Lakhoni (12 page)

Lakhoni
tucked the wrinkled apple under his arm, allowing the folds of his tunic to
hide it. With his other hand he lifted a speared piece of roast venison to his
mouth and tore a chunk off. He knew the meat tasted good, that the hot juices
were supposed to fill his mouth with pleasure, but his stomach was already so
full of meat that he could no longer taste anything. He eased into his hut and
crouched on his sleeping mat, moving the hidden apple from his armpit and
putting it under the small pile of clothes to the side of his mat.

He
had to catch two other apples that tried to roll away and shove them back under
the clothes.

Forcing
himself to chew, he stood again, looking over his hopefully discreet
preparations. Nobody had said anything, and he wasn’t getting any unusual
looks.

And
why should he? He had been with the Separated for months. He had trained with
Anor and Corzon, had been Groomed, and had witnessed the murder of a young man.
He had helped the newest halkeen complete his journey to join with the Bonaha’s
cadre of special servants.

He
was one of them.

He
stepped back out of the hut, taking another bite of the meat.

“Hungry
tonight.”

Lakhoni
turned and grunted at Corzon, nodding.

“You’ve
eaten half a haunch yourself,” Corzon said.

Trying
not to grimace with discomfort as he swallowed, Lakhoni nodded again. “Yeah. I
feel like my stomach is a bottomless pit. It’s like I can’t get full. I’m tired
of chewing though.”

“You’re
probably going through a growth season.” Corzon paced toward the fire, his hand
filled with his eating utensils. “Just be careful you don’t let the growth go
to your nose.”

“Don’t
want to end up like you,” Lakhoni said, shoving the last of the venison on his
small knife into his mouth. He felt like he had eaten an entire deer. But he
wasn’t finished. He had to fill his stomach, get every bit of food into his
body tonight that he could.

“That’s
right,” Corzon said. “So skinny the girls worry they’ll break me if they hold
me tight.”

“No.”
Lakhoni followed Corzon to the fire. He sliced another piece of meat off the
haunch that dripped steadily into the glowing coals. “I thought they were
worried you would put their eyes out in the heat of passion.”

“You
see,” Corzon turned to Lakhoni, a sad expression on his face. “I can’t win!”

“Well,
maybe it’s better to stay away from the girls than to be like Anor.”

“Anor
is doing his manly duty,” Corzon said. “It’s about time you got to it as well.”

“Right.”

Corzon
smiled and raised his eyebrows. “What? You don’t think the girls are interested
in the newest addition to the Separated? You don’t think they would swoon if
they got the chance to wrap their loving, shapely arms around the poor lad
who’s the lone survivor of a tragic attack?”

Lakhoni
fought down the sudden desire to leap at Corzon and slam his knife into him.
How
could he talk like that?
He gritted his teeth and forced a smile. “But that
would be taking advantage of their pity.”

“And
what’s wrong with that?”

Lakhoni
opened his mouth to offer a retort, but found he had none. Instead he took
another bite of venison.

“See?
Nothing at all. You get your pick of the lovely young ladies and maybe you’ll find
one you like.” Corzon lowered himself to sit on one of the large stones
surrounding the fire.

Lakhoni
snorted. He had to admit he had noticed some of the girls of the Separated.
Their glinting eyes, shapely legs, and smiles had certainly left an impression.
But he had never believed that they would be interested in him
that
way.
He dropped onto a wood stump near Corzon.

Besides,
his village had gone about things much differently than the Separated. Here,
until you were joined to a single mate like Gimno and Vena, you had your pick
of partners. In his village, the young men and women were expected to save
themselves and then offer themselves as a gift to the new marriage.

“I’ve
got you thinking, don’t I?” Corzon grinned wide. “You’re probably thinking about
Hana or Jasnia right now, aren’t you?”

Jasnia’s
wide smile flashed through his mind. He shook his head. “No. The time’s not
right.”

“Lakhoni,”
Corzon said. “The time is
always
right.”

Lakhoni
laughed. “Or never, in your case.”

Corzon
adopted a wounded expression. “Joke about such a sensitive subject, will you?”
He glanced around, then leaned in with a conspiratorial glint in his eye.
“Truth is, me and Melana are promised to each other. But you can’t tell
anyone.”

Shock
hit Lakhoni like a ball of snow in the face.
How? How can they go about a
normal life when they murder and won’t let anyone leave?
He realized that
he must look like a dying fish. “Wow. That’s amazing, Corzon. Congratulations.”

“You
have to keep this quiet.” Corzon cast a quick look about the circle of huts.
“Her father doesn’t know yet.”

Melana
was not much older than Alronna—maybe fourteen years old. Lakhoni wondered what
his father would have done had one of the village boys courted Alronna. A
twinge of pain flared, but he paid it no mind. It was becoming easier to fight
back the grief. He wondered if he should be happy about that.

“Of
course,” Lakhoni said. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Especially
Anor. He would take pleasure in ruining this for me.”

“Especially
Anor,” Lakhoni said. He realized he hadn’t taken a bite of venison for a few
minutes. He eyed the dark meat on his knife. He let out an uncomfortable grunt.

“Not
hungry anymore?”

“No,”
Lakhoni said, flicking the meat into the coals. “I guess not.”

* * *

Lakhoni
had struggled to keep himself awake, even as he made his breathing even and
kept his eyes closed. He had counted the stones making up the wall next to his
sleeping mat three times after the last sound of activity had faded.

Now
he carefully turned, trying to make it appear as if his sleep were restless.
Unless they were feigning sleep as well, Anor and Corzon now slept deeply.
Corzon’s nightly chorus of snores was just warming up.

Lakhoni
rolled back, this time to face the wall. He pulled a leather bag he had found
two days previously out from under his mat. He didn’t know whose it was and, to
tell the truth, he didn’t care. After tonight, they couldn’t do anything to
him. Moving as quietly as possible, he pushed a tunic into the bag, then all of
the apples. Next he pushed his second pair of breeches into the bag. A pouch of
smoked meat followed the breeches into the bag, then two loaves of bread he had
hidden over the last three days.

He
would wear his last tunic, his boots, and breeches. He would also take his
blanket to help ward off the cold. For this first night, he would not have to
worry about finding a protected place to sleep; he would be on the move until
well into the next morning.

Still
moving carefully, Lakhoni got dressed, leaving the boots off for now and tying
them so he could drape them over his neck. He picked up his bag, gripping it
tightly in his left fist, and stepped toward the door.
Almost forgot!
He
padded back to his sleeping mat and grabbed his knife in its sheath. He slid it
into the tight waistband of his breeches. Finally, he looped his bow and quiver
over his shoulder.

He
peeked out the door. Breathing through his mouth, he stepped out of the hut and
quickly departed Gimno’s circle. As he padded in bare feet along the wall of the
cavern, he wondered if he should feel sorry or sad to go. He looked inward.

Nothing.
He had always known he would never feel at home here. Even with someone like
Corzon who was almost a friend. And Gimno who treated him like a son. Vena who
had been so concerned about him when he first came.

As
he thought about each person, he found that there was an undeniable feeling of
warmth and affection for them. Even for Anor, despite the young man’s gruff
treatment of him.

But
he had no concerns about leaving. They might miss him, but he was sure they
would happily kill him if they knew he was planning to go directly to the
king’s city.

Keeping
to the darkest shadows in the inky-black cavern, Lakhoni quickly made his way
to the entrance corridor. There was usually a guard on duty to make sure that
nobody stumbled into the cavern by mistake, but since that never happened, it
was common knowledge that the guard usually went to sleep in one of the alcoves
next to the shaft. Lakhoni had seen the blankets there.

As
long as Corzon and Anor slept soundly and nobody else happened to discover he
was gone in the next few minutes, he would get out of the lair of the
Separated. The next issue was getting far enough away in the snowstorm that had
begun the previous day.

He
crept along the corridor, pausing with each step to listen for any noise. As he
rounded one turn, he began to hear the soft song of the winter wind. Many
careful steps later, he found himself at the bottom of the shaft. He hung the
strap of his bag over his shoulder, checked to make sure his boots were still
tied tightly, and reached up for the first handle.

Lakhoni
had climbed up and down this shaft so many times that before he noticed any
effort, he was already outside. He looked to the sky. No stars were visible.
Merely a heavy, gray mass could be seen. Wind blew hard against his face, the
snow on the ground scraping at his feet with frozen claws.

But
no snow fell.
Should I go back and wait until a night when I know it’s
snowing?
His heart beat loudly in his chest. After all of his preparation.
He couldn’t go back and wait again, worrying that he might never get away.

Surely
it would snow more tonight, or at least in the early morning.

Lakhoni
stepped away from the hole and hissed as his bare foot landed on the
winter-dead talons of a bush. He stumbled, going to all fours as his feet
slipped out from under him in the slippery snow. A whisper of noise caught his
attention. He turned and saw a clump of snow slide down the entrance of the
cavern. He dove away from the entrance, flinging himself to his feet.
Stupid!
The guard would hear the snow. Would he be suspicious?

He
had to move—

Voices!
He couldn’t make out the words, but one of the voices sounded like Anor.

He
glanced at his bare feet, felt the boots strung around his neck. No time, and
bare feet might be better for stealth. Hugging his bow tightly against his body
and using his other arm to hold the boots and his pouch, Lakhoni tore into the
forest, shards of frozen snow stabbing into his feet.

He
ducked around trees, careful to keep his bow from catching on branches. After a
hundred paces, he paused and threw a glance back toward the cavern. Dark shapes
emerged, streaming into the winter night. He counted ten men before he yanked
his attention away. He burst into a run again, applying all he knew about
stealth, making not even a whisper of sound.

Seeing
his tracks in the snow, he understood that his silence wouldn’t make a
difference. He dug through his memories of the area and the skills he’d learned,
desperate for a plan. His mind offered nothing.

His
tracks. They would find him easily, no question. He couldn’t just try to keep
ahead of them, either. He was young, but these warriors were hardened,
toughened by years of battle. His youth and tracks would work against him.

He
had to make one or both of these work
for
him. Now, with the problem
clear in his mind, his feet and legs flinging him through the forest, a picture
of a nearby creek came to him. He angled south, toward the creek, feeling
branches whisper past his ears, the crisp night air chilling his lungs.

He
wished the Separated made noise. Knowing they were chasing him, but being
totally unable to hear them, terrified him worse than the feral growls of the
king’s raiding party. Slowing as he neared the creek, he stopped at the bank,
slashing his bow through the thin layer of ice formed above the running water.
He cleared the ice upstream and down, as far as he could reach. Next, he put
his boots on the ground, pressing them firmly into the snow. Crouching low, he
set his bow down and plunged his hands into the icy water, pulling several
rocks free from the creek bed. He threw these, shattering the ice downstream.
He grabbed four more and threw these as well; he had to make it look like he had
run downstream to avoid making tracks in the snow. To his delight, he saw that
he had weakened the ice enough that the running mountain water swamped the ice
farther downstream.

Hands
and feet nearly frozen, his body jittering from the cold, he lifted his bow and
set the boots back around his neck, knowing the Separated would appear at any
moment. Carefully, he walked backward, placing his feet in the tracks he had
left moments before.

Lakhoni
felt as if his body were freezing from each extremity, the cold marching ever
closer to his core. The taste of his throat, shredded by the frigid air, made
him think of raw flesh. He ached to roll himself into a tight ball next to a
blazing fire. He had been outside for only minutes!
Can I do this for
another few days?