Demontech: Rally Point: 2 (Demontech Book 2) (3 page)

“But we figured if Zobra City was taken, the Jokapcul were probably already in the Princedons.”

Haft cocked an eyebrow at him; it was Spinner who’d thought that. But he let it slide; the two of them were in this together. “If we thought that then, it’s more likely now.”

“We haven’t heard any rumors that the Jokapcul are in the Princedons.”

Haft snorted. “We’ve been moving north too fast for rumors to catch up.” That was true enough, the only people they’d encountered during their northward journey were small units of Jokapcul, or refugees who had left the south earlier. The Jokapcul they’d met were dead; some of the refugees had joined the Marines. He looked to the north. That way lay the Dwarven Mountains. He didn’t have any real knowledge of what was there, nobody seemed to. Travelers’ tales said whoever went into the mountains never came out. If they went north, they’d have to travel the entire length of the boundary between the mountains and the Eastern Waste. There was no food in the Waste, would there be any at the foot of the mountains? In the winter? Could they collect enough between here and there to make it through to the boundary between the High Desert and Elfwood Between the Rivers? He was willing to risk it—except for one thing: the winter. The farther north they went, the colder it got. He was from Ewsarcan, which was even farther north, though it seldom got as cold as he’d just experienced in the Eastern Waste. One reason he’d left home was to get away from the cold; he certainly didn’t want to go someplace colder. He turned his gaze to the south. Were the Jokapcul moving deeper into Skragland?

Spinner was thinking along similar lines. “If the Jokapcul are still moving into Skragland,” he said, “they probably haven’t taken the Princedons yet.”

“So let’s head for the Princedons and find out.”

“But if they’re moving north and we’re going south, we’ll run into them.” Spinner looked at the people again. Their work was mostly done and the adults were resting while the children played. “Then again, there are few enough of us we can probably evade the Jokapcul if they are moving north.”

Haft looked at the soldiers and camp followers. There were about two score fighters, including the two of them, and almost that many women and children. Of the fighters, they, Silent, Fletcher, and Xundoe were the only ones who had won every time they fought the Jokapcul. Some of the others had fought and won since joining with them, but they’d lost severely before. He wouldn’t want to fight the Jokapcul with the soldiers who knew more about losing to them than winning against them. Maybe with the Kondive and Easterly sea soldiers, they might be good enough—they’d managed to get out of Zobra City when it was captured, which was something few other men-at-arms had accomplished anywhere.

“We can go north and risk starvation and freezing, or we can go south and risk running into the Jokapcul.”

“Those are our choices.” Spinner sighed as he looked at the woman who left off whatever she’d been doing and came striding toward them.

Haft heard the sigh, saw the woman, and shook his head. Alyline, the Golden Girl. She was trouble, but Spinner was so blinded by her beauty he couldn’t see that. Not that Haft would have been unwilling to give her a tumble himself, but . . . No, that woman was trouble; a man should keep his distance if he didn’t want to risk losing important body parts.

Spinner rose to his feet to greet Alyline; he was unaware of the silly grin he wore. Haft remained seated. He looked relaxed, but was ready to move instantly in any direction if she pulled the gold hilt dagger she wore against her hip. She wore the gray silk cloak over her shoulders, but the day was warm enough that it hung open, revealing the patchwork garments she wore under it. They were patterned on her traditional golden garb, that of a Djerwolh dancer from the mountains of Arpalonia—a short vest that didn’t quite close between her breasts and pantaloons that hugged her hips but ballooned out over her legs.

“We will rest here for another day, then head south,” Alyline said without bothering to greet the two Marines.

“That’s right, we’re going south,” Spinner agreed. “We move out at dawn.”

“I said we rest for a day,” she snapped back.

“But we can’t, every day we wait the Jokapcul get closer.”

“The children are tired. They have to rest. One of the women has an injured foot. We stay here for a day.”

“They can ride, we have enough horses.”

Alyline shook her head. Her golden hair swung out like a sun-washed cloud above her shoulders—though Haft might have sourly described it as an avalanche of yellow snow.

“You’re not listening to me,” she said sharply. “We stay here for a day. Tired and injured people need to rest.”

Haft surreptitiously increased his distance from her.

“But—”

“No buts!” Her voice suddenly softened and she stepped close to him, raised one hand to finger the merman clasp that secured his cloak at the throat. “You like me don’t you, Spinner?” She gazed up into his eyes.

There was nothing subtle about the way Haft scooted farther away.

“You know I do,” Spinner whispered huskily.

“Then we are going to rest a day.”

“But . . .”

Her fingers wrapped around the merman clasp and yanked down hard. “I said we’re going to rest and that’s that!” she snarled. Her fingers flipped free of the clasp and she jabbed them into the base of his throat hard enough for the nails to leave marks. “One day!” She spun about and strode away.

“But—But—” Spinner turned to Haft, confusion and pain on his face. “What did I say wrong? Why is she mad at me?”

Haft turned away from him without a word; he looked like he wanted to spit in disgust.

The next day they rested.

Midwinter’s day passed, but the deadliest part of winter didn’t descend on them as harshly as it would have had they continued north. Instead, the days grew milder as they lengthened. Days and weeks passed during the southward trek, but they saw no troops of the invader. They saw signs of Jokapcul passage, though—burnt-out farms and wrecked, depopulated villages. Except to forage for food and usable goods that might have been left behind by the conquerors, they never stopped to investigate the farms and villages; no one needed to see mutilated corpses to know the ferocity of the foe, least of all Spinner, Haft, and the others of the original group, who’d encountered numerous sites of Jokapcul victory. The farther south they went, the more game they found, and ripe fruits and other edible vegetation also became available. They took the few bees that buzzed about them as a sign of a rapidly approaching spring.

The Eastern Waste gradually drifted eastward and they followed its drift. The closer they were to it, they thought, the less likely they were to encounter Jokapcul. They weren’t afraid of bandits; bandits would shy away from twoscore fighting men. They did find refugees, though.

They found a small caravan camped alongside a stream that dribbled wanly though a clearing where trees began to shrink from healthy forest to the stunted growth of the Eastern Waste. The dozen people or so gathered around the cook fire were startled when the group of armed and mounted men suddenly appeared at the edge of their clearing. Three or four children ran and hid. Some of the adults stared fearfully at the strangers, others cast anxious glances toward the ten horses they had tethered on a drag line. A couple of the six armed men were about to draw their swords, but held back when a woman in late middle age waved a hand to stop them. She stood and advanced halfway to the edge of the clearing to greet the newcomers.

“Everybody hold in place,” Spinner said. “Don’t draw your weapons.” He dismounted and handed his reins to Haft. “I’ll go and parley.” He glanced around, then added, “Do you think it’s a good idea to put out some security?”

Haft eyed the armed men around the fire for a moment and briefly tattooed his fingers on the haft of his axe before deciding they were no threat. He snorted. “Already doing it.” He handed the reins of his and Spinner’s horses to the rider next to him and dismounted. In a moment he was leading a quartet of Skragland Borderers away to place them where they could observe the approaches to the clearing.

Spinner unbuckled his sword belt and hung it on his saddle’s cantle. He held his quarterstaff like a walking staff and stepped toward the woman in the clearing.

“Wait a minute, Spinner,” Alyline called to him. “Doli, come with us.” She joined him and spoke before he could object. “There are all these armed men, these people are afraid. If women come to talk to them they’ll see us as less of a threat.”

“But . . .”

“Do you know what language these people speak? Neither do I. Doli speaks more languages than either of us. She doubles our chances of finding one we have in common.”

Haft stifled a sigh. Alyline was right about languages. Still, some of those men looked ready to strike fast and run faster and he didn’t like exposing the women to that danger. He turned to call for Silent to join them, but the Golden Girl guessed his intent.

“Just the three of us, we don’t do anything threatening. Let’s go.” Alyline strode to the woman who stood alone waiting for them. Spinner caught up with her in two long strides but Doli had to scamper to catch them.

“Just remember, I’m in charge,” Spinner said.

“Of course you are,” Alyline said dryly.

Doli saw what Alyline had in mind and walked at her side opposite Spinner so the Golden Girl was in the center of their short line.

Alyline threw the front of her cloak over her shoulders to demonstrate that she wasn’t carrying a sword. When they reached the woman she stopped directly in front of her. Placing her hands together with the fingers in front of her chin, she bowed.

“Lady,” she said in heavily accented Skraglandish, “we are refugees from the Jokapcul invasion. We seek a port of refuge and wish harm to no one.”

“There are many of you, and many armed men,” the woman replied warily. Her Skraglandish was also accented but with the sounds of a different language.

Doli listened carefully and mentally played with the sounds. She worked some saliva to wet her throat, then spoke in Bostian. “Lady, there are bandits and Jokapcul about. We need the men and the arms for defense against them.”

The woman looked at her in surprise and answered in the same language. “How do you come to speak my language? I can’t place your accent, but Bostian is not your native tongue.”

“I used to work in an inn that had visitors from many nations. I had to speak many languages in order to properly serve the guests. Some of the guests were from Bostia.”

“I did not expect to encounter someone who speaks my tongue so far to the east,” the woman said. She placed her hands together and bowed to Doli as Alyline had to her. “I am Nightbird,” she said.

Doli introduced her companions and told them what Nightbird had just said. Spinner spoke enough Bostian that he had been able to follow the exchange but Alyline had no Bostian. Soon the conversation got more complex and they both needed Doli’s translation.

Nightbird was a robust woman with lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth and a streak of white in her otherwise black hair. Most village women of her age were well on their way to becoming crones, but she retained the firmness and litheness of a younger woman. She was a healing witch from a village in southeastern Bostia, which had fled ahead of the Jokapcul invasion. She, the women and children, and three of the armed men, were all that were left from her village. Two of the other men were Zobran farmers who joined with them after their farms had been burnt and their families killed. Fortunately both were veterans, one from the Skragland army, the other Zobran, and knew how to fight.

Spinner looked at the two farmers when Doli translated that. They wore farmer’s homespun, but had the attitude of soldiers who didn’t want to be where they were. He wondered whether “deserters” would more accurately describe them. He decided it didn’t matter as long as they were willing to defend these refugees.

Doli briefly related to Nightbird that Spinner and Haft had escaped from New Bally when it was taken and they were looking for an open port from where they could find a ship back to Frangeria. She was even briefer in telling about how the two Marines had freed her and the other slaves at The Burnt Man. Her description of their travels across Skragland into Zobra and back in Skragland was sketchy.

While they talked, Nightbird invited the three to join her and the other adults sitting at the cook fire. She continued her narration of the journey of the villagers.

The villagers had made it halfway across Skragland and dipped south into Zobra before they had major trouble. A farmer had given them permission to camp on his land for a few days but a badly disciplined troop of Jokapcul arrived the day before they were going to leave. Enough of them were distracted by raping several women and torturing men and boys they’d caught that half of the villagers were able to escape, though they had to leave their wagons and belongings behind. Back in Skragland they were set upon by bandits who killed several more people before being driven off. Since they’d heard all of coastal Zobra was in Jokapcul hands but the Princedons were still free, the survivors then joined a caravan headed for the Princedons. Then the caravan was set on by another Jokapcul troop. She didn’t know if any of her villagers other than the few still with her managed to escape. The day after that attack they were joined by the two veterans, Kozlegeny and Winnan. A week ago they came across another caravan that had been attacked by the Jokapcul. They didn’t find any live people, only corpses. Most of the horses hadn’t wandered too far and they were able to round up ten. Three wagons were whole or repairable, and there were salvageable goods they consolidated in the three wagons.

And that was how they came to be in the clearing. They hadn’t heard of any Jokapcul activity in the Princedons so they were headed there.

Shouts of children in the trees interrupted them. Spinner leaped to his feet and spun in the direction of the shouts, his quarterstaff held ready. Behind him, the men also jumped up and drew their swords, crouched, ready for fight or flight. Then children burst into the clearing, running about, tagging each other, squealing in delight. Wolf romped with the children like a household dog.