‘Do you see the gloves and the whistle ?’ Jiro pointed to the servant who managed the hounds, tugging now at their restraint, the muscles under their brindled hides quivering in high-strung eagerness.
At Desio’s nod, Jiro continued. ‘The leather has been soaked in bitch urine. These particular hounds have been trained to recognize that odour as belonging to their master. These dogs were trained as a gift, so they answer only to the whistle. Once in the hands of their owner, they will come to know his personal scent as the smell on the gloves wears away, and eventually mind only his voice. The gloves and whistle allow them to be controlled in the meantime.’
‘An admirable system,’ Desio observed enviously.
Jiro did not miss the note of longing. He motioned magnanimously to the servant. ‘Would my host care to course the dogs himself?’
Desio’s face lit. ‘I would be honoured, Jiro. And grateful.’
One at a time, the Anasati servant relinquished the gloves. Desio shoved large hands inside, and grasped the leashes. The magnificent dogs now eyed him with expectancy, and tugged against his hold. He laughed in a rush of elation. Recklessly he stroked one brindled head.
The dog he fondled flashed him an impatient look, then resumed watching the men, servants, and soldiers who stood well clear on the practice field. ‘Very soon, my beauties,’ Desio soothed. He glanced across the gully, where the servants seemed slow in tying the robe to the dummy. He quivered, just like the hounds.
Incomo noted, and felt consternation. Thus had the past Lord, Jingu, appeared, when he pursued unwholesome pleasures. Jiro also saw, and the barest hint of distaste marred his veneer of courtesy.
Desio fingered the bone whistle. ‘You,’ he called to the slaves. ‘Don’t bother with those stupid targets. Run that way!’ He gestured across the practice field.
The slaves hesitated, horror on their sun-browned faces. Then, more afraid of the hanging they would receive if they dared to disobey their master’s order, they let fall the robe half stuffed with straw and sprinted into the open.
They ran as if all the demons of hell were behind them.
A hungry smile curled Desio’s lips.
With flawless politeness, Jiro finished his instructions. ‘My Lord, one long blast on the whistle will order the dogs to hunt. Two short whistles will recall them.’
Desio savoured a moment of soul-deep anticipation. He felt the surge of the dogs against his hand, as they strained and whined to be cut loose. A moment longer he teased them, withholding them from their desire. Then he raised the whistle and slipped the leashes from their collars.
The dogs bounded forward, dark shadows against sunlit grass. ‘Hunt!’ murmured Desio. ‘Hunt until your hearts burst.’
The hounds surged across the ground, reaching full stride within seconds. Their tails streamed on the wind, and their savage baying echoed off the hills. They ate up the distance that separated their fleeing prey in long, elastic strides. The slaves flashed terrified glances over their shoulders, and suddenly the dogs were upon them.
Wind brought back a human scream as the lead hound sprang stifflegged upon the trailing man’s back. He pitched forward, flailing desperately, but jaws closed on the nape of his neck. The cries ceased but only for an instant. The other hound overtook the leader, ripped out a hamstring, and the slave went down with a shriek. A chorus of harrowing wails and snarls rang across the practice field. Desio licked his lips. He watched the thrashing victim with wide, fascinated eyes, and laughed at his feeble attempt to save himself. The dogs were clever and swift. They darted and circled, tearing exposed flesh, then dodging as swiftly away.
‘A man armed with a knife would not easily escape them,’ Jiro observed. ‘They were trained to kill carefully.’
Desio sighed. ‘Magnificent, truly magnificent.’ He savoured every moment of the carnage, until the struggles of the slaves subsided, and the hounds closed in for a firm grip. One tore its victim’s throat out, and the last cry died away. Into uncomfortable stillness, Desio said, ‘Like the legendary battle hounds in the sagas.’
Jiro shrugged. ‘Perhaps. The wardogs of legend might have been akin to these.’ As if he were bored by the topic, he bowed to Desio. ‘Since they please you, keep them as my gift to you, Lord of the Minwanabi. Hunt them, and as they kill at your command, think kindly on our afternoon’s discussion.’
Flushed with delight, Desio returned the bow. ‘Your generosity enriches me, Jiro.’ Softly he added, ‘More than you will know.’
Jiro could not match his host’s enjoyment; but the Lord of the Minwanabi barely noticed, absorbed as he was by the hounds’ bloodthirsty feasting. ‘Allow me to provide you and your men with quarters,’ he murmured. ‘We will dine and I shall see your every need is met.’