Get Her Back (Demontech) (11 page)

      “I want the people who we came for,” he said coldly. “All of them. I want them unharmed. I want their mounts, their weapons, and everything else they were carrying when they arrived here. And the woman who was escorted: if she wants the sothar player, I want him. Then I want sufficient food and water for all of my people on our trip back to the coastal plain. And lastly, I want safe passage for my entire party back to the edge of the High Desert.

      Nagusi gave Haft a look of pure hatred. After a moment he said, “It is yours. Everything for which you asked.” He raised himself to his feet and shouted orders. People ran off to obey.

      In a few minutes, the Royal Lancers were led into the circle from one direction, their horses from another. Weapons and tabards came from all directions.

      “Where is the woman?” Haft asked.

      Nagusi pointed to where the Royal Lancers had come from. Alyline, the Golden Girl, stood just inside the inner ring of huts. Her garments were clean, although they were nothing Haft had ever seen her wear before: they were supple leather that moved on her like linen. A tiara graced her head, and bangles her wrists and  ankles.

      “Lady Alyline,” Haft addressed her, “we have come to take you home. If you want the sothar player, the Great Chief Nagusi has agreed to let him come with us.”

      Alyline looked disgusted at the mention of the sothar player, but said, “Bring him then, I want him.” She walked to the center, to be with her Royal Lancers.

      Haft turned to Nagusi. “I thank the Great Chief,” he said through Itzuli. “Now, if we can have everything else you have agreed to grant, I will lead my people away from your camp soon after first light  tomorrow.”

      “You shall have all that you requested,” Nagusi said. Itzuli didn’t translate his tone, but no translation was needed to convey the  distaste Nagusi felt at having to give up his prisoners and let all of  the captives leave.

      Haft pretended he didn’t notice, and thanked him again.

      Back at their encampment, Lieutenant Balta told Haft, “Don’t believe that he will keep his promise of safe passage.”

      “Believe him?” Haft exclaimed. “He expected that oversized monkey of his to kill me. I believe that he will give us the provisions he promised. I believe he will let us leave. And I believe that he will  attack us before we reach the edge of the High Desert.”

III

ALL THE WAY HOME

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      Before the night was half over, nomad warriors brought enough packages of jerked meat and uncooked tubers to last the company until it reached the coastal plain. The supply of water they brought was less.

      “There are water holes along the way,” Itzuli told Haft. “Follow the birds, they always land near water. Only the scavengers landing on the dead and dying touch ground away from water holes.”

      Haft grunted. He didn’t necessarily believe Itzuli, but he knew there was at least some truth to what he said about the birds.

      At first light, the company set out. There were enough horses to go around, which was fortunate as not all of the Royal Lancers were in good enough condition to walk very far—especially Guma and the other three men who’d been hung in cages to die of exposure. Everyone mounted to move out, and each person carried an equal share of the food and water. They trotted until the camp was out of sight, then slowed the horses to a walk. After another hour, everyone who was hale enough dismounted to preserve the strength of the horses. After another hour, they stopped to rest and water their mounts.

      During the rest, Haft sat next to Alyline.

      “The sothar player,” he said. “Is he the one you lost?”

      “
Pfagh!
That
I
lost? The way I remember it, you and Spinner sent him away!”

      Haft looked sheepish. “I’m sorry. We didn’t know.”

      “You have an excuse,” she snapped. “You’re a half-barbarian from far Ewsarkan. Spinner is from Apianghia, the same as me. He should have known the importance of her sothar player to a Djerwolh dancer.

      “No, he’s not Mudjwohl.” Her voice softened and she added, “But I couldn’t leave him with those barbarians. Sooner or later, probably sooner, they would have hung him up in one of those cages to die of exposure. The only people who deserve that are the High Desert Nomads.” Her eyes unfocused for a moment as she remembered where she was when Spinner and Haft had found and freed her. “These nomads, and slavers, like the slavers at the Burnt Man Inn. They’re just as bad.”

      “We killed the slavers,” Haft said. “Slavery is wrong, so we killed them.”

      Her mouth twisted in a grim smile. “Mostly you killed them because Spinner wanted me for himself.”

      Haft ducked his head. “Ah yes, he did. But he wanted the slavers dead because what they were doing was wrong.”

      She faced him and placed the flat of her hand on his chest. “As rightfully angry as I am about the loss of Mudjwohl—and Spinner wanting to free me for the wrong reason, I
am
grateful that you and he freed me.” She abruptly stood. “I think the horses have rested long enough. Let’s go before those nomads have time to change their minds and come after us.”

      “I suspect they already have,” Haft muttered. But he got to his feet and told Lieutenant Balta to get the men and horses ready to go. “Put those too weak to walk on different horses from the ones they rode this morning. We don’t want to wear out any of the horses by having to always carry someone.”

      Balta grinned. “I like your thinking, Sir Haft. And I’ve already done that.”

      Haft nodded. “You’re a good man, Balta. That’s why you’re an officer.” Inside, he preened and patted himself on the back. It wasn’t that long ago that Balta would have had to suggest the change of horses to him, because he wouldn’t have thought of it on his own.

      They stopped again at midday for a meal. So far, they hadn’t seen birds landing where there might be a water hole. But water wasn’t a concern, not yet. The horses grazed on what edible scrub they could find. It seemed to be enough, and none of the animals seemed to get ill from it. None of the scouts that went out saw any sign of nomads following them. Which didn’t mean they weren’t, only that they hadn’t been seen. They all knew that the nomads were adept at  moving secretly through their land.

      “They could be only a bow shot away from us,” Balta observed during the meal break.

      Haft nodded. “I agree. We’ll know soon enough.”

      “I hope we don’t find out by them starting to kill us,” Lieutenant Guma added.

      Haft grunted, and returned to scanning the landscape.

      All through that day they saw nothing to indicate that the  nomads were coming after them. Late in the afternoon, after  following some birds, Haft decided to set camp for the night next to the water hole the birds had led them to. They set a twenty-five  percent watch overnight, one man out of every four watching while the others slept. Nothing happened until near the end of the last watch on the second night.

      “Halt, who’s there?“ Figyeles bellowed.

      No one answered his challenge.

      A moment later, Farkas called out a challenge on the other side of the camp’s short perimeter, again with no response.

      By then, everybody was roused from sleep and reaching for weapons, shouting questions at the sentries, wanting to know what was happening.

      Haft was quickly on his feet with his axe in his hands, peering into the darkness. “Report!” he shouted. His command was repeated throughout the camp, going down the chain of command. And reports quickly came back. In mere moments the final reports were in: all hands were present, there were no men missing and none wounded.

      Haft stomped to where he’d heard Figyeles issue the first challenge. “What did you hear?” he demanded, sounding as though he thought Figyeles had gotten spooked by an animal or some other innocent night noise.

      “There’s somebody out there, Sir Haft,” Figyeles said quietly. He was down on one knee when Haft reached him and didn’t stand for his commander, or even take his eyes from his intent searching of the land beyond the perimeter.

      Haft wasn’t sure, but Figyeles was a good enough sentry that he wasn’t ready to totally discount what he said. Besides, Farkas had also called out a challenge on the other side of the perimeter.

      Guma joined them. “Sir Haft,” the Royal Lancers’ platoon  commander whispered, “when we were prisoners, I heard that the nomads won’t attack at night but will get into position before dawn and strike as soon as the sun comes up, before full light.”

      Haft looked at him. All he could see was a silhouette. “You’re sure of that?” he asked.

      “As sure as I can be of anything about them.”

      Haft took in a deep breath and blew it out. “All right. We have to make sure everybody knows. You stay here.” He rose to leave. Almost as an afterthought, he put a hand on Figyeles’s shoulder. “Good work, Figyeles.” Then he was off, making a circuit of the perimeter to make sure that everybody was alert and ready to fight as soon as the sun began to come up.

      Tabib the mage knelt in front of a medium size chest and lifted its lid a few inches. He whispered into the chest and received a modulated growl in reply. He whispered again and got a growl that ended on a rising note. Satisfied, he raised the lid all the way to allow the shape-changing Bogart in her guise as a black dog to hop out of the chest. A chest that the demon looked too big to have fit into. It lifted its head to sniff the air, then crouched down beside the mage, waiting and looking intently into the night. Tabib reached inside the colorful wrap that was his sole garment and withdrew an “L” shaped object. He rapped on the bottom of the short leg of the object, and when the door located there opened he handed a pellet to the tiny demon that popped its head out.

     
“Oooh! Mee veed!”
the demon piped. “
Oo gud’ghie!”

      The Bogart gave the small demon spitter a cursory sniff, then  returned her attention to the darkness outside the perimeter.

      Tabib opened a small chest and withdrew three small orbs, which he put into folds in his wrap where they’d be ready to hand.

      A dozen yards away, Haft tapped on the door on the side of his demon spitter. After a few seconds the door cracked open and a bleary-eyed demon peeked out.

     
“Wazzu whanns?”
it slurred.

      “Trouble’s coming,” Haft whispered. “I need you awake and ready for action.”

     
“Drubble komm? Whar, win? ‘Ow zoon?”
the demon piped excitedly, suddenly fully awake.

      “I think at first light.”

     
“Veed mee nah, mee bee eddy!”

      “Certainly,” Haft said, and offered a pellet to the demon.

      The demon’s eyes glowed in the dark as he grabbed the pellet. It ducked back inside its tube and
snicked
the door shut. Eating noises sounded from inside.

      All around the perimeter, the Bloody Axes and Royal Lancers checked their weapons, and made sure of who was to their right and their left.

      The Zobrans stood shoulder to shoulder in a protective wall in front of the Golden Girl; if the nomads attempted to charge on their comitelots to run over them, they’d be met by a mass of lance points, which their animals would probably shy away from. If they came on foot, the lances could down many of them before they got close enough to use their swords or knives. If they charged with their spears, or stood off and used their recurve bows... That didn’t bear thinking about.

     The Bloody Axes filled out the rest of the small perimeter, but didn’t stand shoulder to shoulder—they needed room between men to swing their axes in limb-lopping sideways arcs. They  were confident that they could dodge charging comitelots and cripple the beasts with backhanded chops as they went by. Similarly, they could smack thrusting spear points aside and close in to where the spears were useless. The bows, though. If the nomads used their bows, the Skraglanders would just have to dodge fast, that’s all.

     Behind her shield wall of Royal Lancers, Alyline checked the edge on the gold-hilted dagger that she wore on her girdle, and wished that she had a short sword. Next to her, Tomitrik, the sothar player they’d rescued from the nomad camp, tested the heft of the short sword that Haft had given him. It belonged to one of the Royal Lancers the nomads had hung up at an entrance to their camp; that Lancer wasn’t yet fit to fight. Alyline cast an envious eye at the short sword, but then realized that she’d soon enough be able to pick up one once the fighting started.

      Not far away from them, Haft stood with the demon spitter on his shoulder, ready to be aimed and fired. He watched the eastern horizon for the edge of the sun to appear. The sky there had already gone through purple and was turning blue. Haft knew only minutes remained before the nomads attacked. In a third place, with their backs to the soon-rising sun, Tabib and the Bogart waited. Ready to kill, or to price their lives dearly should they be killed in the coming fight.

      The sun peeked above the horizon, and the warriors of the Deitua Clan screamed their war cries and rose to their feet. They were closer than anybody had realized, only a hundred feet away. They charged, brandishing their long, heavy spears.