knowing which door to choose. Fathers, please show me where to go!
Nothing. No sign.
Left, then. He checked himself with his hands, hoping he looked presentable. He had not noticed a different tattoo for temple servants, so it wasn’t too much to hope that the guards would believe he belonged here.
An idea came to him. Probably best to have two reasons for being here. He set the stack of clothes down and chose a bucket. He hooked the handle of the bucket on the swinging wooden arm he had used to get out of the canal. Then he simply swung the wood arm out and the bucket dipped into the water, the current pushing the bucket so it was on its side. Using the rope attached to the swinging arm, he pulled the bucket back to the side of the canal. He retrieved his dripping bucket, stooped to pick up his stack of clothes, and headed toward the door.
He set a firm pace, tried to force a look of bored urgency on his face, and walked into the corridor. He must have caught the guards somewhat by surprise, because the shout came after he had already taken several steps down the stone corridor.
“Hey!”
Lakhoni stopped and turned, doing his best to look surprised and irritated at the interruption.
The guards wore the usual soldier garb of a loincloth and a sash with a weapon hanging from a wide leather belt. The men were about the same height, both with tattoos covering their shaved scalps, and burly shoulders and chests.
Lakhoni was surprised to realize that they were not much taller than him.
“What are you doing?” One of the guards stepped close and stared at Lakhoni. “You’re not supposed to be in there.”
Feigning confusion, Lakhoni glared back. “What are you talking about?” He hefted first the bucket of water, then the stack of clothes. “I have to take water to the kitchen and deliver these.” He made as if to leave. “Where else am I supposed to get water?”
The other guard reached out and grabbed Lakhoni by a shoulder. “How’d you get in there?” Real curiosity was detectable in his voice.
“By the door!” Lakhoni pulled his shoulder away, determined to keep up the appearance that he belonged. “What are you two doing here anyway?”
“Guarding the door,” grunted the first guard.
Lakhoni waited a moment so that it wouldn’t seem as if he had practiced his next line. “But what’s the point of guarding this side if nobody’s on the other door?”
The guard closest to him blinked once, slowly. The other guard’s mouth dropped open. They turned to each other.
“What?” said the second guard. “Nobody’s on the other side?”
“I didn’t see anybody,” Lakhoni said.
The second guard swore and spun, running the few steps back to the doorway. The first guard followed.
Surprised at how well his plan had worked and holding back laughter at the reactions of the guards, Lakhoni almost forgot to get moving.
“Wait there!” called one of the guards as they both disappeared into the water room.
Lakhoni shook himself and, glancing around to try and get his bearings, walked three paces and turned left. This should take me deeper into the temple. There must be stairs somewhere.
He walked as fast as he could, trying not to spill water from the bucket. After soaking his leg a few times, he reminded himself that the water didn’t actually have to get to the kitchen. He set the bucket down and, holding the stack of clothes tightly, picked up the pace.
He passed plenty of servants and only a few soldiers. He congratulated himself on his ruse, seeing that he blended in fairly well with the servants. Most had less hair, but it wasn’t enough that anybody noticed.
Finally, after making several turns and passing multiple rooms, he came to a set of stone stairs cut out of a single, massive block. There was no chance a king would live on the ground floor of a building like this. The Bonaha and Shelu had to be up higher, with Alronna in tow. He glanced around. For a moment, nobody was in sight. He walked a few paces down a corridor, found an empty room—it looked like a bedroom—and set the stack of clothes down inside the door. He put his damp breeches back on and retrieved his pouch, rolling it tightly around the dagger and tucking the bundle under his arm.
He began to climb the stairs, forcing focus and purpose onto his face. He needed to look like he belonged. He finally felt like he could catch his breath. Gimno, Shelu, and the Bonaha have Alronna somewhere in here. With three other halkeen and an army of the Living Dead out there. Despair struck like a heavy club. There’s no way I’ll get her out. No chance. Despair struggled to break loose in his chest. His throat was dry and rough as summer bark. There would be no escape.
He pushed back the doubts and the questions. No time for weakness. Alronna needed him. And maybe he would get lucky enough to kill Shelu, or even the Bonaha, who deserved the justice the king had already received.
I can do this. I have to do this. No matter what.
At the top of the stairs, he found himself on a landing at the end of a long, wide corridor that extended at least a hundred feet ahead of him. Another set of stairs angled to the next level, also cut out of a massive stone block. Taking a few steps, he saw that another corridor branch extended to the left. He tried to impose the view he’d had of the outside of the temple onto what he was now seeing. These corridors were probably on the outer edge of this second level. There had to be an exit to the balconies here. Would the Bonaha be on one of those balconies, watching the chaos he’d caused?
He bit back the urge to break into a run.
Light streamed into the corridor from one of the doorways. Lakhoni walked quickly to the edge of the huge doorway and peered out. Soldiers marched by, clearly on alert and all of them looking southward.
Instinct told him to go farther up in the temple. Someone like the Bonaha would be at the highest point. He doubled back, heart hammering. He passed the occasional servant, but was mostly on his own in the corridor.
He hit full speed at the top of the second set of stairs. His feet barely brushed the dark brown stone as he leapt up them. At the top of that staircase, he found another. At the sixth set of stairs, he sensed he was nearing the top of the temple. He slowed and stepped carefully onto the landing. He stood in a square, low-ceilinged room that had one wide doorway. There were no more stairs. He prayed he had guessed correctly and darted to what he thought was the east wall. The shadows were a little thicker here.
Lakhoni listened at the edge of the doorway. Voices. He glanced through the doorway. It led, as he’d hoped, to a balcony. As he stood there, horns sounded across the city and nearby, accompanied by raised voices. Something was happening.
He examined the large doorway, hoping to find some way to venture out onto the balcony without being seen. Stone walls angled down to either side of the exterior of the doorway, extending at a slant from somewhere above the door and ending about
eight feet beyond on the stone of the balcony. He should be able to hug tightly to one of those walls and stay out of sight.
Lakhoni stepped through the doorway and carefully made his way out onto the temple’s top balcony. The voices came from his left, so he ran to the opposite angled wall and crouched lower as he crept further out.
He poked an eye carefully over the top of the wall, pulling himself back and down quickly. In the brief moment he’d had, Lakhoni had seen the Bonaha, Gimno, the man he believed was Shelu, and another warrior. Shelu had been holding Alronna’s arm. They were all looking out over the city.
A voice that Lakhoni thought was Shelu’s spoke, “I will find him and one of them will tell me where it is.”
“We cannot let anything stop us. You must capture him immediately.” The Bonaha.
“I am certain, Holiness,” Shelu said. “The boy was foolish enough to come here. We will catch him.”
Fear spiked through him. Did they know he was here?
The other slaves. Had one of them tried to gain favor with Shelu by telling about Alronna’s visitor?
“Obviously he would do anything for his sister,” Shelu said. “When we threaten her, he will tell us of the sword.”
Lakhoni’s stomach tied into a knot. He had been so stupid! Of course he couldn’t trust the slaves to keep quiet.
“You will have to be convincing. The boy is clearly strong,” the Bonaha said.
“As I have said.” This was Gimno.
The sword. Lakhoni realized that he might actually be able to tell them where the sword probably was. The story of his father and grandfather in the mountain caves had been told several times. He was sure he could at least find the mountain, based on the landmarks his father had described.
Could he trade knowledge of the Sword of Nubal for his sister? The idea filled him. He could actually get Alronna out of this. Lakhoni’s thoughts swirled. The Bonaha and the others wouldn’t want to give up their leverage without knowing for sure he would have the sword in hand. No, they would want to take Alronna and Lakhoni along on the search.
Lakhoni Page 29
