Get Her Back (Demontech) (9 page)

      He decided to take a risk. He went the rest of the way through  to the road between the middle and inner rings. There were more people there than he’d seen outside the other road. Warriors lounged in front of the doors of the joined huts. There went his idea of entering one of them.

      Or maybe not. He noticed that the guard at the door of the  second hut from the far end kept trying to talk to passing women. He could well guess the kinds of remarks the warrior was making. He’d seen men behave that way in many places and times. A wry grin crossed his mouth—he’d been known to behave that way  himself a time or two—or more.

     He went back outside the ring and around to the other end of the joined huts and back to the inner road. Treading softly,  he slipped through the passing people to the side of the flirting warrior. His heart leaped in his chest. This close to the door flap, he could make out the voices inside the hut—they were speaking Zobran!

      Did he need to tell the people imprisoned in the huts that he was there and rescue was at hand? No, he decided. But he did need to find out if the huts were joined on the inside, or if they were separate rooms. He also needed to find out where their weapons and horses were being kept. It wasn’t long before the flirting guard took a step toward a passing woman to press his suit. Kaplar took advantage of that to duck inside the hut. Lacking the windows, narrow though they were, of the other huts, it was much darker inside, and it took a few minutes for Kaplar’s vision to adjust.

      He didn’t see Alyline, but he hadn’t really expected her to be held in the same hut as the soldiers. But he did see a Zobran he knew, and sidled up to him.

      “Teon,” he whispered in Frangerian next to the Royal Lancer’s ear, “don’t react. It’s Kaplar.”

      Teon couldn’t help himself, he started at hearing the unexpected voice and jerked his head from side to side, looking for its source.

      “What? Where are you?” At least he kept his voice low, almost a whisper.

      “I’ve got a Lalla Mkouma, she’s keeping me invisible. Listen, we’re going to get all of you out of here—”

      “Guma. They took the lieutenant and some of the other  men—”

      “I know, we already rescued them. Guma and three others. I need to know where Alyline is, and where they have your horses and weapons. Can you tell me?”

      Teon was silent for a moment, long enough that Kaplar thought he’d have to repeat his questions, but then he answered.

      “Right before they put me in here, I saw the Golden Girl’s face in an archer’s loophole across the way. She’s still there unless they moved her. The warriors divided our weapons among themselves. I’ve heard a few whinnies farther to the right, so I guess that’s where the horses are.”

      “Thanks, Teon. Now keep quiet about my visit. I’ll be back with Sir Haft and the rest of the Bloody Axes. We’ll get you out of here.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

      A moment later, Kaplar was past the distracted guard and across the road. He risked a quick look through one of the narrow windows on the hut closest to him. And pulled away instantly—his head and shoulders cast a shadow inside the hut. He realized in that instant that even though he was invisible to eyes, the sun could still see him and he cast a shadow. He’d have to be more careful.

      But.

      But he hadn’t cast any shadows before, so why did he now? He looked at the ground at his feet. It was as he remembered, he cast no shadow. So why did the light inside the hut suddenly dim when he looked into it? Whatever, he couldn’t continue to stand in the roadway figuring it out, there was too much chance that a passer-by would brush against him and raise an alarm at encountering someone he or she couldn’t see. He tried looking into the hut again. Once more, the interior light dimmed. Nobody exclaimed at the sudden reduction in light level, and he didn’t see anybody inside during the quick glance he allowed himself. Either Alyline had been moved, or he was looking into the wrong hut. Did he dare check the other huts in this short stretch, with the risk of accidental discovery? He thought that he had to. If they had to effect a forcible rescue, they needed to know where the Golden Girl was being kept.

      He found her in the third hut that he looked into. He wanted to tell her that he was there, that her freedom was coming soon. But more people than before were in the road, and he didn’t dare tarry, he already risked discovery.

      That was proved seconds later when he had to spin out of the way of someone who suddenly appeared from between two of  the huts and nearly ran into him. Kaplar crossed the road as quickly as he could, and twice had to dodge out of someone’s way.

      Then he was squeezing between huts to the road separating the middle and outer rings of huts. It was too early to breathe easy, he knew that. He still needed to confirm the location of the Royal Lancers’ horses, and then get back. And all the while, looking for anything else that Haft and the Bloody Axes might need to know.

      Corporal Kaplar was gone longer than the hour he’d said when he left the Bloody Axes’ encampment, but not so much longer that anybody began to worry that something had gone wrong.

      “Sir Haft,” he said into his commander’s ear when he returned, “I’m back.”

      Haft flinched at the unexpected voice, but recovered immediately and said, “Don’t rub the Lalla Mkouma’s leg until I get enough people around so that nobody will see you reappear.”

      “Of course not, Sir Haft.”

      It only took a couple of minutes for enough people to gather around where Kaplar sat on the ground to conceal him from any but the most alert scrutiny. Everyone but the command group started dispersing as soon as Kaplar returned to visibility.

      “Veed mee!”
the Lalla Mkouma squealed as soon as she stopped concealing herself and Kaplar.

      Kaplar quickly retrieved the tin of pellets Haft had given him and got one out for the diminutive demon. She simpered at him, and daintily nibbled at the pellet. A marked contrast to the way she wolfed down the pellet he gave her before she had hidden him more than an hour earlier.

     
“Oo nizzem,”
she cooed at Kaplar. “
Mee likuu!”
She tittered, and brushed her lips across his cheek before hopping off his shoulder to the ground. “
Whar Tab’b?”
she asked.

      “I’m here, delightful one,” Tabib answered, and squatted down so his face was not very high above hers.

      She squealed again and scampered to him.
Boo mee way,”
she said. “
Mee nee zeeb!”

      “Indeed so right, little one,” Tabib said. “I will put you away right now, and you can have your well deserved sleep.”

      The Lalla Mkouma smiled and waved at Kaplar just before the mage closed the lid of her chest over her.

      “All right, finally,” Haft said impatiently. “Report!”

      “Aye aye, Sir Haft!” Kaplar said. It was all he could do to not snap to attention and pop a salute.

      The sun was kissing the western horizon when Itzuli came for them. Before they got close enough to see the long, deep shadows cast in the camp’s central clearing, they smelled the aromas of cooking flesh and spices that wafted through the camp. It looked like everyone in the clan was in the clearing, men and older boys on one side, women, girls, and younger boys on the other. They were all packed in seated rows; shoulder to shoulder, hip to haunch, knees overlapping, the crossed ankles of one row pressed against the  buttocks of the row in front.

      Itzuli led Haft, Balta, and Tabib through a narrow aisle in the packed rows of nomads to a low bench on the side of the entrance to Nagusi’s hut. He directed the rest of the platoon, including Lieutenant Guma and the other freed Zobrans, to a stretch of the clearing’s perimeter off to one side, where they formed part of the front row of people seated. The shadows lengthened and deepened, and the ancient man who had earlier said the words that made Haft  and the Skraglanders guests rather than enemies came out of his hut and began circling the clearing with a salamander, the first demon Haft had seen evidence of in the nomad camp. The ancient made two circuits of the clearing: on his first passage, he used the salamander to light torches behind the outside row of people, on his second he lit the torches before the front row.

      When the last torch was lit, unseen drums and flutes began playing a processional. The nomads began a chant in time with the music, and every head turned to look at the chief’s hut.

      A remarkable sight met Haft’s eyes when he turned his head to look at the chief’s hut. A naked man with the head of a huge, horned beast burst out of the hut. He and Balta instantly jumped to the side and reached for their weapons, but left them undrawn when they noticed that nobody else acted afraid of the horned beast with the body of a naked man, and eased back to their seats.

      The naked man-beast capered into the middle of the clearing and danced a wild, swirling, twisting dance in point, counterpoint, and discordance with the piping of the flutes and thrumming of the drums, and covering the entire open area including its fringes, so that he nearly stomped on the toes and ankles of the people in the front row. The early night was closer to cool than it was to hot, but it wasn’t long before the dancer began glistening with sweat, and soon after that beads of sweat began spinning off of him to strike people in the close-packed circles. The people thus baptized reacted with ecstasy, as though the beads of sweat were a great sacrament. After a time the dancer began keening, barely audible at first, but rising in both volume and pitch to a piercing whistle, as of an arrow flying too close past one’s ear.

      Then, with no warning that Haft could discern, both the  dancing and the music stopped.

      The beast-man stood frozen in half-step in the middle of the clearing, one foot off the ground, back bent in an inward curl, both arms raised, with the hands curled forward and down, and the horned head ducked below his arms.

      Slowly, slowly, the dancer straightened, his arms lowered to his sides, his raised foot to the ground. A lone drum took up a slow tattoo. A single flute piped a two note tune, its notes sounding between the beats of the tattoo.

      Abruptly, the beast-man shrieked and leaped straight up, his legs and arms wide apart, fingers spread and vibrating.

      He collapsed onto the ground.

      Four warriors picked up the fallen dancer and bore him into the chief’s hut. A short time later, Chief Nagusi emerged, looking refreshed as though he had briskly bathed after strenuous activity. Itzuli was at his side. Nagusi sat on a stool. Itzuli sat on a lower stool between him and Haft.

      “The Great Chief wishes to know how you liked the dance,” Itzuli translated when Nagusi spoke to his guests.

      “It was impressive,” said Haft. Looking around, he added, “I still don’t see the drums and pipes.”

      Nagusi laughed at the translation and said something in return.

      “You aren’t supposed to see the musicians,” Itzuli translated.

      Haft gave a smile and nod of acknowledgment.

      Nagusi stood, looked around at the circle of close-packed people, raised his arms above his head, looked to the starry sky, and held the pose for a long moment. He brought his hands down and clapped them together loudly. There was a reverential buzz from the crowd, and young men and women, probably adolescent, came through narrow aisles on the side of the clearing opposite from where Haft and the Bloody Axes had entered. They wore light skins and carried huge trays laden with steaming bowls. The first man and woman came directly to Nagusi, and knelt to place the trays on low stands before him. The food was bowls containing chunks of meat mixed together with pieces of what looked to Haft to be tubers and greens, although he couldn’t identify them beyond that. A thick broth filled the bowls and smothered the foodstuffs.

      Nagusi said one word, and two of the warriors who stood behind him stepped forward. Each picked up a spoon from the trays and plunged it into a random bowl, one from each tray. Then they shoved the laden spoons into the mouths of the servers. The two sucked the stew off of the spoons and chewed. They opened their mouths wide to show that they had actually swallowed the food.

      Nagusi settled back to watch them for several minutes. When neither showed any sign of distress, he flipped his hands, dismissing the servers.

      During the poison test, the other servers had set their trays on the ground in front of the first row of people, and gone back twice for more trays. Nagusi shouted out one word, and the people in the front row began passing the bowls back. The Skraglanders needed to be prompted. In front of the chief’s hut, Itzuli did the honors. Soon everyone, including the guards behind Nagusi and the servers who had delivered the trays to the circle, were slurping and chomping—the sounds of eating were too loud to allow for easy conversation.

      “What meat is this?” Haft had to lean close to Itzuli and shout to be heard. The meat was very tender, and tasted like nothing so much as piglet. He hadn’t seen anything that resembled a pig since he’d mounted the High Desert.

      “It is comitelot,” Itzuli shouted back.

      Haft gave him a raised-eyebrow look, but didn’t pursue it.
How,
he wondered,
could this be comitelot? It’s far too tender to be from a beast of burden or a riding animal. Unless it was severely beaten to tenderize it.
He took another bite.
The sauce is very savory and thick. Maybe it was cooked for a long time.

      After a few more minutes he leaned toward Itzuli again. “What are these?” he shouted, indicating the tuber and greens.

      Itzuli seemed to consider the question, then shouted back, “I don’t know any words for them in your languages. We call them—.” He growled a few syllables that were so unintelligible to Haft that he thought he’d never be able to repeat them.

      The nomads ate with such gusto that it wasn’t long before everybody but Haft and the Bloody Axes were through. At a loud clap from Nagusi, the servers rose from where they’d been eating and bustled about collecting bowls. They even took bowls from the Skraglanders who hadn’t finished eating yet. As soon as the remains of the meal were cleared away, the servers came back. In the center of the clearing, they ripped off their light skins, rendering themselves naked except for loincloths. The hidden drums and flutes started up again—joined this time by the unmistakable strains of a sothar.