Demontech: Onslaught (40 page)

The three women, their faces mere inches apart, looked into each others’ eyes. They giggled. Then they went to work on the prisoner.

He screamed.

From where they were around the bend, the men heard the prisoner’s cries and looked guiltily at each other. The man’s screams were intermittent, but to the listening men they seemed to go on forever before there was a gurgle and they ended. The men remained where they were, looking at each other but trying to avoid eye contact.

“Well,” Alyline’s voice snapped after a moment, “we’re done. Do you want to know what we learned?”

Spinner’s mouth was dry. He didn’t try to speak, he simply jerked his head at the other men and led them at a slow pace back to the prisoner.

They tried hard not to look at the body but couldn’t help themselves—and, as horrible a sight as it was, looking at the body was somehow easier than looking at the blood-spattered women.

The Golden Girl looked at the men, grimly amused. The other women avoided their eyes.

“He didn’t talk in a coherent manner,” the Golden Girl said. “Now he said one thing, now another. But I’ll put it together for you. Zweepee, Doli, feel free to join in if I overlook anything. His story went something like this: ‘You are lost. You may as well kill yourselves now. My company was on its way to Zobra City when we came across you. We were to join in the siege of the city, or more likely in its occupation, as it has probably fallen by now. Mine was only one of many companies and battalions crossing overland from Bostia and Skragland into Zobra. Many others have gone into Zobra City and southern Zobra by sea. Now the High Shoton and his liege, Lord Lackland, control all of Nunimar from Matilda to east of Zobra. We have all of Skragland, or so much as makes no difference. Soon we will have all of southern Nunimar and will be ready to cross to Arpalonia. You have no chance. The High Shoton rules. The entire world will soon be ours, to do with as we please.’ ”

When the women were through relating what the prisoner had told them, Alyline said in a flat voice, “I must cleanse myself. Get rid of that.” She flipped a hand at the body. She didn’t look at the men as she strode to the pool. The other women followed her. “Don’t anybody look,” she snapped without turning her head to the men. The three women were naked by the time they reached the water, bloody clothes in one hand and bloody knives in the other.

The men busied themselves burying the body away from their campsite and cleaning away or covering up the gore that stained the ground.

Sometime later the women emerged from the water. None of the men glanced in their direction while they wrung the water out of their clothing and dressed.

Zweepee and Doli busied themselves with small things that didn’t need to be done just then, while Alyline sat cross-legged in front of the collection of garments and cloths she’d gleaned from the battlefield. She selected several, then found her sewing kit and started to work on a new garment for herself.

“Do you think he was telling the truth?” Spinner later asked Silent. Spinner saw himself in command but he was sure the steppe giant knew more about the Jokapcul—and about the situation in that part of Nunimar—than he did, and didn’t want to do anything without hearing the other man’s opinion.

Silent shrugged. “I think I know them no better than you do,” he said. “I know they are arrogant and boastful. But you tell me you have seen sign of many Jokap troops moving south and east. He was probably telling the truth, or something close to it—at least about many companies and battalions entering Zobra.” He shrugged again. “About the Jokaps having all of southern Nunimar from Matilda to east of Zobra? That I don’t know.”

“I don’t think it matters if he was truthful or lying,” Haft said. “We got out of New Bally when it was occupied. We can get into Zobra City unseen and find a ship even if the Jokapcul are there.”

“There were only two of us then,” Spinner said, “and we had help from the old man. Now we are nine, and two of us are very obvious. We should not expect help from anyone in Zobra City if it’s occupied.”

Haft scowled. Nine included the wolf, and he’d rather not include Wolf.

Spinner thought for a moment, then decided. “There’s only one way to find out for sure,” he said. “We have to continue south.”

They stayed at the bend in the stream the rest of that day and all of the next to allow the men’s wounds to start healing. They also questioned the magician, whose name was Xundoe.

Xundoe didn’t apologize for not having any healing demons or herbs with him, but when he cursed the ignorance of the palace bureaucrats who had sent him out with nothing more than a few imbaluris, it seemed that’s what he was trying to do. He also snarled something in Zobran that sounded as if he was cursing the arrogance of the Jokapcul who held their troops in such low esteem that they routinely sent magicians on combat patrols without healing demons.

No, he told them, they were not guarding a traveling member of the royal family. The prince’s advisers hadn’t believed the reports flooding in about the number of Jokapcul forces invading the country. So the prince sent out several companies of Palace Guards on reconnaissance missions.

What Xundoe saw implied that the reports, if anything, understated the situation in the countryside.

Another time, in answer to a question from Spinner, he said proudly, “I am a mage.”

“But mage is the lowest ranking magician, barely above apprentice,” Spinner blurted.

The magician blushed; he’d hoped the outlanders would know nothing of the rank structure of magicians. “It’s true that I’m only an M-3, but that’s only because Zobra has been at peace for a long time and promotions are slow.” He hastily added, “If I were elsewhere, I could go before a sorcerers’ board and be certified as a full magician, likely a senior magician, soon to be advanced to sorcerer, M-7.” He held his head high when he said that. “I’ve kept up my studies and have learned far more than my grade level, a rank far beneath me, would imply. As you should know; you saw me use all the fighting demons the Jokapcul magician carried in his kit.”

Spinner considered the magician’s boast and decided he might be telling the truth; his robe was more heavily decorated with cabalistic symbols than was usual for junior mages he’d met while on duty with the fleet.

While the men talked quietly, Alyline made new clothing for herself from pieces of uniforms and other material she’d scavenged. The new garments were of the same cut and style as her golden dancing costume: a vest, open between the breasts but laced together so she wasn’t too exposed, and pantaloons with a girdle low on her hips. Unlike her dancing costume, however, the new garments were nowhere diaphanous, and looked sturdy enough to stand up to wear. Since she no longer had to wear the golden garments, she packed her golden adornments away with her money pouches. In place of the diadem, she wore a broad-brimmed hat fashioned from the leather of a Jokapcul helmet. She had made slippers from the leather of a Jokapcul jerkin.

When the men were far enough along the way to healing, they packed their few belongings and left the stream behind.

They didn’t press their movement southward, so the wounds the men had suffered in the fight weren’t aggravated by the travel, but continued to heal. Alyline took advantage of their slow pace to collect barks and earths, fruits and roots, with which to dye her new clothes. Fortunately, though they occasionally crossed the tracks of companies of men moving in a generally southerly or southeasterly direction, they encountered no Jokapcul along the way.

On the fourth day of their southward march, in the middle of the afternoon, they came across a narrow road. It was old and well traveled, but the weeds beginning to sprout in it said it hadn’t been used in a week or more. They decided it was safe to follow the road for a while. Wolf scouted ahead.

For an hour, travel along the road was good. The roadway was easier on the horses, and the riders didn’t have to duck under branches. Songbirds twirred merrily in the trees, and even the buzz of insects sounded friendly. Everything felt and sounded safe; there was nothing to indicate the presence of any danger. If they hadn’t known of the invasion, nothing they saw along the road would have reminded them of trouble. They looked forward to finding a village or a farm before nightfall. But after traveling for that hour, Wolf appeared ahead of them, sitting in the middle of the road, facing them, blocking the way. His tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth and his eyes looked sad.

“Ulgh,”
he whined when they were still twenty or more paces shy of him.

The mare, ridden by Haft in the van of the short column, shied from the wolf, and Haft struggled to bring her back under control.

Spinner dismounted and handed Haft his reins as he brushed past him and moved toward Wolf.

“Hey,” Haft objected as he dismounted awkwardly because of the extra reins in his hand and Spinner’s horse standing so close.

Spinner dropped to a knee in front of Wolf and briskly rubbed his ruff. “What’s the matter, boy?” he asked, looking beyond the wolf. “Is there an ambush ahead? Did you see Jokapcul?”

Wolf whined and shook his head sharply.

Spinner lowered his face to look at Wolf. “Was there another battle, are there more dead soldiers ahead of us?”

Wolf twisted his shoulders and whined again.

“No soldiers,” Spinner interpreted. “But there is danger?”

Wolf whined and shook his head once more. Then he lay down and, covering his face with a paw, tightly closed his eyes.

“There’s no danger now, but there was. We aren’t going to want to see whatever is up ahead. Is that right?”

Wolf yipped, but didn’t open his eyes or uncover his face.

Spinner stood. “All right. We’ll be careful. You and I will go on, and you show me what’s there.”

Wolf sprung to his feet and turned south, looking back over his shoulder at Spinner.

“Wolf found something,” Spinner told the others. “I’m going with him to see what it is. Wait for me.” Without waiting for a reply, he started down the road. He didn’t bother to string his crossbow—he was sure he wouldn’t need it.

A hundred paces farther along there was a modest clearing in the forest. At one time the clearing had held a farmhouse, a barn, other outbuildings, a stone-walled corral, and a kitchen garden. Now the stone wall of the corral was tumbled down, and wisps of smoke rose from the charred ruins of the farmhouse and other buildings. What looked like several bundles of discarded clothing dotted the garden, which was blackened from a recent fire.

“Yesterday.” A voice at Spinner’s side made him jump. It was Silent. “Late. Not long before dusk.”

“I told you—” Spinner started to say, but stopped when he saw Fletcher beyond the giant, and realized the entire group had come along, though he’d told them to wait.

“We don’t need you to protect us from all the evil in the world,” Haft said. “And you couldn’t even if we wanted you to.” He walked into the clearing; puffs of black smoke rose with each step he took. Halfway to the farmhouse he stopped and squatted next to the first of the bundles. He swore, but his voice was too low for the words to carry to those who stood at the edge of the clearing. Muttering, Haft stood and slowly walked through the burned garden to the next pile, which he only glanced at before turning back to the trees. Spinner was walking into the clearing. They didn’t speak as they passed. Haft merely shook his head; Spinner grimaced.

Spinner glanced at the first discarded bundle to confirm his fears. It was a middle-aged man, probably the farmer. From the horror frozen on his face and the blood that had flowed from only one wound in his chest, Spinner guessed he was the first to die and was surprised by an unexpected blow. The second was an old man, more severely butchered, probably the farmer’s father, or the farmer’s wife’s father, cut down as he tried to run to the farmhouse. A third, just outside the ruins of the house, was a youth. He’d tried to fight, using the hayfork that lay near his outflung arm. Inside what remained of the walls of the farmhouse were three badly charred clumps that had probably been playful children at the same hour the previous day. It was obvious that the Jokapcul had fired the house while the children were in it.

“Where are the women?” Alyline demanded.

Spinner started; he hadn’t heard her come up behind him. “What?”

“The women.” Alyline’s voice was bitter, as though it was Spinner’s fault there were no women. “There are no women’s bodies here, only those of men and children.”

Spinner turned from her without answering and went to the ruins of what must have been the barn. He found tools in the vicinity, a shovel, a hoe, and a pick. He gathered them and carried them to a patch of bare ground in front of the house to start digging. In moments Haft and Fletcher joined him. Together, they dug a grave. Silent gathered the bodies.

The women stood silently to the side during the burial of the six bodies in the one grave. The magician chanted prayers in Zobran. Wolf stood erect, looking alert, during the brief service, then scouted around the clearing while the humans stood quietly, reflectively, at the graveside for a long moment. Wolf paused briefly near a line of trees, then trotted into it without attracting the people’s attention.

“Let’s find another place to spend the night,” Spinner said when their brief burial service was done. They quickly returned to the horses. Wolf stayed between them and the line of trees.

The next morning they found another farm. That afternoon, a third. Both farms appeared the same as the first—burned out, the bodies of dead men and children scattered about, no bodies of women. They stopped at each place to bury the dead. The following morning yielded two more ravaged farms. They didn’t bury the dead men and children at the second farm, since they realized there’d be too many dead ahead to bury them all. They skirted the first farm of the afternoon. At the second, Alyline again demanded, “Where are the women?” Again her question seemed an accusation, directed at the men.