“Imbaluris,” the demon whimpered from behind its arms. “Naw hurd’um. Mezzger.”
“You’re a messenger?”
“Mezzger!” the demon repeated.
“What are they?” Haft pointed at the bees.
“Zeekums. Tellum whar oo-um.”
Haft considered this. “Can they find Master Yoel?”
“Yass’um.” The demon gabbled at the bees. They swarmed out of the window.
Haft drew back from the demon and turned his face toward the Lalla Mkouma on his shoulder. “Is it telling the truth?”
“Mebbe,” she piped. She made a face at the messenger and said something in a language Haft didn’t recognize.
The messenger replied and vigorously nodded behind its arms. The bees returned in a few moments and buzzed at the messenger. When the bees finished, the imbaluris gabbled something Haft couldn’t understand.
The Lalla Mkouma on his shoulder listened intently, then piped, “Ee tellum. I zhow oo.”
“Let’s go.” Spinner turned toward the door but stopped before he’d taken a full step. “Listen!” he snapped.
They heard the excited sounds of people approaching outside the room.
“Out the window,” Haft said. He was over the sill before Spinner reached the window.
The two Lalla Mkouma they’d left behind were waiting, and clambered onto their free shoulders. Climbing down the wall was easier than climbing across it had been, and they were on the ground before anyone in the corridor entered the slavemaster’s room.
The sky above the inn shone bright, and sparks flew through the air, threatening to set a grass fire around the building. Men ran about stomping on the embers as soon as they struck the ground. Some of them congregated by the slave barn, but they were unceremoniously turned away by the guards stationed in front of it. A few edged toward the forest, but once they saw how dark it was under the trees, they too turned back. Most of them, though, milled about in front of the inn, looking more like a herd of cattle huddling together for protection from a wolf pack than a mass of men who could cause problems for the two Marines. There were no women in the crowd.
Crying about the valuables they had to retrieve from their rooms before the entire building burned down, a clot of merchants was trying to force its way back into the inn. Others just stood back.
“We can distract them,” Spinner said, nodding at the merchants and their men.
“What do you mean?” Haft replied. He twisted his axe in his hands, as though aching to bury it in one of the slave traders.
“By freeing the troll. Let’s go.” He ran toward the rear of the inn.
“But we don’t have time!” Haft shouted, looking up at the flames that now engulfed most of the inn’s top level. Spinner neither replied nor stopped, so Haft ran after him.
The shed door was secured by a simple latch. Spinner stared at it for a long moment and slowly lifted his hand to it.
“What are you waiting for?” Haft snapped. “If you’re going to open it, open it!”
“I’ve heard tales . . .” Spinner mumbled. Then fast, so he couldn’t stop himself, he flipped the latch and flung the door open.
Light from the fire splashed dimly into the shed. They could vaguely make out a boxy object along one side of the small room. A cable snaked from one side of the box into a hole in the dirt floor. Another cable runneled from the other side to an odd contraption that looked like a framework with a seat, handles, and footrests. There was no sign of the troll.
Haft clutched at Spinner’s sleeve. “Time’s wasting, we’ve got to go.”
Then a shadow on the floor beyond the box stirred and rose. It moved toward them and resolved into a gnarly creature shaped roughly like a man. It was the troll, and it stood chest high to them. The troll raised a knuckly hand to Spinner and poked a broken talon at him.
“Veedmee,” it rumbled.
Spinner recoiled from the troll so quickly he would have collided with Haft had the other Marine not already stepped back and readied his axe.
“Veedmee!” the troll rumbled louder. It took a menacing step toward Spinner and rolled its lips to expose a mouth full of sharp, serrated teeth.
Spinner was at a loss for words. Not only did he not have any food to offer the monster, he had no idea what it ate. And it looked ready to bite him. He had to suppress the feeling that he should just hold out his hand and get it over with.
Then the Lalla Mkouma on Haft’s right shoulder chimed at the troll. The troll, who had raised its taloned hands, stopped and listened intently to her voice. Then it cocked its head toward the hubbub coming from the front of the inn and rumbled something at her. She chimed back, and the troll spread its mouth in a wide grin and shambled toward the crowd noise. Seconds after it vanished around the corner, shrieks were heard above the noise.
Spinner and Haft exhaled loudly in relief.
“What did you tell it?” Haft asked.
“I tellum zhem veed um,” she chimed.
Then Spinner said, “The innkeeper’s quarters.”
They retraced their route to the corner of the building and around it, where merchants were still nerving themselves up to force their way back into the inn for their valuables. Others were standing back just watching.
A lamp was now lit inside the first floor room, where the innkeeper lived. The Marines hurried past it to the window that opened into the room with the clerk’s desk, what they thought was the counting room. No lamp was on inside, but the shutters were open, exposing the glazed windows.
Haft pushed up on the lower sash. It didn’t budge. He glanced around. Nobody was looking in their direction. He rapped the butt of his axe against one of the panes and looked around again. No one paid any attention to the sound of breaking glass. He reached inside, undid the latch, pushed up the lower sash, and climbed in. Spinner followed.
A slit of light showed beneath the door connecting to the next room. Probing with their feet so as not to knock anything over, they crept softly toward it. They paused at the door and listened. From beyond it they heard Master Yoel’s excited voice talking at length in Jokapcul. When he stopped, he was answered by a muffled voice, as though it was speaking from a deep hole.
The hollow voice spoke for a short time; Master Yoel replied with something brief and plaintive. Then they heard a flapping of leathery wings, followed by silence. After a moment there was a low keening from the room. It sounded like the innkeeper was crying.
“Only one way to find out,” Haft murmured.
“Wait,” Spinner said softly, and addressing the Lalla Mkouma on their shoulders, said: “Make us invisible.”
When the Lalla Mkouma had twirled their robes to accomplish the task, Haft tried the door, found it wasn’t locked, and pushed it open.
This room was larger than any of the guest rooms they had been in. Only one lamp was lit, but it gave enough light to see by. A large bed with a massive wooden frame stood in one corner, the rumpled clothes on it showing the haste with which it had been vacated when the alarm was sounded for the fire. A huge wardrobe loomed next to the bed and took up most of that wall. Several plush chairs sat around a richly carved table on a lush rug in the middle of the room. A pitcher and two fine cups were on a tray on the table; evidently, the innkeeper had been entertaining company when the alarm was sounded. A bit of lace that might have been a female night garment showing through the rumpled bedclothes made that seem more likely. Both men wondered which of the serving women the innkeeper had been using before he was interrupted by the fire. A few objects hung on the walls; one that caught Haft’s eye was a golden dagger in a golden sheath on a gold-linked belt. In the corner opposite the bed was a simple desk with a small wooden cabinet on it. A plain wooden chair was in front of the desk. Master Yoel was standing in front of the desk, manically pulling things from the cabinet and stuffing them into a leather sack that sat open on the chair. He keened as he grabbed and stuffed, and his thin shoulders shook with his crying. He didn�
�t look up at the sound of the door opening. No one else was visible in the room.
Haft stepped to the crying man and clamped a hand on his shoulder.
The innkeeper jumped and cried out.
Haft dropped his voice a few octaves and ordered, “Take us to the cellar.”
Master Yoel looked about, eyes darting, mouth agape. He tried to pull away from the unseen hand that held him, but Haft’s grip was too tight. His keening grew higher.
“N-No, Master,” he managed to croak. “I did nothing. It is not my fault. If your wizard didn’t know a sorcerer was about, how could I know? I beg you, Master, do not harm me!” His eyes focused on a spot somewhere off Haft’s shoulder.
“Where are the women you have imprisoned?” Spinner demanded.
The innkeeper’s eyes suddenly focused, and shot to where Spinner’s voice had come from; but there was nothing for them to see there. He murmured something indistinct.
“Say it again,” Spinner snapped.
“In the cellar, just as you ordered, Master,” the innkeeper said more clearly.
“As I ordered?”
The innkeeper sank to his knees. “But you did, Master. The imbaluris brought your message just now. ‘Let the women turn to ash,’ you said. I was but following your command. You know I always obey.”
“Take us to the cellar,” Spinner ordered.
Haft yanked the terrified man to his feet. “Do it now,” he snapped, “or your death will take longer and be more painful than you can imagine.” He didn’t know who or what Master Yoel thought he was talking to, but realized he could take advantage of the man’s fear. The innkeeper shuddered, and Haft gave him a shove that slammed him into the doorjamb. “To the cellar. Now! Move!”
The innkeeper stopped his keening and started whimpering. “I-Instantly, Master,” he said, and scuttled through the door, Spinner pushing at his back. As they moved, the golden dagger lifted itself off the wall, hovered in the air for a few seconds, and vanished. Haft smiled. The leather sack Master Yoel had been filling also disappeared.
The innkeeper touched one place and then a second on the wall in the counting room. A section of the wall slid out of the way to reveal a narrow stairway leading down. Dim light showed at the bottom of the stairs. When he didn’t start down immediately, Haft gave him a shove. He staggered down several steps, got a grip on the banister and caught his balance. He descended the rest of the way quickly.
A turn at the foot of the stairs opened onto a corridor. Spinner recognized it as the one along which he went to meet the Golden Girl the night before.
Haft shoved the innkeeper to the first door. “Open it,” he snapped.
The innkeeper fumbled with the latch but got the door open. It was pitch-black inside.
“Get a light,” Haft ordered.
Master Yoel took a lamp from a wall sconce, then led the way into the room. The lamp showed a room as small as the one where they’d set the fire. Doli and another serving maid were huddled on the narrow beds, blinking against the sudden light and whimpering; they could hear the commotion in the inn above and were afraid. They were wearing short night-shifts, and their anklets glinted evilly.
Spinner said, “Be quiet, Doli. You’re safe now. Wait, we’ll be back soon.” She started violently when she heard a friendly voice, but saw only the innkeeper. Spinner yanked the innkeeper out of that room and closed the door.
“Open the next one,” he ordered.
The second door opened onto a room that looked exactly the same. Two serving maids were huddled on their narrow beds. Neither was familiar to Haft or Spinner. One cried out when the innkeeper was shoved into the cell; the other merely hid her eyes from the sudden light.
“Don’t be afraid,” Spinner said gently. “We’re here to help you.”
“Give him the key,” Haft snapped before Spinner could reach for an anklet.
“Why?”
“For the same reason you didn’t try the key on Doli first. The anklets might somehow be warded.” Haft’s words were punctuated by the crash of a beam collapsing somewhere above them.
Spinner grabbed the innkeeper’s hand and put the tiny key he’d taken from the slavemaster’s ring into it.
“Now release the women,” Haft ordered him.
“Master? I don’t understand what you mean, Master.” He still didn’t realize who he was talking to.
“The key. Unlock the anklets.”
Master Yoel dropped to his knees, terror in his eyes. He clasped his hands before his face and looked at where the voices came from. “But Master,” he pleaded, “the spell. If the anklets are removed, the azren won’t know who it can devour.” He swallowed loudly. “If it does not know, it will devour everyone!”
“It will not. I will not allow that!”
The serving maids made no sound except for their quiet whimpering, their eyes fearful as they watched the innkeeper and searched the shadows to see where the bodiless voices came from. Spinner assumed they probably didn’t understand Frangerian. He wondered if the innkeeper put any significance on the language they were speaking—or was even aware of it.
“Do it!”
“But Master, you ordered me, on pain of death, never to release any of the slaves for so long as they remain useful.”
Spinner thrust the point of his sword an inch from the bridge of the innkeeper’s nose, so Yoel could see it. “You said you always obey me. Your death will indeed be painful if you refuse to do this now.” He wondered again who the man thought he was.
The innkeeper’s eyes crossed as he stared at the unwavering sword point that had suddenly appeared before them. He recognized the blade and crumpled to the floor. Haft kicked him in the ribs, and Yoel crawled to one of the narrow beds. He clutched the serving maid’s ankle and inserted the key into the hole.
The anklet popped open and fell off the woman’s ankle to lay inert on the narrow bed. The freed slave giggled nervously before she flexed her ankle.
Spinner felt a wave of relief wash over him.
“Now the other one,” Haft ordered.
Master Yoel turned around and unlocked the anklet on the other serving maid. The first was already on her feet, standing in the doorway, bouncing up and down on her toes, a wide grin splitting her face.
Haft grabbed Master Yoel and threw him onto the deserted bed. In an instant he had snatched the key out of the innkeeper’s hand and locked the anklet firmly around his ankle. Master Yoel looked horror-stricken at his bound ankle and opened his mouth. Before he could get a sound out, Haft grabbed the second anklet and locked it around his other ankle.
“Now let’s see how you like living with demons,” he said.
Only then did Master Yoel manage a wail of agony and despair that seemed to come from the deepest depths of whatever it was he used for a soul. He leaped to his feet and raced wildly from the room, shoving aside his invisible tormentors and knocking the serving girl from her feet. He pounded along the corridor, the way they had come, and back up the stairs.
“Do you think he’s trying to run away?” Haft asked blandly.
“I don’t think he’ll get far if he tries,” Spinner answered coldly. “Lalla Mkouma, show us so we don’t frighten the women.” The women gasped as the Lalla Mkouma returned them to visibility.
Master Yoel bolted up the stairs to his chambers. He looked about wildly for something he could use to remove the anklet. There was nothing.
“The laborers,” he gabbled to himself. “They have tools. They can free me.” He raced from his chambers, through the counting room and kitchen and out the back door. In his panic he didn’t notice the open door of the troll shed. Wide-eyed and gasping, he sped toward the stable. Halfway there, the azren leaped from behind a tree to block his way.
The demon was tall and cadaverous. A blue shirt hung lankly on its body and a strip of filthy cloth was bound around the crown of its head. Its hands held a hammer and chisel.
“Myne,” the azren gargled.
Master Yoel stopped so fast he almost fell. He quailed before the apparition, then gathered himself and stood as tall as he could. “Not yours!” His voice broke on the shout. “You are mine. I am master!”
“Oo weare.” The azren gestured toward Master Yoel’s ankles with the chisel. “Myne.”
The azren normally attacked instantly, but it hadn’t. Its hesitation restored Master Yoel’s confidence. He stepped toward it, his face contorted with fury.
“Not yours! I am master. You do my bidding. I bid you go into the inn, go down to the cellar. You will find two men. They are yours. You can also have the women, as many as half of them.” That would do it. The azren would kill the invisible men; he was sure there were two of them, that’s how many voices he had heard. And when the fire was put out he’d still have half of the women. He’d be ahead of the game with half the women left. After all, his master had told him to “let the women turn to ash.”
The azren cocked its head as though considering Master Yoel’s orders, or how best to do his bidding. Then it lowered its eyes and looked at the two anklets the man wore.
“Myne,” it gargled again, and slammed the chisel low into the innkeeper’s belly. It swung the hammer and drove the chisel in so deep only Master Yoel’s spine kept it from coming out of his back.
Master Yoel screamed in agony and clutched at the chisel, but the azren jerked it out and slammed it into his belly again. And again. And again, until the screaming stopped and the innkeeper was dead. Then it fed.
It didn’t take long. First they went back to Doli’s room and, in a few words, explained to her what they were doing and the need for speed. Above them the fire raged ever louder. The two women they’d already freed were proof of what they promised. Doli translated for them. Then her cellmate and the other two ran down the corridor, opening all the doors but one, telling the rest of the slaves what was happening. Soon the two men were surrounded by serving maids soon to be free. Haft knelt on the floor and unlocked the anklets as quickly as he could grab fresh ankles. Under other circumstances his hands would have lingered on the ankles, but not now. Now he was in a hurry. The fire sounded like it was completely out of control, and they had to get out of the building before it collapsed on them. It was even possible the innkeeper had regained control of himself and was organizing a party of armed men to come down to the cellar after them, or to ambush them when they came out. He had no time to waste. There were slave traders about, he knew that for certain, and even if nobody was preparing to avenge the death of the slavemaster, or doing the innkeeper’s bidding, the slave traders would want to stop those who would free the slaves.
Demontech: Onslaught Page 21
