Demontech: Onslaught

by David Sherman

  “Hold him,” he said as he handed the reins over.

  Haft looked at the reins like they were writhing vipers, but took them anyway. “What do I do if he decides to run away?”

  “Don’t let him,” Spinner answered absently.

  Haft looked dubious. How was he supposed to stop an animal so much bigger than he was if it decided it wanted to run away?

  Spinner repeated the process with two more horses. Then he led two of them through the gate and had Haft bring the third. Haft was amazed that the horse followed him so easily.

  “Three?” Silent said when Spinner stopped next to him. “I’m not going. Really. Besides, these Jokap horses aren’t big enough to carry me.”

  Spinner shook his head. “The third horse isn’t for you. We may need to use one as a pack animal. Even if we don’t, it’s always a good idea to have an extra horse.”

  “It’s even better to have an extra horse for each man.”

  Spinner looked back, but the last horse had hobbled into the forest and was out of sight. “Three will do for us,” he said.

  Haft looked relieved. Then he wondered why he should feel relief at only having three horses instead of four when a moment earlier he thought two was two too many.

  Silent looked to where the Skragish border guards were gathering at a table under the trees for dinner. “You go and eat now. I’ll curry and feed your horses so they’ll be ready to go when you have eaten.”

  While they ate, Silent removed the tackle from the horses and curried them with a stiff comb. When he was through, they looked better and seemed to feel better as well, almost frisky. He gave them each a nose bag of oats then joined the others at the table. Sergeant Pilco sat down with them just as they were finishing their meal. He had a sheet of paper in his hand.

  “I drew up a map for you,” Silent translated. “Parts of it I copied from my military maps, parts of it I drew from what I know of where you are going.” He looked at them solemnly. “That means this is a more accurate map than anything Guard Command has issued to me here.” He put the map on the table and oriented it so the directions he traced on it would be in the same direction they would take.

  Spinner and Haft nodded and spoke their thanks.

  “Here’s where we are.” A finger thunked down on the map. “The road you were on coming here continues northeast. Follow it about two miles and you will find a branch heading southeast. Take that southeast branch. It doesn’t get much traffic. It goes through farm and ranch land, very lightly populated, so you won’t have to worry about running into the wrong kind of people. About two, maybe three days along, I’m not exactly sure—and I don’t know the kind of land you will be going through because I’ve never been there and the person who told me didn’t say—you’ll reach a main road.” His finger traced the winding side road he wanted them to travel to where it butted against another line. “Turn right, onto the main road. That is the main north-south road through the kingdom. Go south. It will take you to Zobra. I haven’t heard any rumors of Jokapcul being there, and technically we’re at peace with them, so you shouldn’t have any trouble at the border crossing. If you do, ask for Sergeant Waffno. He’s an old friend of mine. The last I heard, he was stationed at that crossing. Tell him I said he should take good care of you. Then you’ll be all right. I don’t know enough about Zobra to draw a map that’ll do you any good, but once you’re there, you shouldn’t have any trouble finding Zobra City or some other seaport. Then you should easily be able to find a ship heading your way.” He pushed the map to them and sat back, through with his instructions.

  Spinner and Haft huddled over the map to examine its details. They had one or two minor questions, but they didn’t think they’d have any problems following it. They thanked Sergeant Pilco for his help. He shook their hands and left to see to his men and assign the defensive positions they would take when the Jokapcul patrol headed their way arrived at the border.

  The healing witch wanted to spend a few minutes with Spinner before she released him as her patient. While he was with her, Silent showed Haft how to saddle and bridle the horses. Haft wasn’t sure he got the lesson down. He wasn’t sure he wanted to either. When their saddles were back on, the horses looked proud, almost eager to be ridden. Haft looked at them with some measure of trepidation.

  The witch gave Spinner some herbs and vials of ointments to use, and made sure he understood her instructions. Before he left, she glanced at Haft, tapped one of the ointment vials, and softly said something. Spinner glanced at Haft, nodded, and said something back. Though they didn’t understand each other’s words, they managed well enough to understand each other’s meanings. That sufficed.

  When they were through saddling the horses, Silent gave Haft brief instructions on horsemanship. “You kick the horse in the flanks when you want him to go,” the nomad said with a twinkle in his eyes. “When you want him to stop, you pull back on the reins. Pull the reins to the right when you want him to go right, to the left when you want him to go left. There are better ways to control horses, but those are the easiest commands to learn. Most horses are very obedient, so you don’t have anything to worry about. Now mount up.”

  He showed Haft how to put his foot in the stirrup and swing himself into the saddle. Haft managed on the second try. The horse, a young mare, looked over her shoulder at her rider as though wondering why she got the amateur. Haft misunderstood her look; he thought the horse was thinking, I’m going to get you.

  Spinner mounted his horse, a stallion old enough that its randiest days were behind him.

  A Skragish guard lashed a sack of food onto the saddle of the third horse, a gelding, and they were ready.

  “Travel safely, my friends,” Silent said, and gripped each of their wrists. Sergeant Pilco did the same.

  “Thank you for saving our lives,” Spinner said.

  “We will meet again someday,” Haft said to Silent. He remembered promising the old man that they’d be back and wondered why he was telling strangers who helped him in strange lands that he’d see them again instead of simply saying good-bye, as he always used to.

  They rode east.

  Haft wouldn’t say he hated horses. He certainly wouldn’t say he was afraid of them. If possible, he wouldn’t say anything at all about horses. But if he had to say something, he might admit to being somewhat uncomfortable with horses. Why not? He was a Frangerian Marine, and despite the name of the ship he’d sailed on, there weren’t many horses at sea. As it was, the horse he rode was a nice enough mare. She was normally a docile animal given to a Jokapcul cavalryman who was new in the cavalry. The Jokapcul army wasn’t so concerned with the comfort and well-being of its soldiers that it made a habit of providing neophytes with steeds that would be easy to handle. They’d just as soon give the new man the most unruly horse, on the theory that if he managed to survive, he’d be a tougher, better soldier. Besides, the more experienced cavalrymen had more sense than to try to ride rammy horses into battle—or even on parade. But the small patrol that went to the border with Skragland was showing the flag, and the army didn’t want to send a horseman who didn’t look like he was an accomplished cavalryman. So that new man had been given an easy horse to ride.

  But Haft didn’t find the mare so easy to handle; no matter how he kicked at her flanks or pulled on her reins, she wouldn’t go at the speed or in the direction he wanted her to. When he kicked, she galloped ahead, and the bouncing almost threw him out of the saddle. When he yanked back on the reins, she skidded to a stop, and the sudden halt almost threw him over her head. When he tried to turn her, she turned in a complete circle no matter what angle he wanted her pointed in. When he didn’t do anything, she followed a pace behind the extra horse, which Spinner led with a halter. Haft didn’t think he should be bringing up the rear; he thought he should be leading so he would be the first to fight, to defend Spinner if they came upon an ambush.

  Spinner managed not to laugh at his friend’s discomfort. After a m
ile or so of watching Haft’s frustration, he said, “If we’re going to face any danger, it will come from the rear, not the front. So I’m glad you’re bringing up the rear.”

  Haft snarled something, but stopped trying to make his mare lead the short column. At least he wouldn’t have to try to turn her as long as she was merely following, he told himself. Besides, playing rear guard was a graceful way out of displaying his inability to control the beast.

  The southeast-branching road Sergeant Pilco had directed them to was little more than a footpath; an even lesser road than the one they’d followed through the forest leading through Bostia to Skragland. Slight and unrutted as it was, the Skragish sergeant had to be right about it being little traveled. After an hour or two, they started seeing the farms and ranches he had said were along it.

  The road wended its way through a gently rolling landscape spotted with clumps of trees. Some of the tree clumps were naturally growing copses, the remnants of an ancient forest. Others were groves of fruit or nut trees—the first signs of agriculture they saw. Then, here and there among the groves and copses, vegetable plots marked small farms. Many of the plots and some of the groves had farmhouses standing next to them, but not all. The vegetable plots were usually fenced with low-growing thorn hedges to protect them from the small herds of cattle that grazed the uncultivated areas. None of the herds were attended. It appeared that the cattle were fenced by the same kind of low-growing thorn hedge that protected the vegetable plots.

  They saw few farmers about, and didn’t approach any of the ones they saw. The farmers went about their farmerly chores and seemed to ignore the strangers riding by. At one point Spinner and Haft stopped to examine an unattended vegetable plot that came to the edge of the road. It was recently tilled, planted with winter crops. Weeds sprouted wildly among the planted furrows.

  “Nobody’s tending these fields,” Haft said. Most of the fields were in the same untended condition.

  “I get the feeling the people expect war and decided to abandon their fields before the invaders come,” Spinner replied. “There won’t be enough food to feed the people in the spring.” He swept his arm at the grazing areas. “There should be more cattle here too.”

  As if in echo of his words, a cry called their attention to a small group of farmers driving a small herd of cattle out of a distant field. The farmers took their herd northeast. Haft watched them. How many people, he wondered, would live long enough to worry about spring crops if the invasion came?

  Spinner had never done much riding, and he had last sat a horse more than a year and a half earlier, before he ran away to Frangeria and signed up with the Marines. Although he did know how to ride a horse, riding worked certain muscles in ways he wasn’t used to after so long, and he was sore by the time they stopped to set camp for the night in a wooded hollow. Still, riding was much easier on his mending leg than walking would have been, and they’d covered more than twice the distance they could have had they walked at his slow pace.

  Haft was more sore. He was also chafed from the rubbing of his thighs against the saddle.

  “The healing witch thought you might get chafed,” Spinner said when the horses were unsaddled and hobbled. “Rub this where it hurts.” He handed Haft a fired-clay vial of salve.

  Haft removed the vial’s lid and sniffed. “Pffww.” He jerked his head away and held the vial out at arm’s length. “I can’t put that on my legs. I won’t be able to stand anywhere near myself if I stink like that.”

  “You might not be able to walk in the morning if you don’t.” Spinner turned away and busied himself brushing down the horses.

  Haft wanted to stomp away, but he had too many stiff muscles, so he tried to look dignified while walking with his thighs held gingerly apart. Later, after a furtive glance at Spinner to make sure he wasn’t watching, he lowered his breeches and applied the salve to the insides of his thighs.

  Spinner made a small campfire, opened the food sack, and found bread, sausage, and cheese. The package also held a packet of aromatic leaves for tea. He got out his tinderbox.

  “Why aren’t you using the salamander?” Haft said as he joined him.

  “I gave it the last of its food a couple of days ago. I don’t know how long it’s safe to use a salamander without feeding it.”

  “Oh.” Haft edged away. He didn’t want to be near if the salamander managed to get out of its house.

  They ate quietly. It was late and they’d had a long day. The unaccustomed riding had tired them as if they’d force-marched the same distance. After Spinner layered dirt on the fire to make sure it was out, they went to sleep early. It was unlikely that anyone all that unfriendly would come across them during the night, so they didn’t set watches.

  “My thighs don’t hurt,” Haft said in the morning. “The salve worked.”

  “The stink didn’t keep you away from yourself either,” Spinner said.

  Haft snorted. Then his eyes opened wide when he saw Spinner saddling the horses.

  “You don’t think we’re riding again today, do you?”

  “My leg still can’t take a day of walking, and we can go farther on the horses. We’re riding again today.”

  “Uh, well . . . all right, you ride. I’ll walk.”

  Spinner finished with the gelding’s saddle and lashed the food bag over it. He rested his arms on top of the saddle and looked across the horse’s back at Haft. “Did you use all of that salve last night?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Then you’ve got some for tonight if you need it. Let’s go.” He grinned. “Today we should be better at riding than we were yesterday. So today we go faster. We’ll get farther by going faster.”

  “I’m not . . .” Haft backed away from the horses.

  “Suit yourself.” Spinner mounted the stallion and led the gelding back to the road. In a couple of steps he had the two horses moving at a canter.

  Haft grabbed his mare’s reins and trotted behind at a pace he thought he could keep up for hours. It wasn’t too bad at first; the pace Spinner set was one Haft could maintain for a while. After half an hour, though, his breath was coming in harsh rasps and his legs were burning. Had the pace been just a little slower, he could have kept it up all day. After an hour he was beginning to stumble. Not long after that he stopped, his chest heaving and his legs trembling. The mare placidly stopped with him. When he had enough control over his legs again, he mounted his horse. The mare galloped until she caught up with the other horses, then contentedly cantered along a pace behind the gelding.

  The roll of the landscape increased until its steepness allowed for fewer vegetable plots and grazing areas. The patches of old-growth forest were larger and closer. After some hours Spinner’s horse-riding muscles were back to proper trim and he was certain his leg wound was fully healed. Haft was beginning to act like he’d spent his entire life on horseback. But the mare still looked over her shoulder at him from time to time and snorted as though she were still thinking, Amateur.

  It was late afternoon when they came to an inn, which wasn’t marked on Sergeant Pilco’s map.

  SECOND INTERLUDE

  WHENCE THEY CAME

  An Outline of the History and

  Cultural Development of the

  Peoples of the Jokapcul Islands

  by Scholar Munch Mu’sk

  Professor of Far Western Studies

  University of the Great Rift

  (excerpted from The Proceedings of the Association of Anthropological Scholars of Obscure Cultures, Vol. 57, No. 7)

  Until the past few years, Jokapcul was known throughout the two continents, where it was known at all, for two things: the multiplicity of its volcanic islands, and the combative nature of its people. All the peoples of the two continents—at least those who knew of Jokapcul and lived on the western part of Nunimar—were content with the Jokapcul fighting constantly among themselves. That kept them so busy through the ages that they hardly ever bothered to cross the Jokapcu
l Sea or to sail south to the Turquoise Sea or to invade anyone else. For as long as anyone could remember, they had conducted only minor coastal raids.

  According to legend, the Jokapcul Islands were first populated by coastal fishermen who were blown away from western Nunimar in storms. The islands of the chain are craggy and steep, with much barren rock. At first glance the islands seemed to be inhospitable in the extreme. However, during the time it took those first castaways to make their boats seaworthy again, to build new boats, and—perhaps most important—to build up their courage to recross the Jokapcul Sea, they discovered that fishing was much richer in the island waters than in the coastal waters from which they came. Even more remarkable to the fishermen was the ease of hunting land animals. On their western side, the islands were washed by a cold sea current that brought with it frequent fogs and rains, so the islands were much wetter than the continent, and fruit trees and other edibles grew in abundance in the islands’ valleys and flatlands. In short, life was much easier in the islands than it had been along the continental coast. So the fishermen resolved to stay. There was only one problem with their resolution: the fishermen had no women among them.

  Legend says some of the fishermen made their boats seaworthy, built up their courage, and sailed east to bring their women back to their new homes. But a very serious problem arose: some men had women, some men didn’t; men who didn’t have women raided those who did for the purpose of stealing away their women. Legends describe the shortage of women as the origin of the warlike spirit of the Jokapcul people.

  And those legends are probably true, as stealing women has remained a staple of warfare on the Jokapcul Islands up to the present. There is some doubt, however, about the truth of the legend about the origin of the first Jokapcul settlers. That doubt arises from a simple fact: with their saffron skin and almond eyes, the Jokapcul don’t look at all like any of the peoples of Nunimar. On the other hand, their improbable language seems to be derived at least in some small part from the same root language as many of the languages of western Nunimar.