Kings Game

Chapter 11 - Hounds (2)

Roran woke to warm breath on his cheek. Opening his eyes, he found Herda panting in his face. She gave his cheek a lick and cozied into him. Roran wrapped an arm around her and ruffled her fur. Despite sleeping on the cold ground, Roran felt more refreshed than he had in months.

"It's a lot warmer with you sleeping on me," he said to the hound.

She panted at him and licked his face again.

"Good morning to you too."

Sitting up, Roran stretched, feeling his back and neck pop. His stomach growled at him. He hadn't eaten since celebrating with Kell yesterday.

"Are you hungry yet?" Roran asked.

Herda wagged her tail.

"You're probably always hungry, huh?"

The hound yawned in response.

"We'll go get some food when the rations are delivered."

Roran busied himself with petting Herda and combing her hair out with his fingers. Seeing that Roran was awake, Murrin came over. Herda growled at Murrin's approach, stopping him in his tracks.

Roran looked up. "Yes?"

"I uh...I um, can you make that dog go away for awhile."

"No, she was ordered to stay with me. I'm told she only listens to her trainer and will follow his commands until she's told otherwise."

"Right...Listen, Roran, I wanted to apologize."

At a loss for words, Roran blinked at him.

"I was a little harsh to you yesterday and you brought us good food back. We were able to eat better than we have in months."

Glancing around, Roran spotted the food bag the cook had given him. It was lying on the ground, empty.

"I guess, what I mean to say is, thank you. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed."

"Okay."

"Don't be obstinate, I'm trying to be serious here. I wanted to say that you have helped us greatly and we appreciate your sacrifice."

Roran waited in silence, unsure if Murrin would snap at him if he said anything. After an awkward pause, Murring went on.

"I've been doing some thinking, and I realize that I've been extra harsh on you. It's not my fault, mind you, it's the circumstances in which we find ourselves. You see, I knew your mother."

Roran clamped his teeth together and swallowed a mouthful of bile.

"When I say that, I don't mean just who she was as a person. I mean I knew her. Do you know what I mean?"

Roran nodded. He had memories of Murrin coming to visit when he was young. His mother would always have Roran stay in the main house when she had clients, practicing her trade in a smaller hut nearby so that he wouldn't be privy to anything that happened. All Roran ever saw was someone from the town walking towards their home and his mother greeting them before taking them into the hut. The hut was closed, with thick curtains blocking out everything except a little bit of firelight from the hearth.

What Roran did see, however, was the teapot. His mother always brought the teapot in for the night after her clients left. It was a nice teapot, made from good steel with elegant markings. Inside would be the leftover dregs and tea leaves.

Though his mother had never asked him to, Roran had always washed the teapot, along with all of the other dishes in the house. Roran hadn't thought much of it at the time. He liked being helpful and washing the teapot his mother used for work was a small thing. But he began noticing that the tea was different on different nights, his mother catering to the tastes of her clients. Before long, Roran knew the tea preferences of most people in town.

Murrin liked chamomile and licorice tea. Now, whenever he saw Murrin, he thought of the floral notes and flavors of the tea, and it made him sick.

"I tell you this because, to me, it means there might be a connection between us, through your mother. I had promised to look after you when she passed, we all did, and I think I could have done so in a more gentle manner. I've just been rough with you because I worried about you. You need to be tough, being a whor...A lady of the night's son. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Roran clenched his teeth hard enough they ached. Of all the men that had slept with his mother, Roran liked Murrin the least. A small voice in his head urged him to deck Murrin, to smack the words right out of his mouth. Beneath his hand came a rumble. Herda was growling.

Murrin blanched and back away a half step. "What's wrong with that dog?"

Swallowing his anger and a mouthful of bile, Roran said, "Rations are coming."

Murrin whirled around and headed for the bars, abandoning the conversation. From outside the dungeon came a rhythmic squeaking, announcing that the rations cart was indeed coming down the hallway. Having some breathing room between himself and Murrin, Roran took a few calming breaths. As his heart rate lowered, Herda stopped growling.

He jumped to his feet and dusted himself off. Herda followed his example, shaking herself.

Murrin and a few of the others were crowding around the door and the bars, eager for the daily rations. Missing from them was Yora. She sat on an old cot, staring at Roran. Confused, Roran headed towards her. The few people sitting near Yora quickly departed when they caught sight of Roran and the massive hound trotting after him.

"Good morning Yora," said Roran.

"It's getting close to noon," said the old woman, "you slept like the dead."

"It's easier to sleep when you have a dog keeping you warm."

"And what is this hound's purpose? Why did its master send her home with you?"

"She's a war hound, she fights in wars and battles."

"Like in the arena?"

Roran shrugged. "I think so, though I haven't heard of Herda fighting in the arena at all. Her master, Chase, is one of the wardens. He gave me advice that saved my life when I first entered the Crucible."

"And now he sends his hound to protect you and keep you warm. He must be really fond of you."

"He wants me to become a warden." Roran glanced around at the others. They were trying hard to ignore them. "Don't tell Murrin."

"I hardly talk to that fool anymore. Listen to me boy, this place doesn't have happy endings. Either you'll be forced to fight in the arena or you'll be one of the people forcing others to fight in the arena. There's no escape, no matter which side you're on."

Roran nodded.

Yora smiled. "But you already knew all that. You're a smart boy, don't go making dumb mistakes. Get out of here, no matter which side you have to join. If becoming a warden gets you out of here then do it. If fighting in the arena gets you out of here, then do it. If babysitting hellhounds gets you out of here, then do it."

"You're always so cheerful," said Roran.

Yora swatted at him with her cane. "And your sass is coming back. Good, you'll need it. Now get out of here before that dog decides it's hungry and starts eating us."

Roran nodded and headed for the door. Murrin was blocking the way, trying to sweet talk the clerk into giving him a discount. Herda barked at him, causing him to jump out of the way.

"I'm taking her back to Chase," Roran said.

The clerk cocked his head, confused, while the warden just waved him on.

Roran slipped through the door and back towards freedom.