Demon's Daughter (Demon Outlaws) (21 page)

He had his demons circle the city for the remainder of the night. Then, when the moon slipped away, the morning sun dissipated the darkness, and the rainfall eased to a gentle mist, the Demon Lord sent them home.

Night would return. When it did, so would the demons. And in greater numbers.

He was not ready to destroy what was left of this world, he decided. Not until he had the truth about the spawn from the mountain.

…

With the first light of day, Hunter had everything packed and ready to leave. The problem then became Airie.

She would attract far too much attention in Freetown.

His feelings toward her remained mixed. He had already decided to tell Mamna that he had not found any thief, and that she had undoubtedly perished when the mountain collapsed. He would return the gold that made him feel unclean.

But Airie’s demon blood could not be ignored. She attracted their attention as well. Taking her to Freetown meant exposing everyone to even greater danger.

However, he could think of no other option. He needed to get her into Freetown unobserved. Though he had his doubts about it, she had said she could pass for a boy. They had no choice but to try.

He handed her some of his clothes. “Here,” he said, “wear these.”

When she was dressed, he had to admit that she was tall and lean enough, and the clothes suitably bulky, for her to fool the unobservant. His boots, however, proved too large, so they stuffed socks in the toes. He tried not to smile. She walked like she’d spent too many hours in a saddle.

Her hair posed another problem.

“We could cut it,” she suggested with such enthusiasm his smile escaped. He suspected she had proposed it before, more than once, and her mother had refused to allow it.

Cutting it would make things far simpler. However, when he looked at the gleaming black masses of curls, he could not bring himself to do so. Once the weight was removed those curls would become ringlets, and he would have to cut it too short to compensate.

He was glad she had not shaved her head, as the priestesses did. He liked it as it was.

“Your braid will work better,” he said. “We can tuck it inside your shirt and tie a kerchief around your neck. Lots of men wear braids, although not quite as long and thick as this.”

He helped her tie her hair. The smooth tresses slid like silk over his palms, and he could not resist pressing a light kiss to the gentle curve of her neck when he was finished. A flash of sunlight lit her eyes as his reward.

He would have liked to kiss her with more thoroughness. Last night it had been very difficult for him to stop. The next time it would be twice as difficult, if not impossible, and he believed she would not protest, but because she did not understand the repercussions.

He was not certain he did either.

Instead, he found her an old hat he’d intended to throw away, and the disguise was complete.

He inspected her. Since he already knew her, he would never be fooled. But unless someone looked closely, for all intents and purposes, she could indeed pass for a boy.

A very effeminate one.

There was little to be done about that. His options were to escort a strikingly beautiful woman into town, or a strikingly beautiful boy. He was less likely to have to kill someone over a boy. He hoped. “Let’s go.”

The trek into the desert was unbearably hot although neither Airie nor Scratch seemed to mind. Hunter and Airie took turns carrying the little boy on the sand swift’s back since it would look strange for two men to ride tandem.

Occasionally, Scratch squirmed to be let down so he could walk too, most often when Airie was on foot. She held his small hand and sang to him, swinging his arm as they trudged along the wind-bared trail.

Other, less-traveled trails converged with the main one they followed at several points. Around midday, Hunter spotted a telltale cloud of dust in the air ahead of them that signaled a wagon train of significant size.

A new plan occurred to him. If the wagon train was reputable, he could inquire about having Airie and Scratch join it so he could ride ahead into Freetown. If he gave her detailed instructions, she could meet him after dark at a predetermined location inside the city gates.

The plan had merit. He had been worried about bringing danger to Blade’s home. The former assassin would have no difficulty in defending himself, but his crippled leg made protecting the women under his roof more complex, and Hunter disliked abusing their friendship.

A quiet entry into the city would be best for everyone.

As they drew close enough to see the wagons at the tail end of the train, Hunter, who was walking, caught the bit with his fingers and drew Sally to a stop. The sand swift shook its flat snout, leathery sides heaving, displeased at the delay when it scented both food and water so close.

“Wait here,” he said to Airie. He lifted Scratch from the saddle. “I want to see what’s ahead.”

She dismounted too, her long legs sliding elegantly to the ground, and he groaned out loud. She looked at him with puzzlement in her dark eyes, his reaction arresting her movements. “What’s wrong?”

He set Scratch on his feet. “You move like a woman.”

Airie thought about it. “I do,” she admitted. “I’ll try to remember not to do so in the future.”

His lips slid into a slow grin. “Only when you’re dressed like a man. Otherwise, having you move like a woman is preferable by far.” He nudged the boy toward the shelter of nearby rocks where he could escape the worst of the midday heat. “I won’t be long.”

By the time Hunter reached the lead wagon, the entire train was within sight of Freetown’s gates. He saw at once that its wares included a brace of slaves and almost turned back. The term slave was somewhat misleading. They were almost always women, intended for trade in the mining towns where life was hard and pleasure scarce. Hunter never dealt with such traders, although his reluctance at the moment stemmed more from uncertainty as to how Airie might react than from any personal preference.

Then he thought of Mamna and the demons and decided he would take his chances. Airie would not have to travel far with the wagon train, only a few hours.

The wagon master, a middle-aged man with skin eroded by the elements, and a thick dusting of red desert sand on his face and clothes, rode a long-legged, black-haired hross alongside the wagons. He kept a sharp eye on the wagon train’s progress.

His eyes noted the amulet Hunter wore around his neck as Hunter approached.

“Slayer,” the man acknowledged him, touching the wide brim of his hat with the tips of two fingers.

“Master,” Hunter nodded in return. He squinted at the cloudless blue sky. “It’s a beautiful day.”

“It is that.”

They exchanged a few pleasantries while the wagon master’s hross flicked its ears back and forth in displeasure at Sally’s proximity. The sand swift responded by licking its rump with her sharp tongue, creating immediate chaos. The hross hauling the wagons closest to them shied away from the sand swift, too.

It took a few moments for the men to regain control of the animals.

“I acquired two young travel companions on the trail,” Hunter said to the wagon master once calm was restored. “Brothers. One is a small child, perhaps two and a half or three years, who can’t walk very far on his own. The older boy is maybe sixteen and stronger than he looks, but he’s already carried the little one a long distance in this heat and refuses to leave him behind. They’re both too tired to walk any farther, and my sand swift can’t be trusted to carry them.” He patted Sally’s neck and she obliged him by darting out her tongue at the wagon master, who expertly dodged it. “Would it be possible for the boys to hitch a ride the rest of the way into Freetown with you? Neither one of them talks much, so they’re no bother.” He would have to warn Airie to remain silent so as not to give herself away.

The wagon master knew better than to ask why Hunter cared about the welfare of two boys who supposedly meant nothing to him, nor had Hunter expected him to express interest in anything other than compensation, but the wagon master was not a fool. His request for payment was high.

The only gold coin Hunter possessed belonged to Mamna, the weight of it heavy in his pocket and still sore on his conscience. He contemplated paying the wagon master from it and telling Mamna when he returned the remainder to her that he had retained a small fee for his troubles, but returning it in its entirety was the wisest option. He wanted to be done with her, once and for all, and under no obligation—either real or imagined.

“Your price is too steep, my friend,” he replied, injecting a note of careless regret into his words. “The boys will have to walk the rest of the way on their own. I hope they make it before nightfall.” They both knew the gates would be locked at that time.

He tugged on the sand swift’s reins as if to withdraw.

“Wait a moment.” The wagon master rested his arm on his knee, the reins loosely wrapped around one wrist. He spat in the dirt. “Word has it that Freetown was attacked by demons last night. That only rain held them off. We aren’t stopping any longer than necessary in a place the demons have marked. If you stay with us for protection while we’re in Freetown, then escort us the rest of the way across the desert, I’ll take those boys into town for you.”

Hunter had expected a deal such as this. If the demons were banding together, not even the size of this wagon train—which snaked several miles back down the trail—guaranteed the traders safe passage.

The Demon Slayer would be no guarantee either, although better than nothing.

“You would have to pay me more than offering a short ride for two boys,” Hunter replied, and named a price equally as high as the wagon master’s original. He did not want to seem too eager for this deal, but in truth, he was. Leaving Airie alone in Freetown had never been part of his plan, not that he’d had much of a plan to begin with. He was rushing to Freetown out of fear for his friends.

At least now, with a wagon train to accompany, he had a way to get Airie safely across the desert, and to the north.

“The boys can ride in the last wagon,” the wagon master said, once he had agreed to the price. He eyed Sally. “Try to keep the sand swift from eating any of the hross.”

Hunter went to collect Airie and Scratch.

After giving her instructions as to where to meet him once they had passed through the gates, Hunter deposited them both in the last wagon.

The wagon belonged to a trader carrying stained glass and other high-end building materials. The goods were of little interest to thieves, who would go for practical items such as food and tools, and was why this wagon brought up the rear.

Its wagoner wasn’t pleased with having the extra weight added to his load and therefore was not inclined to make idle talk, and after a short time riding beside them, Hunter no longer feared Airie’s disguise might fail.

Satisfied he had secured their safety, he rode ahead, anxious to learn what had happened in Freetown during the night.

Chapter Twelve

Mamna’s hold over the citizens of Freetown was based on their fear—of her, and of the demons. She spent the early hours of the morning wondering how she might turn this attack to her advantage.

The warm puddles from the rain had long since evaporated by the time she took her lunch in a garden exploding with colorful blossoms and rich, earthy fragrance. Irrigation was unnecessary today, thanks to the goddesses’ rain.

The delicate pastries turned to dust in her mouth, and she pushed her plate away in annoyance. She would thank the goddesses for nothing.

The head of the night watch had waited all morning to speak with her. She called for one of the servants to admit him.

He walked stiffly along the narrow path, his wide shoulders nudging aside the tendrils of greenery and draping flowers. He stopped by her chair. It was several seconds before she acknowledged him.

“One civilian was torn to pieces, another decapitated. Three guardsmen were killed by fire on the ramparts,” he said to her when she did. His face remained impassive. “The walls are scorched but still stand strong. Three buildings burned. The rain came in time to prevent any more from catching fire.”

“What is the mood in the streets?” Mamna asked. She took a sip of her drink as if unconcerned by his words, but a slight tremor in her fingers gave her away. She set the glass down abruptly.

“Uncertain.” The head night watchman clasped his hands behind his back and did not look at her. “There is talk that the demon attack was provoked by the rain earlier in the day. The fact that the rain came again in the night is considered further proof of provocation.”

“Who do people believe is responsible for this provocation?” Mamna inquired, sounding no more than faintly curious, as if the matter bored her.

“They believe that only a priestess could call the goddesses’ rain.”

Mamna doubted that even a spawn could accomplish such a feat. The rains came at will and were no more than a coincidence. However, the Demon Lord would most definitely be provoked by anything connected with the goddesses, particularly in light of their recent conversation.

He would return tonight, and with reinforcements. How far did he plan to go in teaching this lesson?

She needed to divide the loyalty of those reinforcements. To turn them against him. At the very least, she had to distract them. If the Demon Lord called his fire again, her amulet would not be able to prevent the destruction of the city. The goddesses themselves had been unable to withstand it.

“Is it true that a wagon train approaches from the north?” she asked, shifting the conversation.

“Yes,” he said.

The head night watchman’s response was too slow. She did not care for people who considered their words before answering when she asked them a question. It meant they had something to hide.

“Lock the gates against them, then.” That should provide a distraction if the demons decided to return when the sun set. “The gates can be reopened tomorrow morning.”

He had no response for that other than to nod. Mamna dismissed him. She would find another way to distract the citizens and silence their belief that the priestesses had antagonized the demons. She would find someone to blame and hold them accountable. Then, she would find a way to appease the Demon Lord.

She sat back thoughtfully, her hand coming to rest over the amulet beneath her clothing. She needed the demons in order to maintain her position in Freetown. She did not necessarily need the Demon Lord. Wanting him was pointless and foolish. She was long past wasting time on silly dreams.

His daughter had two birthrights. The spawn would have traits of both parents. What if a priestess offered to support her in replacing the Demon Lord? What would the spawn be willing to do in exchange for such power?

…

“They’ve locked the gates.”

The wagon master’s anger when he delivered the news was palpable, thick and sour on the hot afternoon air. A vein flexed at his temple.

Hunter looked at the sky. It was three hours to sundown. The gates should not be closed yet, let alone locked and barred.

Blackened scorch marks ran along the top of the palisade where demon fire had touched it the previous night, before the rains came.

“Did they say anything?” he asked.

“Only that the gates will be reopened in the morning.”

Hunter kept his eyes away from the end of the train and the wagon where Airie rode with Scratch on her lap. Being dressed as a boy would not be of much help to her during the coming night hours. She was unclaimed and, therefore, doubly attractive to a demon. Her presence would bring disaster on these people.

Hunter should claim her first.

The thought rose unbidden, but if he were honest, not for the first time. If he claimed her, she would be less attractive to a demon. It would not be able to prey so easily on her innocence, to lure her, to make her believe that it loved her.

The thought of Airie bearing a monster that would tear her to shreds, as his sister had been, sickened him.

The wagon train ground to a halt. Several of the men strode forward to find out what caused the delay. People were hot and thirsty, and they had counted on Freetown for fresh water. Many had already run out, and weary after days spent rationing, had grown reckless with their supplies. Not only that, no one wanted to spend a night in the open when demons would most likely return, and in great numbers.

A small, hostile crowd formed.

“We could offer up some of the women,” someone suggested.

The wagon master turned on him. “Are you planning to pay for them? Because I can guarantee the traders who own them will not part with them cheap.”

A spark of anger caught fire inside Hunter.

“You know what the demons will do to women,” he said.

“The lives of a few slaves compared to those of three hundred,” the wagon master replied, sounding tired. “If we don’t make some sort of offer, the demons will take whatever they want when they return tonight, including the women, regardless. What would you have me do, Slayer? Not even you can fend off an entire army of demons.”

Hunter had nothing to say to that. The wagon master was correct.

He turned the sand swift and rode back to the last wagon, where Airie sat. It was too late for them to put any distance between themselves and Freetown. Their only chance for safety would be within the city walls. He would have to take Airie and the boy in through the hidden tunnel, but he could not do that with everyone watching.

He could not abandon these people to demons either. He would have to get Airie and Scratch to safety, and then return, without his movements being observed and before the next attack.

The timing would be difficult. He didn’t think he could manage it before the first wave of demons attacked.

“What’s happening?” Airie asked when he approached, her dark eyes wide and curious. “Why have the wagons stopped?”

“The gates are locked.”

The shortness of his reply, and the anger he did nothing to hide, worked to keep her from asking more questions, but he could sense her concern. She glanced toward the gates and the activity of the wagon train’s men in front of them.

“Come on.” He slid from the sand swift’s back. “The little one should stretch his legs.” He reached up to take Scratch from her arms.

She vaulted one-handed off the side of the wagon and landed catlike on her feet. If he hadn’t been in such a foul mood he might have laughed. There had been nothing feminine at all about her dismount.

He stepped close to her, set Scratch on the ground, and issued orders in low tones. “Take the boy and head around the left side of the wall. About three hundred feet in, you’ll find a cluster of sage buttressed against the footings. Pull the sage aside and smooth away the sand. You’ll see a handle and a trap door. There’s a tunnel beneath.” The tunnel was known to the priestesses—Mamna had ordered it built and it was frequently used by both her and the men she hired—but it would never do to have the wagoners alerted to it. Hunter could not smuggle three hundred people into the city, even if he’d been so inclined. “Go inside, but don’t go all the way through. Wait there for me. I may be a few hours.” He eyed the blue sky, deepening to purple and then to red along the horizon. “Maybe longer.”

He could see the stubborn determination rising in her eyes, reminding him of the girl from the mountain who had hidden in the bushes to ambush and rob him, but she had done it for her mother’s sake. She knew what was coming at nightfall and she did not want to leave him behind.

She had fought a demon for him. She’d also held fire in her eyes and the palm of her hand. That would prove more difficult to disguise than her gender.

“Please,” he added, not wanting to sort out his feelings for her. “Think of him.” He looked at Scratch, who squatted at their feet and was chasing the trail of an insect through the sand with a dried twig. “I can’t help these people if I have to worry about the two of you.”

“But I can help,” she said.

“No.” Hunter could think of nothing he wanted less than that. She had already caught the attention of two demons. To expose her to many, many more—and possibly reveal her parentage to all of Freetown, as well as the wagon train, in the process—was not to be contemplated.

He knew he was becoming too protective of her, and at some point she was going to have to stand on her own, but that time was not now.

She caught the inside of her lip with her teeth. She took Scratch’s grubby fingers in hers and averted her face. “But I’ll be worrying about you.”

She uttered the words so softly he almost did not hear them. How long had it been since someone worried over his welfare? Did it matter?

He had chosen this life. He had known what to expect. Still, he would have liked to hold her and ease her fears. He could hardly do so with her dressed as a boy.

Colorful sage and stands of cottonwood ringing the palisades offered some privacy from prying eyes as Airie led Scratch away. Hunter watched them out of the corner of his eye, making certain no one followed them.

Once he was certain she had done as instructed, he again went in search of the wagon master.

“There’s a small canyon not far from here,” Hunter said to him. “It will offer some protection for the night, but it’s not very big. The wagons will have to remain behind.”

“We can’t abandon the wagons.” The wagon master took off his hat and rubbed his face with his sleeve. The sun remained fierce in the heat-rippled sky, although it would set in a few short hours. “We traveled prepared to fight demons. We have barrels of pitch, and bows and arrows.”

“You didn’t travel prepared for a demon war. Bring a wagon with the pitch and weapons to the canyon, then, but nothing more. The demons won’t bother the rest. They’re hunting mortals.”

“What of the people inside the gates?” the wagon master asked. He slapped his hat back on his head. “Can they be trusted to leave the wagons alone, too?”

Hunter understood his reluctance to have anything happen to the wagons. These people had traveled a great distance, many of them carrying all they possessed, while others had invested heavily in trade goods in the hopes of making their fortunes.

“As long as the gates remain locked, no one can leave the city. And if the demons attack, then yes, I can safely say the wagons will not be touched.” He looked at the sky. “But we don’t have much time left. With any luck,” he added, although he didn’t really believe it, “the demons aren’t interested in the canyon. Their focus seems to be Freetown.”

The wagon master reluctantly agreed. He had no other choice.

Hunter took charge of the weapons, leading the wagon to the small canyon where he stabled Sally when he came to Freetown. There were too many people in too confined a space for a sand swift, so he led Sally to the trail and slapped her hindquarters with his hat, sending her lumbering for home.

Hunter returned to the canyon, averting his eyes from the long line of slave women in chains who trudged listlessly past him to sit against one of the interior rock walls. He was doubly glad Airie was not here. She did not need to see this.

The canyon narrowed near the top, and shielded from the sun, it was several degrees cooler than the open desert. It would also retain heat better throughout the night, and offered protection from an aerial demon attack. Even so, it was going to be a very long night.

The wagoners built a fire to heat the pitch. After that, there was little for anyone to do but watch and wait.

All the while, Hunter worried about Airie. He did not like her being alone and without protection. If he were going to get her out of the tunnel and to Blade before demons attacked, he had to act now.

Armed with a sword, a backpack filled with things Airie might need, and several well-hidden knives, he sought out the wagon master.

“I’m going to check the area around us and make certain nothing approaches on foot,” Hunter said.

He then slipped through the neck of the canyon. Once out in the desert, he ran.

Night had already fallen.

…

The tunnel was black inside, very narrow, and smelled of sour, stale dirt and other, even less pleasant things.