Demontech: Onslaught

by David Sherman

  Spinner no longer wondered what such a large inn was doing in so isolated a place; he now knew that most of those rooms were needed by the slave traders and their employees, or by those who provided goods to them. He didn’t think many of the rooms were let out to innocent travelers such as himself and Haft, or to local people who came for an evening’s entertainment. So it wouldn’t bother him if some of the sleeping men were injured, even killed, by the diversion they had planned.

  Haft pointed along the corridor to the right and made a sign. Spinner nodded. First, though, they had to create their diversion. They took the corridor to the left and turned into the adjoining corridor to the far corner of the second floor, where the stairway to the third story began. Above, they saw a light so dim they weren’t sure whether it was there or they were seeing an afterimage of the light on the second floor. They didn’t notice the small round holes high in the walls at the end of the corridors, holes behind which sprites watched without showing their glowing eyes.

  They mounted the stairway to the third floor as cautiously as they had climbed from the common room. The third floor of the inn wasn’t as big as the second; its corridors were narrower, its ceiling lower. There was a door at the end of the corridor at the foot of the stairs on the second floor, but on the smaller third floor there was a shuttered window next to the head of the stairway. The corridor the stairs emptied into went straight across the building to another window. As on the second floor, three corridors branched off from it, but they were closer to each other, as were the doors. One small lamp guttered at the ends of the corridors that met at the head of the stairs. The light was dim enough on the third floor that they couldn’t see the small holes facing onto each corridor from high on the walls.

  Spinner signed to Haft: They were above the end of the common room that held the stage; they would create their diversion at the opposite corner of the third floor.

  Haft nodded and set out that way.

  As they passed the first two intersections, alert for lurking danger, they looked down them. The middle corridor had no light of its own. They turned at the far corridor and started checking doors near its end, looking for an unoccupied room. They found one right where they hoped to—on the outside, near the corner opposite the common room stage.

  After making sure the shutters were tightly closed, Haft used his tinderbox to light the room’s oil lamp. By its warm glow they saw that the room was small and sparsely furnished, exactly like the one they had rented the night before. It held two narrow pallets, one against each side wall. Their thin mattresses would suit the Marines’ purposes perfectly. Spinner slit one open with his knife, Haft cut open the other. They were filled with feathers, horsehair, and straw. The stuffing was sticky and moist from the sweat of the many men who had slept on the mattresses.

  “It feels too wet,” Haft whispered. He had his tinderbox ready to strike a spark. “I’m not sure I can light it.”

  “I’ve seen wetter things burn when lit by a salamander,” Spinner answered confidently.

  Haft looked at him. “Is it still alive? I thought you ran out of food for it a couple of days ago.”

  Spinner nodded. “I did.” He drew the salamander’s house from the pouch he carried it in. “I don’t know if it’s still alive. It’s worth a try.”

  “If it’s still alive, it might be able to get out of its house.”

  “I hope it will.”

  Haft’s eyes widened with fear. “Be careful it doesn’t bite you,” he said, remembering the demon from the demon spitter.

  Spinner spared him a glance. “Only if it can get to me.” He shook his head. “This one won’t bite. If it gets me, I’ll go up in flames.” Haft started backing away as Spinner studied the tiny house and the bed frames. He’d already thought about how to open the door without the salamander attacking his hand if it got out, and was sure he knew how to do it. Fairly sure. “You wait in the corridor,” he said.

  Haft half opened one side of the shutters before he backed out of the room. Spinner knelt by the end of the beds and placed the salamander house on its side on the floor, the lever that opened the door against the leg of the bed. He backed into the corridor, lowered his staff to the floor, and slid it toward the salamander house until it touched.

  “Back away,” he said. He couldn’t keep fear of the salamander out of his voice. He gave his staff a sharp shove to jam the house against the bed leg. The lever popped the door open, and the salamander shot through the small door. It was still alive—and much thinner than it had been. The small demon flickered with yellow, orange, and blue fire as it whipped about; its voice crackled and hissed in fury.

  With no human hand to punish for its hunger, the demon flailed at the straw and cords and wood; everything it touched burst into flame. In seconds the mattresses were engulfed and flame was eating at the bed. Fire lanced across the floor and began to lick at the walls.

  “You did it!” Haft whispered. “I didn’t think you could! Let’s go.” He grabbed Spinner’s shoulder and yanked him away from the growing conflagration.

  They withdrew to the nearer corner of the corridor and squatted in the deepest shadow they could find to wait for the guards in front of the slave barn to see the fire and sound an alarm.

  Tendrils of smoke began to drift out of the open door. After a few moments Haft tensed and looked down the adjacent corridor; he thought he heard another sound above the pops and crackles of the growing fire. All he could see along the corridors’ lengths were the small lamps at the far end of each. The other sounds came from the direction of those lamps.

  “I think someone’s coming,” Haft murmured, his eyes searching for the invisible sources of the sounds that were coming closer.

  “I hear it too,” Spinner said. He looked as well.

  They eased to their feet with their weapons held ready and peered intently toward the lamps. Nothing moved, but they were certain they heard the shuffling of feet along both corridors. Did the air along the corridors somehow waver in the night? Or were the flickering, almost invisible shadows the result of overactive imaginations fueled by tension?

  Spinner’s mouth and throat went dry. He tried to work up some saliva so he could swallow and wondered, if someone was approaching unseen, how he could effectively swing his staff in a corridor that was narrower than the length of the staff. Haft looked uncertain and held his axe ready to strike or to parry a blow.

  More smoke flowed into the corridor as the fire grew large enough to light the hallway.

  Suddenly, someone cried “Fire!” from the outside—apparently the fire had eaten through the shutters and the guards at the slave barn saw the flames. A moment later a loud gong tolled somewhere, followed by the noises of men waking in fear and confusion.

  “Now,” Haft said.

  The next step of the plan was to run along the corridors, pounding on doors, shouting “Fire! Fire!” But before they could take a step a voice boomed from directly in front of them: “What do you mean by this abomination? Who do you think you are to cause this destruction in my home?” Eight men appeared before them, four in each corridor. All eight were armed, swords at the ready. The armed men didn’t appear at the far ends of the corridors; they were suddenly there, three or four paces away, wearing the green and brown uniforms of the slavemaster’s men-at-arms. Even in the darkness of the corridor, Spinner and Haft could make out that each man had a woman sitting on his shoulder, and each woman wore a long, diaphanous robe through which her voluptuous form could be glimpsed. No, not women, they were too small, not much more than a foot high. The miniature women giggled and cried out in tiny voices that tinkled like chimes.

  “Lalla Mkouma,” they said between giggles. “Lalla Mkouma!”

  “Wh-What?” Haft stammered.

  “Yield!” one of the swordsmen demanded.

  Haft faced the quartet coming through the firelight, and Spinner faced the other four. Haft yanked his eyes from the tiny women and answered the command by flying
into the four he faced. His axe swung in a diagonal arc that just missed the walls and ceiling. The nearest man tried to parry Haft’s blow but couldn’t get his sword up in time. He screamed as the axe chopped off his arm at the shoulder, but stopped when the blade buried itself in his heart. Haft jumped back, pulling his weapon free as his victim collapsed facedown.

  The miniature woman who’d sat on the dead man’s shoulder landed on her feet. Tiny fists on her flaring hips, she stared briefly into the corpse’s face, then reared back and spat on it. Then she scurried along his side until she reached his hand. She jumped up to stomp on it with all the force she could muster.

  Distracted by her antics, it was a moment before Haft noticed the lunging sword and slapped at it with his axe. Then he forgot about the impossibly small women and slashed backhanded at the man who had almost struck home on him. The spike backing his axe blade sunk into the man’s belly and he fell backward, clutching his middle and screaming. Haft took a step toward the remaining two men facing him. One nervously licked his lips. The other lunged.

  Haft sidestepped and swung his axe in a shallow overhead arc at the man who, overbalanced, staggered forward. The man-at-arms gave a surprised grunt and splayed flat on the floor.

  The remaining man gasped, spun, and fled down the corridor. Suddenly he vanished. Haft didn’t hesitate. He drew his arm back and threw his axe in a flat trajectory. Its blade thunked into thin air. The runner screamed briefly. Insanely, he was visible again, his hands flung out toward the walls. He crashed to the floor. The tiny female figure on his shoulder tumbled when she hit the floor and scampered away.

  Spinner was having a harder time of it. The narrowness of the corridor hampered use of the staff; he could only rotate it perpendicular to his front, thrust and jab. Still, when Haft turned from his fight, his companion was dealing with only two men-at-arms; two others were down. The remaining two were slowly forcing Spinner back to the wall, where he would be even less able to maneuver his weapon.

  Haft whipped out his belt knife and threw it, and one of Spinner’s attackers went down, the hilt protruding from his throat.

  The sudden loss of his partner distracted the remaining man for an instant, and Spinner cracked him alongside the head. The man staggered into the wall, and Spinner speared him in the throat.

  The fight had lasted less than a minute. Eight men-at-arms were down, only one still alive, the one Spinner had jabbed in the belly and groin. A few room doors were open and their occupants were looking out, trying to find out what the excitement was about. Spinner and Haft ignored them.

  Without a word, Haft ran past the now rapidly spreading fire to retrieve his axe from where it stood in its last victim’s back. He had to run through flames to rejoin Spinner, who was kneeling at the side of the lone survivor, demanding to know how they got so close without being seen.

  “The Lalla Mkouma,” the man gasped, holding himself low. “The Lalla Mkouma. Invisibility.” He moaned softly; it was painful for him to speak. Slowly, he took one hand from his injured parts and moved it to his throat.

  “What? How?” Haft asked when he heard the man’s explanation. He went to the man he’d downed with his knife, pulled it free, turned to the wounded man and slit his throat. Then he wiped his blade clean on the man’s shirt.

  “Why did you kill him?” Spinner demanded. “He wasn’t able to fight anymore.”

  “He might be able to again before we are away from here,” Haft said without looking at the last dead man. “Hey!” Something small gripped his knee, then a weight hung from it. He looked down. One of the miniature women was climbing his leg. “Whoa, wait a minute!” he said, and shooed at her with one hand.

  The tiny woman ignored his hand and quickly gained his shoulder. She wrapped her small arms around his neck and tinkled into his ear, “Oo nizzem. Oo kilm baddum. Ee likuu.”

  “Spinner?” Haft turned to his companion for help as another of the miniatures clambered to Spinner’s shoulder. The tiny figure snuggled against Spinner’s neck and spoke into his ear. Then she swung one leg over his shoulder so she straddled it. Her diaphanous robe lengthened and spread out, and she spun it wide enough to engulf Spinner. They vanished.

  “Spinner! Where are you?” Haft screamed.

  “Where did you go?” Spinner’s voice replied from where he vanished.

  Haft realized the voluptuous creature on his shoulder was twirling her robe around him. Air was moving around him like a tiny whirlwind.

  “I’m right here. Can’t you see me?”

  “No. I hear you, but I can’t see anything where your voice is.” Spinner reached out tentatively to where Haft’s voice came from and felt a rapidly moving stream of air. He pushed his hand past the resistance and felt Haft’s chest.

  “By the gods,” he swore. “These creatures make us invisible.

  “Naw kretue!” the thing on his shoulder tinkled into his ear. “Lalla Mkouma! M’likmoo! Oo nizzem.”

  “How do we make them stop?” There was an edge of panic to Haft’s voice.

  “Rubbum egg,” the Lalla Mkouma on his left shoulder piped into his ear.

  “What?” Rubber egg?

  “Rubbum egg,” she repeated. “Gimmum han.”

  Cautiously, not sure of what the creature meant, Haft shifted the axe to his left hand and raised his right to his shoulder. Tiny hands gripped his finger, pulling with more strength than he would have expected so tiny a creature to possess. When his fingertips reached what must have been the thigh of the Lalla Mkouma, she said, “Rubbum.”

  Despite feeling that there was something distinctly wrong about caressing the leg of the tiny woman, Haft gently rubbed her thigh. The Lalla Mkouma giggled into his ear and her robe settled out of its spin.

  “I can see you!” Spinner exclaimed.

  “Rub her thigh! That makes them stop.”

  Spinner did as Haft said. He reappeared.

  More doors were open by that time, and more men looked out. Most of them saw the fire and cried an alarm. The few who saw Spinner and Haft reappear said rapid prayers and followed the panicked exodus of those already in the corridor. “We’ll need another one of these little ladies for the Golden Girl,” Spinner said.

  As though invited, another of the miniature women climbed onto each of them and snuggled against the free side of their necks.

  “Now we have a better chance of getting the key,” Spinner said grimly, but his eyes rolled uncertainly toward the female forms on his shoulders. “Make us invisible again?” he asked.

  The woman on his left shoulder giggled and spun her robe. The two men vanished.

  They ran through the growing crowd of men struggling to the stairway in the far corner of the third floor. The only other way down was to jump from the windows. They pushed and shoved and yanked running men out of their way. The crowd panicked more as men were pushed aside by invisible beings. Some of the fleeing men ducked into rooms to get out of the way of the phantoms who were knocking them about. Several fought their way to windows, concluding that the dangers of a drop of more than twenty feet was better than being mauled by phantoms or getting crushed by the panic in the corridor.

  None of the men rushing to leave the second floor had seen flames, and none of them had seen a ghostly fight or been shoved by phantoms; their flight was less panicky though equally confused. Spinner and Haft pushed against the flow of men toward the stairs leading down to the common room then ran around the outside of the second floor to reach the slavemaster’s quarters.

  Behind them, someone was trying to bring order to the chaos and organize a fire brigade to combat the flames.

  CHAPTER

  FIFTEEN

  Four men-at-arms stood outside the open door to the slavemaster’s quarters. Spinner stopped. He heard Haft continue to move toward them and held out an arm to stop him; the guards weren’t looking down the corridors, but at a green, dimly glowing ball that hovered in midair at waist height before them. He also noticed a few shimmers and g
lints of light in the air at throat and ankle level between them and the guards.

  Spinner pulled Haft back far enough around the corner for them to talk without being heard by the guards. In a few words he described the shimmering wires he’d seen. Haft thought the glints were probably from wires stretched across the corridor. Neither had a guess about the glowing ball.

  “It might be a counterspell to the power of the Lalla Mkouma,” Spinner said. “Remember, right before the soldiers appeared in front of us, the voice that demanded to know who we were? The slavemaster must also be a magician. He knew exactly where we were and told his men. Otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to come at us the way they did. He probably knows the Lalla Mkouma are protecting us.”

  “How could he know where we were?” Haft asked. We didn’t see any watch-sprites, no little houses on the walls.”

  “I don’t know how, but he must have known. And he probably knows we have the creatures.”

  “Naw kretue!” an annoyed voice tinkled into his ear. “Lalla Mkouma!”

  “Lalla Mkouma,” Spinner nervously corrected himself, then hurried on. “His men are ready to make us visible when we attack them. So we have to get close enough to stop them before they can activate the counterspell. It looked to me like there are few enough wires between here and there for us to avoid tripping on them if we’re careful.”

  “And the slavemaster is supposed to be a master swordsman as well,” Haft said. He was beginning to think the situation through and was becoming cautious. “As soon as we attack his men, he will join in the fight and we’ll lose whatever advantage surprise gives us. So we have to find a way to avoid fighting with him and his men at the same time.”