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Apologies for the clip-art for this chapter, the real image is with Part 2. And apologies for the long wait for this chapter, I was in England :P

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Legacy Chapter 3 - Riches


Money was never something I had a lot of experience with growing up, or even throughout most of my young adult life. As a child, I rarely saw my parents use actual coin. We made our living primarily on trade, whatever was paid to my father at the end of each of our working days was used at the market almost immediately, and I never even saw how many of the small metal discs we'd actually earned. I just knew that however many we'd been given, it was never enough to feed us. So, every morning, we'd trade some of our possessions for food. Usually a few tools, a blanket, even clothing. We worked for most of the day, from sunrise to sunset, so we had to eat in the mornings or we'd be too tired to get through our workday.

Inevitably, by the end of the day, we'd use the money we earned to both buy dinner and buy back the possessions we'd sold at the beginning of the day. Every day, it was the same. There was never anything left over. Sometimes we'd forage food when the rains came, or we'd fish. On good days we might be able to catch a snake or a sand lizard, and then we'd be able to buy back our possessions as well as something extra. A replacement for something we owned that had broken, new cloth for my mother to turn into clothing, even extra food sometimes. But even those days, I never really saw the coin we earned. And there was certainly never any left by the time the sun set.

The only exception to this pattern was when we had to pay our landowner at the end of every month. For those three days, we couldn't buy food. My mother usually tried to save bones for broth throughout the month, and my father would try to hunt or fish, but those last few days were always difficult. Hungry days, I used to call them. But the landowner had to be paid, or we'd lose the roof over our head.

During those days, my father would have coin. I knew it, but still, he never allowed me to see it. He never even allowed my mother to see it. When I grew older and he began to regard me more as a man and less as a child, he admitted to me once that my mother could not be trusted with coin. She would buy things, he'd say. She wanted more for our family. More than we could afford. She wanted me to eat better food. She wanted us to have thicker blankets. Clay jugs to keep water in, so we didn't have to always walk the mile to the Hyronses when we needed it. But we couldn't have those things and still eat and pay the landowner. That's how he explained it to me, and it made sense. I remembered being angry at my mother for not being able to understand something so simple. We could only afford what we could afford, and that's why he couldn't ever give her the coin. She wasn't responsible enough to know what we could buy, what we could trade for, and what we couldn't.

There was something else father would buy at the market, I'd learn one day. Something he didn't bring back to the family. But the man of a house bore the weight of a family on his shoulders at all times. He worked for my mother when she was carrying me. He worked harder when they had to feed me as a young pup, before I could earn my own keep. The weight of that responsibility was always on him.

Men drink because their lives are harder. That's also why they are more prone to anger. The weight of all that responsibility. The back-breaking days. At least, that's what he told me. I remember thinking then that it had sounded right. But at the same time, it always seemed like my mother worked very hard, too.



A dozen turns of the sun and meat with every meal at night, and I'm beginning to feel more like myself again. I can't honestly deny the fact that there are definitely some benefits to having Ahsan around. The hyena is bizarrely loyal to me. Probably more so than I've earned.

I'd have felt like I was exploiting him if he wasn't in such high spirits about it. In the two weeks or so since I'd agreed to play his bodyguard, or whatever the hell it was he wanted me for, he's seemed more content with each passing day. His mood is subdued as ever, but he's less obviously frightened around me now, less hesitant. And considering the man practically flinches from his own shadow, I can only assume that means he's happy with our situation.

I'm ambivalent. I like the perks, and I can't feel guilty about it when it's clearly what he wants. So why fight it? I guess ultimately, even with as little regard or concern as I have for him, I'm a better option than Raja.

We don't talk much. Not at night, not even in the fields while we work. Passing comments now and then, it's not like we're ignoring one another exactly, I just don't have much to say to him and he rarely speaks unless spoken to. Really, the main thing I'd want to talk to him about, he very obviously doesn't want to speak on, and that's his time at the Matron's manor. It's not exactly that I want to know more about him, I'm just morbidly curious about the woman who owns us and the lifestyle she leads. Workers like me rarely interact with our actual contract owners, and I've literally never set foot inside a manor. I've always wondered how the upper castes live.

But maybe it's for the best. Because I'm certain if I knew the extent of her frivolity, of how easy the rich live, it would only serve to enrage me. And right now I'm actually walking the line here, getting up every day and doing my job. I'm not certain how long I'll be able to bear it, I always inevitably grow restless at each plantation I've been sold to, but right now I'm still recovering and I don't need to be making trouble just yet. Inevitably, I know I will. Things never go smoothly for me.

It's not that I mind the work, even. In fact, plantation work is actually easier on my body than brick kiln work, and they don't even feed us poorly here. I could live this way the rest of my life and probably live about as well as I had a kiln worker.

It's the fact that I'm owned.

I was born free, to a family of workers who had proudly remained free for as many generations back as we could trace. Becoming a Servant - becoming indentured - was never supposed to happen to me. I steered clear of the hyena clans and their gambling dens, their drugs, their women. I owned no land that could be taxed. I never took coin from loan men, never rung up a debt with any man, woman or Syndicate. I worked day in and day out, lived honestly, lived hard, and tried to provide for my family as well as I could.

That's always what drives me to madness, to restless anger, pushes me to lash out against the people who own me. It's why I've attempted to escape so many places, why I've refused time and again to accept this life. Because this wasn't supposed to happen to me. I shouldn't be here, shouldn't be owned, shouldn't be collared.

I should be free, out in the world, trying to find my family. Reclaiming the life I once had. Reclaiming that life for them.

I feel that familiar burning in my chest, and throw the bundle I'm carrying to the ground with more force than necessary, panting in the wake of the effort. I stand there for some time, staring down at the tangled spool of weeds, dragging the hot midday air through my teeth and balling my fists until my claws are digging into my paw pads. I've let my thoughts wander too much. I'm beginning down that road again, only moments after reflecting on what a good idea it's been to stay docile for the last few weeks. I need this time to rest, I tell myself again. To regain strength, physically and mentally. Then. Then. . . .

My mind goes blank at that, because of course I don't have any plans after that point. In fact, I have even less idea what to do now than I did at the last plantation, because they've taken me farther away from the Hyronses. From everything and everyone I once knew, and any contacts I might have had on the outside.

But I am closer to the ocean. And that's something.

"Kadar?"

Ahsan's voice interrupts my thoughts, and I don't bother turning to regard him, because I can hear his quiet footsteps barely a few feet behind me.

"Are you alright?" he asks timidly, and I feel his paw settling gently on my shoulder. I shrug it off, and he lets go without any resistance. He likes to touch, I've learned by now. Some people are just like that, tactile, I guess you'd call it. I'm not.

"I'm fine," I mutter, shoving the bundle with my foot onto the dusty walkway between the two fields we're working on today, so the mule cart can come along and collect it. "Come on," I say as I turn, "let's start on the next row."

"Alright," he acquiesces, even though I can tell by his eyes that he's still concerned. But he never questions me. It's still a little frustrating for me to see someone like him, stripped of everything that once made them a man, reduced to such a timid, complacent, child-like creature. People shouldn't have their independence wrung out of them. It's sad.

He's still looking to me, dark eyes wide, waiting expectantly for me to lead him to the next row. This is what we do now. I lead, he follows. He's with me nearly every second of the day, and I honestly thought for the first few days it might bother me more, but he's so inoffensive and so careful not to get in my way, it's hard to really see it as an imposition.

"Stand up straight," I remind him for only the third time today, in a hard tone. I've tried to stop snapping at him, though. It bothers me to see him flinch, especially when he's finally started to act almost normal around me.

He straightens up from his slight hunch, obediently. He tends to settle back into slinking around naturally, like he's deliberately trying to be shorter, to be beneath notice. For some species, like a weasel or a ferret or something, I suppose that would look natural, but on him it just looks wrong.

"Walk tall," I grouse at him as we head towards another row. "You're a strong young man, not a little old woman. You don't want to end up bent over like a vulture before you're thirty, do you?"

"I don't like being tall," he says in a distinctly morose mumble.

I snort. "Why? When I was young I couldn't wait until I was taller than most of the people I had to work with. You're literally letting people look down on you, when you don't have to. You're at least as tall as me. Use that to your advantage."

"I'm not. . ." he pauses a moment, ". . . strong like you," he eventually settles on. "It doesn't work as well for me as it does for you."

"You could be," I say over my shoulder. "Hyenas aren't a weak lot. Not naturally, anyway. You're no clan member, you're a servant. You can't afford to be delicate or soft. You should feed your body better. Start doing something other than weeding. Build up your strength."

"I don't want to get bigger," he says. "I already grew too big. Much too big."

"How old are you?" I ask, turning to look at him and stopping in the middle of the row we've walked down. I'm aware suddenly that this is the most we've talked in nearly a week.

"Se-seventeen years," he mumbles, after a brief pause.

"You're an adult," I affirm. "You're exactly the size you should be. It's natural for young men to grow. I don't know what got your head twisted backwards, but you're supposed to be happy about it, not trying to cover it up."

"I'm not-" he begins, but even as he starts speaking, he's falling back into that hunch.

"Stand up straight!" This time I do snap, and he does flinch. But it's like
with children. You have to be firm, or they won't correct their behavior.

No, I tell myself after a moment of silent thought. That's not the right way to think about it. The man's probably the way he is because he's been treated like a child his entire life. Or like a feral animal. A possession. I have to try - hard though it may be - to rise above the people who made him like this. Otherwise it won't make much sense for me to keep thinking myself above them. Morally, anyway. And that's literally the only superiority a Servant can have over his owners. It's something I need to hold fast to, even when it concerns another hyena. I can't be like them, even when I'm dealing with them. Or in this case, their refuse.

I sigh, collecting the new length of twine I'll be using to bundle the next row around my palm and elbow. "I'm sorry I yelled," I edge out from between grit teeth.

He seems surprised, his ears slowly lifting. And with it his posture, I note. Maybe yelling really is the worst way to correct him, in this case. I suppose it makes sense, if you honestly think about it. Most people tend to hunch when they're scared.

A sudden thought occurs to me, and I can't hold myself back from asking it. "Ahsan," I say, taking a step forward towards him, "did they beat on you, at th-"

The sound of hoof beats - not the slow amble of a mule, but of horses - breaks through the quiet of the fields, catching both of our attention. It's not just unusual out here in the middle of the day, it's unheard of. The only horse I've seen since I came here belonged to, or at least was being used by, one of the guards. The big scarred lion, specifically. They rode them on their patrols around the workhouse at night, and sometimes, albeit rarely, through the fields when they were dealing with troublesome workers. And that last bit I only knew from previous experiences and my own attempts at escape at previous plantations. I'd yet to see anyone being disciplined or brought down by a guard here, yet.

Still, this couldn't be anything but trouble. I stand up from the row and brace myself for whatever's to come, thinking back on my time here. Wondering what I might have done wrong. There's no one else in this field but Ahsan and I today, they couldn't be here for anyone but us.

I'm somewhat relieved when the rider comes into sight and it's Lochan. Not that I'm particularly fond of the prick, obviously, but the lion would be a lot more worrisome. He's never so much as said a word to me, but I know a predator when I see one. It's in their walk, and the hungry way they look at you. Like they'd eat you alive if you gave them the chance.

Lochan at least just seems like your standard guard who's fond of being in a position of power, and from what little I've seen of him interacting with the workers here, he doesn't appear to take pleasure in being abusive. He does, however, take his job seriously. That means keeping us in line, and he's not afraid to be a brute about it, but men like him you can anticipate. Honestly, if he was a little less experienced, a little less sure in the way he carried the scimitar at his side, I'd say he'd be like most other guards I've dealt with.

He slows as he approaches us atop a white, warm-blooded desert horse. He's got a second he's trailing by the reins, which is curious. But whenever a guard makes an appearance in the fields, we're supposed to leave our row and come to stand at the dirt road so we can hear them, so I'm expecting whatever's going on, he's about to tell us.

"I don't need you, Jackal," he says with a dismissive wave of a paw still holding his reins, "so you can get back to work."

"Not without my weeder I can't," I state pointedly. Also, Ahsan is suddenly looking incredibly nervous and I'm supposed to be watching him, so I'm not about to leave him to the Aardwolf.

"We'll be sending the meerkat over," Lochan says with a snort, spitting on the ground at the horse's feet. "We're relieving Ahsan for the day."

"Why?" He speaks up from behind me. I can feel his presence just at my shoulder, uncomfortably close within my personal space for my tastes, but right now I don't plan to admonish him.

Lochan hesitates for just a moment, which makes my fur prickle. "You're wanted at the manor," he finally says. "Matron Sura has requested your presence."

I can't see him, but I can feel Ahsan stiffen. He stammers, like he's trying to ask something. I'm fairly certain I know what it is, so I ask instead. "Why?"

Lochan actually rolls his eyes. "As if I should know what's in that fucking woman's head. Come and find out for yourself. All I know is what I needed to know. She requested I bring you, so that's what I've come to do. Are we going to have a problem here?"

I finally turn to look at the hyena. He's strangely still, and very quiet. And he remains that way for quite some time. Lochan seems to be getting impatient, when Ahsan finally straightens up and speaks. "Can Kadar come?" He asks.

"No," both Lochan and I say in unison. I follow with, "What the hell are you thinking? They don't let workers on the manor estate." I've barely ever been within eyesight of one, in fact.

"Please," Ahsan begs, uncharacteristically not backing down immediately, for once. He looks to Lochan then, of all people. As if he could possibly appeal to the Aardwolf. "I don't want to go there alone, Lochan. Please."

"You won't be alone," the Aardwolf reminds him. "I'll be there with you."

"You have to do what she says . . . what they all say," he murmurs.

"So does he," the Aardwolf points out, and I'm forced to inwardly agree with him, even though it grates at me. Wait, no. Hang that. Since when have I given a damn about following orders? Especially from a hyena.

"Don't speak for me," I growl at the Aardwolf. "I haven't met many soft-bellied clan members who could push me around."

"They don't have to," Lochan snaps. "All they have to do is tell someone else to push for them."

"Like you?" I counter, snarling through a smile. "Go on, Lochan. Push me."

He doesn't seem amused. "We're not arguing about this," he addresses Ahsan, ignoring me entirely. His tone is decidedly gentle with the hyena, a fact I make a mental note of for later. I've long suspected Lochan has a soft spot for, or at the very least is being forced to be kinder in handling the hyena than he would be with the other workers. Probably because of his Matron. "He couldn't even set foot inside the estate, Ahsan. You know that."

"Then just let him come with me as far as the yard," the hyena persists. "Please, sir. . . I-I would feel much better about going."

"You're going regardless," Lochan states, clearly trying to be firm. "She requested you. That means I bring you to her, one way or another. That's how this works."

"Would you really hurt me, Lochan?" Ahsan asks, and I find the inside of my muzzle's gone strangely dry. That's likely because my mouth is hanging open. There's something altogether new, and moreover very strange, about the sudden drop in pitch in the hyena's voice. It's low, gentle, like it normally is, but there's something else like an undercurrent in it that tugs at me, somehow. Makes me feel odd. I never knew a man could conjure a voice like that.

Whatever power he has, it apparently holds some sway over Lochan as well, because I see him wavering. "Ahsan-" he begins.

"You said I should make some friends," Ahsan insists, "amongst the workers, when I got here. I did." His eyes flit briefly towards me, then just as quickly, away again. Like he's afraid I won't confirm that he's a friend. Probably wise. "I just don't want to be seen leaving the fields alone, Lochan. The other workers already suspect I'm afforded extra privileges. If Kadar comes it seems more like we're being called out for some general reason."

It's a good lie, but it doesn't look like Lochan buys it. If I can tell Ahsan is scared, so can he. The difference is, he probably knows why.

Another mental note. The hyena and I are going to talk when this is all over.

"Fine," the Aardwolf says at length with a ragged sigh. The fact that he folded surprises me, and suddenly the two of them are looking at me, and I'm not prepared.

"Kadar?" the hyena's ears drop, his eyes searching mine imploringly. "You'll come, right?"

Whatever this is, I'm not sure I want to get dragged into it. On the other hand, I'm a man of my word, and Ahsan seems earnestly scared. And I did promise I'd protect the little shit. And lastly, it's a chance to see the manor. One of the only places on this plantation where they might keep a Liberator. However small a chance that may be, I've never had an opportunity like this before.

"What the hell," I shrug. "I'll track mud inside their pretty gates. Sure."

Ahsan gives an earnest smile that melts even some of my resolve to act like I don't give a damn about any of this. I think I catch a flash of relief in Lochan's expression as well, but it's gone as soon as it appeared. He hands the reins off to Ahsan, who looks to me.

"What?" I say dryly. "I can't ride."

"The Matron's estate is across another part of the plantation where we grow rice," Lochan states, tapping at his horse's sides with his ankles. "The land's flooded. You're not going on foot, you'll be a sodden mess."

"Sounds like fun," I snort. "It's hot out."

"I'm already regretting allowing this," the Aardwolf calls back to Ahsan as he begins ambling his horse down the row.

"You've never been on a horse?" Ahsan asks me shyly.

I tip my ears back. "Horses are expensive," I inform him. "My family never even owned a goat."

"Just, um," he pauses, "here . . . I'll help you up."

He puts two hands together, and it takes me a moment to figure out what he's doing. Luckily for him I used to use the same trick with a few friends of mine growing up, to climb walls into the inner district when I was too hungry to care about my father's 'no stealing' rule. I put my footpaw in his palms and step up, pulling myself up onto the back of the large animal in a less-than-graceful manner. I'm feeling fairly unstable when he slides up behind me, entirely without assistance. I can feel his chest inches from my back, and the fur along my nape prickles when he reaches around me, but it's only for the reins.

"I probably should have sat behind you," I point out. I hadn't exactly been the one to make the choice, after all. He could have gotten up in front of me instead of how he chose to. I don't know why that bothers me, but it sort of does. I feel like it should have been reversed.

"It doesn't really make much of a difference, does it?" He asks.

"I guess not," I grouse, flicking my tail aside, since he was nearly sitting on it.

He clicks at the horse and does something with his legs, and we begin to move. I can't seem to get my balance on the damned thing as it is, but when we really get moving to catch up with Lochan it's not only a lot faster than I'd anticipated, but we . . . bounce . . . a lot. With a curse under my breath, I grab at the mane of the animal as my weight begins to shift, and I can't help but lean back. I feel like I might almost fall for a moment, but then my back hits Ahsan's chest, and his elbows tighten around my sides.

I don't like how vulnerable all this makes me feel, how dependent I am on him at this very moment, but I'm not about to bring that up. Instead I try to focus on watching the fields move by. I can see why the people with money and power prefer to go everywhere on horseback. It's damned uncomfortable, but it does make you feel above the rest of the world. Literally as well as figuratively.

"Your paws are very large," Ahsan murmurs, rather out of nowhere.

"Excuse me?" I snuff.

"Just . . . when you were stepping up," his murmur becomes more of a mumble. "I noticed."

"I'm a large man," I say, confused and unsure whether or not I should be offended. "They're proportionate. Why? Are you trying to say something?"

"No!" He says rather quickly. "N-no. I'm sorry."

"You're stranger than I ever gave you credit for," I mutter. And that marks the end of our conversation for the rest of the ride. I see a few of the other workers I recognize as we move through the fields, although not Raja, thank the Gods. I don't even want to know what he'd think about all of this. I do see Chandran however, and I catch a questioning look from him as we ride past. I'll have to talk to him later, after I know what the hell this is all about. Right now I'm as clueless as him.

We near the rice paddies after about half an hour of travel, proving just how vast this plantation is. The rice is probably just for the clan family, because the flooded fields aren't that large, and I can already see what must be the Manor in the distance. It's enormous. It's hard to believe at first that it's a dwelling at all. I've seen large buildings in the city I grew up in, of course, but the largest there that I ever laid my eyes on was a temple. And this house is at least as big, and better maintained. The roof doesn't appear to be made of gold, like the Grand Temple in the Capital is famed to be, but it's covered in clay red shingles that shine in the sun, and a sandy brick exterior. Probably made entirely from bricks from the local clay flats. I wonder briefly if I'd ever made that many bricks in my entire working life.

It's hard to fathom anyone having this much wealth, when every coin you've ever chased has been so elusive. How do they make it all? Where do they keep it? How well must they eat, if they can afford to spend so much on bricks?

I can't see much other than the top two floors of the Manor, because there's a stone wall that surrounds most of the Estate. And it is not made of brick, but smooth, large, rectangular stones. Flat. Tall enough that even the largest workers couldn't grab at the top to pull themselves over. Incredibly difficult to climb, if it's possible at all. There's a gate, of course, but it's wrought iron and predictably sharp all along the top.

Lochan pulls his horse to a stop ahead of us and calls out past the gates. I just barely catch the back of an armored hyena as he moves to the side, then returns a few moments later with another man in matching armor. Hardened camel leather, by the look of it. Well-fitted. Expensive. I had a neighbor back in the district I grew up near the Hyronses who was a tanner. Reeked like piss and blood, but I could listen to him talk about his craft all day. What he did was artistry, not just labor. There's no artistry in making bricks.

With a heavy metallic clang, likely a lock being unhinged, the gates begin to swing open. I peer past the horse's neck and catch my first glimpse inside the estate. I can't help but notice the paved white stone that forms a path towards the house, bold white against the otherwise sandy tan earth. If there are gates to the afterlife that truly do lead to enlightenment, to paradise, that must be what they look like, I decide. A pristine white walkway, cutting through the dirty earth.

Except this one's also flanked on all sides by a veritable garden, spread out over the inside of the grounds. As we make our way inside, I sweep my eyes over the bounty before us and wonder how the hell there's enough water in the world for so much to grow. Many of the plants, I've never even seen before. Succulent, thorned bushes with flowers, trees that grow so straight and proud they'd have put my father's posture to shame. Fruit-bearing bushes, a whole row of fig trees, something with large orange globes dangling so heavily from its branches, it seems almost obscene to me.

The grounds themselves actually look larger from the inside than I imagined them to be from the gates. There isn't even just one dwelling. There are several smaller ones, spread out sporadically amongst the landscape of criss-crossing pathways and gardens. There are also several statues spread throughout, depicting gods and goddesses of the Hyena pantheon. I've seen their like before in the cities, but in the lower districts the lions had knocked several of the arms off the statue of Ishma long ago, and her body was carved with graffiti. It had even become a beloved local custom to festoon a jagged part of her lower abdomen with rotten, suggestive fruits and vegetables.

Actually, that was a myth I could settle right now, come to think about it.

"Hey, Ahsan," I ask casually, "do female hyenas really have penises?"

"What?!" he exclaims, his whole body startling.

I shrug. "Poshka, a friend of mine growing up, claimed he'd seen one naked once. He said she had a penis. I thought that was just a myth the lions cooked up."

"I . . . wh . . . ." he stammers.

I smirk. "They do, don't they?"

"I never said that!" he insists in a hushed, horrified whisper.

"Your lack of any denial speaks volumes."

"You two aren't being as quiet as you think you are, you know," Lochan calls back to the two of us as we begin down one of the paved white rows.

"I agreed to come, not to keep my muzzle shut," I remark cheerfully. "And you're not disagreeing either, Lochan."

"It's 'Master' Lochan," the Aardwolf mutters. "And what makes you think I'd know?"

"Well, you're-"

"Not a hyena!" he barks.

". . . I was going to say in close with the clan. A man in your position?" I snort. "I know the guards don't just fuck the workers. Are you honestly saying you haven't ever?"

Lochan sighs. And then oddly, answers me. "It isn't a penis. It's just that their sex is . . . larger . . . than most females'."

I arch my brow. "Women are a different shape entirely. I don't get your meaning."

"H-he means their . . ." Ahsan stumbles over his words, awkwardly, then clears his throat and gets it out. "Their 'bud'."

"Their what?"

"Please don't make him define that," Lochan growls from just a few feet ahead of us now. We've slowed our horses so that we're nearly walking side by side. The Aardwolf gives me a sidelong, irritated look, which slowly morphs into one of earnest surprise as I continue to stare at him blankly, waiting for him to be more clear. Then he starts laughing.

"Please tell me you weren't ever married!" He guffaws.

My chest tightens, and the stiffness goes through my whole body. "I was," I grate out.

"That poor woman!" He cackles.

I curl up my lip, feeling the edge of my canines, balling a fist at my side. Whatever the hell the bastard finds funny about my lost life, I can't guess, but in my mind it's not something any man should be finding humor in. It's entirely possible he just gets off on stories of woe, and feeling superior over all the poor souls who work these fields. If he wasn't marked for a fierce beating in my mind before, he is now.

"Kadar?" Ahsan leans somewhat over my shoulder. "You had a wife?"

"Most men have had wives when they're my age," I respond icily.

"I just," he flicks an ear, averting his eyes, "never knew."

"How would you?" I reply, pushing the three words out with the same coldness, so he knows to stop. Right now.

He doesn't seem to catch on, though.

"What was she like?" He asks. "Did she-"

"Ahsan," I snap, not masking the growl beneath my voice. "I was married. I am no longer. That ought to suggest to you that something went south, right? So maybe I don't want to fucking talk about it."

"I'm sorry," he says, shrinking back. His arms inch away from my body, holding the reins wider.

"Boys," Lochan cuts into the following silence with an authorative tone. "Clan guards. Keep your muzzles shut for a bit, would you? Try and behave."

I spot what he's talking about a few seconds after he mentions it. There's a fairly large group of men and women in the distance, gathered around a granite basin, which I can only assume is used to keep water in. For what purpose I don't know, but they should really keep a better watch over their resources, because it's currently full of birds, which are probably ruining the water. There are five of them, (the guards, not the birds) the most amount of armored warriors I've seen in some time. At least since that unfortunate incident a few plantations back that saw me nursing a flayed back for several weeks, and ended my employment there.

These guards are even more heavily armed, with falchions that look both ceremonial and well-made. They're wearing that camel-hide like the gate guards, and two of the women are wearing something on their belt I've never seen before, but I'm all but certain by the amount of metal comprising it that it's some kind of weapon. It looks almost like a crossbow with the bow removed. Odd.

Lochan seems to spot where my eyes are wandering, and sniffs. "Amur weapons," he says distastefully. "Sloppy. Imprecise. Loud. Only a coward kills you from ten paces away."

"I don't like it when they practice with them," Ahsan murmurs. "It hurts my ears."

"They're all the rage for the clans that can afford them, these days," Lochan sighs. "I miss the age when 'exotics' meant rare pelts and pets. We gave those curs a good, hard shove in the last war, letting them inch their way back in now is only going to start another one down the line."

"I don't know much about the war," I mutter disinterestedly. Even people like me knew about it, of course. Everyone in Mataa did. The Amur people share our northern border, and their ways are worlds apart from ours. I'd heard them called many things. Pretentious, arrogant, greedy . . . always looking to convert the world to their specist way of thinking. Honestly, they didn't sound too far off from the hyena clans. Except canine, so who knows, maybe I'd have had an easier life if I'd been born there. In Mataa most canines were in unfortunate circumstances, not quite at the bottom, since we could be fierce and hardy, but certainly very few were ever afforded the chances that a hyena, or even a lion, might have. Even the tigers fair better on the whole. Of course, they were enormous and tended towards isolated families, so really it was more a case of most people not wanting to bother them. I'd never really been close with a tiger. Jackals and tigers rarely mixed.

"They more we rely on them for trade, the more we let them in," Lochan growls. "That's how they want it. Get their claws in again."

"I met a, um . . ." Ahsan pauses, ". . . I don't know. Dog. There are many kinds, I'm told. This one was actually very small. Shorter than Matron Sura. He was the one who came to sell the pistols. He stayed for nearly a week, and I thought he was actually very nice."

"Don't let their manners fool you," Lochan snorts. "It's all fake niceties. They're all about appearance. Gotta cover up the stink somehow."

"I didn't think he smelled bad," Ahsan shrugs. "Different. More like you than me, Kadar."

"Then he reeked," I reply. Lochan laughs again.

"He walked with me in the garden," Ahsan recounts quietly, his ears tipped back. "He talked a lot about my collar. He said it was wrong."

"Yeah, that's what they fought the war over," Lochan says. "Or, at least, that's the excuse they used. They want all people to be free . . . to know their place in their rutting hierarchy of holiness."

"I'll live with being unholy if it means you'd cut this fucking thing off me," I feel the desire to step in to the conversation.

"They're not your saviors, Jackal," Lochan bites back. "Stop talking ignorant shit. You don't know a damn thing about any of this. You want to know what that bloody war accomplished? The Hyronses choked with bodies, twenty-odd cities burned to the ground, and now we get to call you 'Indentured Servants' instead of 'Slaves'."

"Not much of a difference there."

"Exactly," he fixes his eyes on me. "The Amur aren't going to set you free. You know what will? Work. Do your damned job every day, keep your nose out of the Divine, and you'll pay off your contract and leave this place a free man."

"I don't believe that for a second," I say flatly.

"This place isn't like other plantations," the Aardwolf states. "Your board is low, that's why the lodgings are sparse and we don't buy much meat. It's so you sorry bastards don't rack up more debt than you make in a day. We don't run our place like that."

"Why?" I ask, unimpressed. If he thought I was buying this load of horse shit, he was wrong. I wasn't new to plantation work. I'd come into all of this like most indentured servants, thinking I could power my way through it and pay my 'debt' down quickly. Years of experience had since taught me otherwise. Indentured servitude kept you indentured, for as long as possible. Usually until the worker broke down and was too useless to own any more. We were charged for lodging, for food, for the tools we used, practically for the air we breathed. And all of that came off our earnings each day. You could put in a year of back-breaking work and owe more than you'd begun with.

"Because an angry, frustrated worker is a pain in the ass to control?" He offers. "Because broken-down, old workers don't pull their weight? Take your pick. Work-forces like that only suffer in the long run. It's more cost efficient to keep a string of cheap, young, new workers coming in. That's why we take problem cases like you with low contracts. Reform you, get you off your lazy ass, get you working and paying off your debt. Everyone fares better in the end."

"Hyenas don't give a damn about how anyone 'fares' unless it's another hyena," I fick an ear back towards Ahsan, "and sometimes not even then."

"Hyenas don't run this work-force," Lochan growls. "I do."

I tip both of my ears up at that, surprised. I'd never pegged Lochan as anything more than a guard, but he sounded dead serious. And offended, which supported the idea that he might just actually be taking pride in what he was saying. He wouldn't be so defensive about the hyenas, he'd made it abundantly clear he didn't want to be lumped in with them by this point. So it was possible he was honestly telling the truth.

Was the clan here allowing a non-hyena as an Overseer? Granted, he was close enough, and maybe that was why it was a possibility at all.

"Both of you, shut up," Lochan suddenly snaps in a harsh whisper, and I soon see why. We're rounding a large row of thick bushes, and behind them, I can hear the sounds of many footsteps, many horses, and a lot of conversation. The occasional distinctive bark of laughter means hyenas. Many, many hyenas.