“Right off that last morning, before the sun came up, another imbaluris came with a message for Sergeant Pilco. It said Jokaps were attacking Oskul. I didn’t see much point in heading there. I decided to go cross-country, thought it would be safer than the roads if Jokaps were around. And one man traveling alone cross-country can go at least as fast as two men following a road.” He nodded toward the others. “And much faster than a group. Yesterday I came across the tracks of that Jokap bunch that jumped you and decided to follow them, see where they were going and what they were up to.
“I caught up with them just in time.
“That’s about all there is for my story. There’s a big world to see, and I’m going to see as much of it as I can. I’d like to see it in the company of some folks as might know where we’re going, if you don’t mind—folks whose company I enjoy.” His eyes flicked briefly at the Golden Girl and an eyebrow popped up for an instant.
“You want to travel with us?” Haft blurted. “We could show you a lot of the world, we’ve been around it several times. Right, Spinner?” He thought of how much help the giant would be if they had to fight again. If? He was sure they would have to do more fighting before they found their way on board an eastbound ship.
Spinner scowled at him. “Right,” he said grumpily. He had opened his mouth to formally welcome Silent into their small band and was miffed that Haft spoke first.
“Good! Now that that’s settled, tell me about your adventures.”
Spinner and Haft took turns telling Silent about The Burnt Man, the slavers, the Jokapcul slavemaster, and what they did about it.
“I’d purely love to see that woman dance,” Silent said, looking at the Golden Girl when Haft described her performance and Spinner’s reaction to it. “Small as she is, she must truly be a wonder to watch.” He didn’t look away when Alyline glared at him, but he added with a smile, “When she feels like dancing, that is.
“Glad you were that bright,” Silent said when Spinner told about letting Wolf join them. “Some wolves—not many, mind you—can be real good companions for men on the move. He looks like a good one.”
Wolf made a noise high in his throat and crawled close to the giant. Silent raised an eyebrow; the wolf seemed to understand what he said. Silent put a giant hand on the wolf’s side and rubbed briskly. Wolf rumbled low in his throat, something like a cat purring.
When their tales reached the point where Silent charged to the rescue, the three men sat quietly for a few moments.
“Time to question the prisoner,” Spinner finally said.
They went to where the prisoner lay on his side, his arms and legs bound and his mouth gagged. They removed the gag and sat the prisoner against the bank. Spinner squatted in front of the prisoner, with Haft on one side and Silent on the other. The three women arrayed themselves behind the men; Fletcher stood aside as sentry, watching for anyone approaching the stream bend. The magician hovered behind the women.
“Where was your company going?” Spinner asked in Frangerian.
The prisoner scowled at him and didn’t speak.
“What was your mission?”
Still no answer.
“Are other Jokapcul units in this area?”
Continued silence.
Spinner stared hard at the man for a moment, then tried again in Bostian. No reply. The prisoner continued his silence when Spinner spoke to him in Apianghian.
“Where were you going?” Haft demanded in Ewsarcan. He tried a couple of other languages, all to no avail.
Silent questioned him in Skragish and in his own nomad language. The magician spoke to him in Zobran. One by one each of the eight people attempted to question the prisoner in each of the languages he or she spoke. The magician rooted through the captured magic kit again, and was disappointed at not finding any demons in it that he could use to make the prisoner talk, or that could translate between Jokapcul and another language.
By the time they were finished trying to question him, they had spoken in more than twenty languages. Not once did the Jokapcul soldier give any hint that he understood a word.
“Now what?” Spinner asked the others; he reverted to Frangerian, the one language most of them had in common. Doli translated for Zweepee, Haft did the same for Silent. “We have a prisoner we can’t take care of. We can’t talk to him because we don’t have a language in common, so he can’t give us any information, or give us his parole.”
Haft leaned close to the prisoner and said harshly into his ear, “Then we have to kill him.”
The prisoner didn’t even flinch.
“We stake him out and see if thirst or the vultures kill him first,” Haft said, again harshly into the man’s ear. He might as well have commented mildly on the weather.
Silent settled back in momentary thought, then said in Ewsarcan, which Haft translated for the others, “The Jokaps slaughtered the Skragers at the border. I saw that with my own eyes. Stories I’ve heard tell me they massacre people wherever they go.”
Spinner nodded. “We saw them hanging prisoners in New Bally. They simply killed men who were unarmed, unresisting, and under their control.”
“The slavemaster at The Burnt Man was a Jokapcul,” Zweepee said.
Haft looked around at the others. “Then we are agreed, he must die?”
They were.
Spinner remained squatting, staring at his hands. The idea of killing an unarmed man, a prisoner, was repellent to him. He didn’t want to do it, but it was something he couldn’t ask someone else to do for him. If he was in command of the group—and he knew they were all looking at him for leadership—killing the prisoner was his responsibility. He had to do it. With a sigh, he stood and looked about for a sword he could use to execute the prisoner.
“I think we should give him to the women,” Silent suddenly said in Skragish.
“What?”
“Give him to the women,” Silent repeated. “In the olden days, my people handed their prisoners over to the women.” He grinned. “No warrior wanted to be captured by the Tangonine people because of that; what the women did was worse than anything a man would do.”
The prisoner’s eyes opened a fraction and flitted about, then closed back to the same still slits they had been.
“He understood that,” Alyline said. “He speaks Skragish. Give him to me. I’ll get him to talk. Tie him down, spread-eagle.”
Spinner looked at her, shocked at the viciousness in her voice. Haft and Fletcher exchanged a look. Doli looked away. Zweepee stared at her. The magician studied his fingernails. The prisoner’s eyes briefly flicked about again. Silent moved to do what she said. In a moment the Jokapcul soldier was supine, his arms stretched to the sides. Leather cords bound his wrists to stakes pounded into the ground, and his ankles were similarly bound to other stakes. The prisoner sneered at his captors.
“What are you going to do?” Spinner croaked.
Alyline was expressionless. “Get information.” She looked each man in the eye. “Do not interfere. I know what I’m doing.”
They looked at her; no one spoke.
“Zweepee, Doli, join me.” She stood straddling the prisoner. Zweepee immediately came and stood next to the prisoner’s chest. Doli hesitated a moment, then joined the other women and stood facing Zweepee across the prisoner’s body.
Without looking at them, Alyline said to the men, “I think you should go away.”
The men glanced at each other but did as she said.
As soon as the men left, Alyline smiled sweetly down at the prisoner. “You will talk,” she said to him. “You will tell me everything I want to know.” Slowly, sensuously, she lowered herself until she was squatting on his groin. She leaned forward, placed her hands on the ground next to his head and lowered herself until her breasts pressed into his chest and her face nearly touched his. She whispered words the other women couldn’t hear. The prisoner growled and bit at her nose, but his teeth snapped closed on air—she moved out of his reach f
aster than anyone could see.
Still smiling, she lowered her face again and whispered more words. Again his teeth snapped closed where she had been. This time a trickle of blood appeared in the corner of his mouth; he had bitten his tongue. The Golden Girl sat up and, still smiling, slapped him hard. Red sprayed from his mouth and nose as his head jerked with the strength of the blow.
Zweepee dropped to her knees and whispered into his ear. After a hesitation, Doli also knelt and spoke into the prisoner’s other ear. Sweat beaded on his face. The Golden Girl drew her golden dagger and held it so the sun sparkled off its blade and flashed into his eyes. Zweepee did the same with her dagger. Doli hesitated less than before and also drew her blade, reflecting sunlight into the prisoner’s face.
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.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
They didn’t press their movement southward, so the wounds the men had suffered in the fight weren’t aggravated by th
e 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?”
Demontech: Onslaught Page 31
