Demontech: Rally Point: 2 (Demontech Book 2) (14 page)

The hall, constructed of massive granite blocks, was the largest building in the town. Spinner thought it must hold an auditorium as well as offices and meeting rooms. Three rows of windows testified to its height. Lamplight showed through cracks in some of the shutters that closed all the windows. A bell was visible in the cupola of a tower that stuck up ten feet or more higher on the roof. A flight of seven or eight broad stairs spanned the building’s front, each step was less wide than the one below until the topmost step was half the width of the building, and emptied onto a deep porch. A roof some twelve feet high, supported by four ornate pillars overhung the porch. A legend was emblazoned across the front of the porch roof.

“Does anybody recognize that language?” Spinner asked as the group slowly approached.

“It’s Zobran,” Xundoe immediately replied.

“What does it say?” Spinner asked impatiently.

“Oh.” It just says, ‘Eikby Town Hall.’ ”

A rank of a dozen soldiers stood on the lip of the porch. They held halberds, long handled axes with fearsome spikes that protruded more than a foot beyond the axe heads, at their sides. The uppermost tips of the halberds nearly reached the porch roof. Two steps below them stood another rank of soldiers, these held swords with their points resting on the step before their feet. The soldiers were dressed oddly—at least to Spinner and Haft, who had never before seen such uniforms. They seemed to be of one piece, or at least the shirts and pants were of the same material and pattern. They bore red and white vertical stripes with scalloped edges. The arms and legs of the garments were ballooned and cinched tightly at elbow and knee. The chests were also ballooned, or perhaps they were stretched over cuirasses underneath. Each soldier wore a helmet that was flared on the bottom and topped by a crest that ran from front to back.

The two Frangerian Marines exchanged a quick glance. As sharp as the soldiers’ uniforms were, their postures left something to be desired for ceremonial troops, and their ranks were ragged enough that any Marine sergeant would have happily chewed them out with enthusiastic invective. Despite their obvious nervousness, all of the soldiers ogled the Golden Girl.

A man probably not in uniform stood in the middle of the rank of swordsmen. He wore a brilliant blue cassock of simple cut, cinched at the waist by a broad leather belt. A chain of gilt medallions hung around his neck almost to his waist. An oversized, floppy hat sporting a large, blue feather topped his head.

“That’s the lord mayor,” Xundoe volunteered.

“I figured as much,” Spinner muttered. Then louder, “Thank you.” It was usually a good idea to keep a magician happy, seldom advisable to make one feel unappreciated or misused.

They pulled up on line in front of the steps, facing the mayor: Two Frangerian Marines in uniform, their four-sided reversible cloaks blue side out, cocked and loaded crossbows secured by a hook that protruded from their saddles’ cantles; the giant nomad of the steppes, clad in white and brown bearskins, a sword so outrageously long and broad it looked able to cleave three men at a stroke rested loose in its scabbard on his back; the Golden Girl in a patchwork imitation of her dancing costume, but wearing a veil of gold thread and beads and a girdle of gold coins, her hand almost touching the gold hilt of the dagger in the gold scabbard that angled across her belly just below her waist; a magician in robes so cluttered with cabalistic and runic symbols only the naive wouldn’t know he probably wasn’t very experienced; he struggled to control the nervous twitching of his fingers as he tried to decide whether to use a phoenix egg or demon spitter first if they had to fight.

Spinner assayed a shallow bow. “Lord Mayor,” he said in his best Zobran, which was better suited to portside taverns and brothels than to a meeting with a town mayor. “We are peaceful travelers who wish to reprovision in your town. We have both skills and coin to pay for goods and services.” His Zobran was good enough for that much, but haggling, well—if the mayor had been a tavern owner, Spinner could manage to bargain with him, otherwise he’d have to trust Xundoe or one of the Zobran soldiers with negotiations.

The mayor was startled by the polite greeting given in badly accented—what
was
that accent?—Zobran by the dangerous looking young stranger.

“Peaceful travelers are always welcome in Eikby,” the mayor replied formally. His Zobran was about as closely related to the tongue spoken in Zobra City as was Spinner’s harbor Zobran. Still, they were intelligible to one another—so long as they spoke slowly and clearly.

The mayor was very aware of the edginess of the town guardsmen around him—and equally well understood it.

Could he believe the young soldier’s claim that they were peaceful travelers? He cleared his throat.

“Sirs, and Lady,” he tipped his head to the Golden Girl, “as I say, peaceful travelers are always welcome in Eikby. But,” he swallowed and cleared his throat again, “you come with so many armed men. There have been new bands of bandits in the area of late.” There, he’d gotten out his main concern, the reason he’d ordered everyone to hide, and the guard to assemble.

Spinner knew his Zobran wasn’t up to what he had to say now; he signaled Xundoe to move to his side to translate and switched to Frangerian.

“Lord Mayor, we are aware of bandits. We met a large band of them yesterday.” He wondered about the mayor saying “new” bands.

“How many were there?” the mayor asked.

“About forty.”

The mayor flinched and wondered which bandits they were.

“We killed several of them and the rest fled. We have more wounded than our healing witch can easily handle. Do you have healers who we can hire to help her?”

The mayor glanced quickly at their weapons and remembered how many armed men his scouts had said were in their band. Yes, he could believe that many men, if they were all like these, could kill several bandits and make the others flee. And how many wounded did they have?

“We have healing witches and a healing magician. Perhaps they will be willing to assist your healing witch.” He refrained from asking how many dead these people had lost.

“As to why we are here in the numbers we are, am I correct in assuming that you know of the Jokapcul invasion of Nunimar?”

The mayor swallowed to wet his suddenly dry throat and nodded; he didn’t trust his voice. No matter the bandits, all he’d heard of the Jokapcul made the bandits seem like friendly, helpful, neighbors.

“I am a Frangerian Marine, what you might know as a sea soldier. They call me Spinner. My fellow Marine, Haft, and I were the only people to escape when the Jokapcul captured New Bally. We have been traveling ever since, seeking an open port where we could sign on with a ship that would take us back to Frangeria. Along the way we have encountered and fought Jokapcul. Our companions also seek safety from the invaders. That’s why we have all banded together, to find safety in numbers.

“We don’t come to harm anyone—unless they are Jokapcul. Them, we will kill.”

Spinner listened to Xundoe finish translating, then listened some more. When the mage was through he asked him, “What did you say?”

Xundoe started and looked at him wide-eyed. “What? What—I translated most faithfully what you said.”

“Yes, but there, at the end, it sounded like you added something. What was it?”

“Oh, what I added.” He giggled almost like a nervous girl. “I told him we have some Zobran Border Warders in our party. If he doesn’t believe you, he can ask them.” He twisted his shoulders. “If we had the Border Warders with us now, he might be more welcoming to us.”

Spinner nodded. “Very good, mage. I wish I’d thought of that myself, we could have brought one or two of them along.” His face turned hard. “And frightened these poor people even more by having an even larger group of armed strangers standing in front of them.”

He turned back to the mayor. “Sir, we left our party encamped on the outskirts of town to demonstrate our peaceful intent.” To Xundoe, “Translate that—and don’t make me ask if you add anything.”

The mayor considered for a moment, then said, “I wish to see your Zobran Border Warders. I have met some of them.”

“He’s a trusting soul,” Haft muttered.

“With bandits like those we met yesterday in the area, he’s got a right to be suspicious of armed men,” Silent said.

Spinner tried to ignore them. “Gladly, Lord Mayor. Tell me when and where you would like to meet them.”

“Right here. As soon as you can fetch them.”

Spinner looked at Xundoe. “Do you have an imbaluris (a messenger demon) with you?”

The mage shook his head. “You need a magician at each end to use an imbaluris. I’m the only magician we have, so I left the imbaluris in the big spell chest.”

While Spinner thought about whether he should send one of their number back for the Zobrans or all go, Silent suddenly stood on his stirrups and twisted around to look back toward the place they’d left the rest of the band. They all turned, but an inn and other buildings blocked their view.

“How do I get up there?” Haft demanded and pointed at the bell tower. “Never mind.” He jumped off his horse and raced up the stairs, through the ranks of guardsmen without waiting for an answer. The guards hastened out of his way. One pikeman was a half step too slow; Haft grabbed his arm and shoved him through the entrance to the town hall ahead of himself.

“Show me how to go up!” Haft demanded in harbor Zobran—it came out as, “Show me top!”

The pikeman saw he wasn’t being immediately threatened, Haft didn’t have his hand on his axe, and said, “This way.” He pointed to a grand staircase.

Haft pushed him ahead and repeated, “Show me.”

The pikeman sped to the stairs and began to race up them. The point of his halberd hit the ceiling and he staggered, almost falling backward. With an apologetic look at Haft, he lay the long axe-spear on the stairs and ran up the stairs. At the top he turned left. A few paces along the corridor another stairway went up; the pikeman pointed to it. The stairway turned back on itself and again so it seemed to go all the way up. Haft took the steps two at a time and didn’t notice whether or not the pikeman followed. He was panting by the time he reached the top of the bell tower and looked out of the cupola. He looked over the buildings and through the intervening copses to the place they’d left the rest of the band.

Haft waved away a bothersome bee, then curled his hands in front of his eyes. “The camp’s under attack!” he shouted down.

“By more of these?” Spinner asked, pointing at the guardsmen.

“No. Looks like bandits.”

“Get down here, we’ve got to go to them.” Spinner looked at the mayor to tell him their encampment was under attack.

The mayor looked doubtful, but another voice called down from the bell tower. It was the pikeman who’d shown Haft the way to the tower.

“What’s he saying?” Spinner asked Xundoe.

“He says bandits are attacking our camp.” The mage was so excited he almost tripped over his words.

“Tell the mayor we have to get back to our people.”

Haft’s voice called out, “Silent, catch me!” He’d climbed down the face of the building and sat dangling his legs over the edge of the portico.

The steppe giant heeled his mount and guided the huge horse with his knees up the stairs to just below Haft. Guardsmen scattered out of his way. He stood in his stirrups and reached a hand up. Haft leaned forward, grasped the hand in both of his and slid off the roof. Silent lowered him to the steps, let go, and grinned.

“That was faster than the stairs inside,” Haft shouted an explanation as he ran to his mare and bounded into the saddle. The five spun their horses and galloped off.

While Silent was getting Haft down, the mayor was shouting orders. A swordman ran into the hall, the other guardsmen ran off the stairs and formed into marching ranks. Moments after the others had left, a dozen mounted swordsmen were speeding after them in a file of twos. The swords- and pikemen, in files of their own, began trotting along behind. The mayor followed in a coach.

They heard the din of close combat before they got close enough to see any details. The fighting was in the open, closer to the campsite than to the forest’s edge. The sounds of metal clanging on metal and metal chunking into wood, shouts of battling men and screams of wounded, sounded out of a roiling cloud of dust from the scuffling, stamping feet and hooves that tore up the ground under the melee. The combatants didn’t notice the charging reinforcements until Silent let out a bellowing war cry. By then they were less than fifty yards away and closing fast. Spinner and Haft each fired a bolt into the attackers, then slung their crossbows and drew their close-combat weapons.

“Break!”
Fletcher cried out when he saw them coming. “Fall back!”

The defenders disengaged as best they could and backpedaled from the attackers, many of whom were turning to meet the flanking charge. Some of the defenders, freed from their struggle with the main mass of the attacking bandits, charged into a lesser melee inside the half-finished campsite to repel the bandits who were ransacking stores and chasing the women and children.

The five horses crashed into the bandits and sent many of them spinning to the ground. Silent leaned over to swing his mighty sword, the blade connected again and again, and each time it did the bandit he hit was flung away, head or limb flying in a different direction. Haft swung his axe, and its great half-moon blade caused nearly as much damage to the bandits as Silent’s sword. Spinner tucked his quarterstaff under his arm like a lance and used it as a spear to crack heads, crush throats, and bowl over bandits who couldn’t scramble out of his way fast enough. Alyline tucked her stallion’s shoulder next to the gelding’s left flank and slashed her dagger left-handed, opening a long, deep, gash on the face and arm of a bandit who leaped to drag her down. Xundoe was a magician, not a cavalryman—he screamed in fear as he tried to keep his pony tucked close behind the others.