Demontech: Onslaught (24 page)

No one came, and in a few moments they could make out the vague forms of the stoves, ovens, and counters that filled the kitchen. They didn’t bar the door behind them; they didn’t want to leave any secured doors between themselves and their exit in case they had to retreat in a hurry. Weapons held ready, they padded softly, cautiously, to the door to the common room. Haft opened it just far enough to squeeze through. He stepped to one side, and Spinner slipped through and closed the door behind him.

The common room was even darker than the kitchen had been, and at first they could make out nothing except a faint sliver of warm light where the stairway to the upper floors was. They held still and listened. All they could hear were the sounds of a sleeping building: somewhere someone coughed; someone else snored loudly; someone cried out during a nightmare. Haft tapped Spinner’s arm, and they crept toward the faint light at the stairwell. When they reached the stairway, they climbed along one side of the stairs to reduce the chances of a loose tread squealing underfoot.

The stairway went up several steps, then turned right at a small landing. A few more steps and it made another right turn, so when they reached the second floor, they were facing back, over the common room. At the top of the stairway a corridor went perpendicular to the head of the stairs. At each end and in the middle, another corridor branched off from it, leading toward the front of the inn. A low-lit lamp was at each intersection. The lamps gave just enough light to guide a night-waker who had to find his way to the privy closet. The walls of the corridors were white, and on both sides every few paces along them were the dark rectangles of doors. The two men looked for the glowing red-eyes of watch-sprites but didn’t see any.

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.