Demontech: Onslaught (29 page)

Now they knew where the laborers were kept—or at least one of the handymen.

Haft hugged the wall and advanced along it until he was only two or three paces from the stableman. His foot kicked a pebble he didn’t see in the uncertain light. The stableman looked wide-eyed at the stone that seemed to roll of its own accord, then up at the sound of a sudden, sharp step. There wasn’t anybody there, and he prayed his fear was merely his overheated imagination. The axe head that suddenly appeared in midair did not seem to be his imagination, but it felt real when its side struck his head, and then he was unconscious.

Haft wasted no time or sympathy in locking an anklet on the stableman. He grabbed the man’s sword before straightening up.

Spinner was already in the room the other voice had come from, visible again, talking in Frangerian to the three frightened men kept in it. “The slavemaster is dead,” he said. “We have the key that will unlock your anklets and free you.”

One of the handymen darted his eyes about. “We? I only see you,” he answered.

“That’s because you’re not looking hard enough,” Haft said as he stepped into the room. He held up the key. “As soon as I unlock your anklets, you can join the serving maids we’ve already freed and take off. Who’s first?”

The man who had spoken translated for the others. Not surprisingly, no one volunteered to be the first man freed. “Ah, you don’t trust me,” Haft said. “You think this may be some trick by the slavemaster. Well, I don’t blame you for being suspicious, I’d probably feel exactly the same way in your place. Recognize this?” He held up an anklet. The handymen flinched when he snapped it closed. With a dramatic flourish, Haft held the anklet where the men could see the keyhole, inserted the key and turned it. The anklet fell open. “See? Perfectly safe.”

One of the men growled something then stuck out his ankle to be freed. In a moment all three of the handymen were unshackled and leading Spinner and Haft to another room, where three more laborers slept.

Before they descended to the stable, Haft asked if any of the men knew how to use a sword.

The man who spoke Frangerian said, “I served in the Bostian army. That’s how I came to know your language.” He was of average size, but had muscles like slabs of stone.

“This is yours, then,” Haft said as he handed the man the slavemaster’s sword. “What’s your name?”

“Fletcher.”

“Can you use a bow as well as make arrows?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe we’ll find one for you.” Then to the others, “As soon as we can, we’ll get swords for anyone else who can use one.”

When they realized they were being offered weapons, another man admitted he had served in an army. Haft gave him the stableman’s sword. Suddenly everyone claimed to know how to fight.

Several of the women were bunched at the corner of the stable, peering anxiously toward the inn. Doli wasn’t completely successful at getting them back out of sight; she had more success keeping them quiet.

“You were gone a long time,” Doli said. “They thought you were lost or had left us. They thought if they went back to the inn they could claim they managed to escape through the flames, and nothing would happen to them when they were discovered.”

Haft started to object angrily that they hadn’t been gone long, but he stopped when Spinner held his hand up.

“That’s all right, as long as everyone is still safe,” Spinner said.

“Three of those who were too afraid ran away,” Doli said. “I told them to wait for us in the trees, but they said they were too frightened to stay nearby. They wished us luck, but they are fleeing.”

Spinner looked through the night toward the north. “I wish them luck as well,” he said slowly. “I’m sure they’ll need it. Now, back around the corner, everyone.”

When they were all grouped together again behind the stable, he said, “In a moment you’re going to cross the road and hide under the trees. Haft and I have to get weapons for the rest of the men.” He indicated the freed laborers. “We also have to give the people in the inn something more to worry about so they won’t come looking for us before we get away. Fletcher will be in charge while you wait. Now, go!”

Spinner and Haft raced back to the inn and entered the still deserted dressing room. More men milled about in front of the building than before, and its upper stories were wreathed in flames. They left the outside door open and opened the shutters to let in as much light as possible. As they ran through the room, they each grabbed a cloak.

Haft said, “Weapons!”

“Right—and confusion,” Spinner added. Invisible, they headed to the common room, which was deserted. A few men were peering fearfully through the door as though expecting to see the fire dance down the stairs. The snap and crackle of the fire was audible, and embers shot out the stairwell, but no flames had yet licked into the room.

Spinner and Haft ran to the blades on the wall, which were secured with wire. Spinner unsheathed his belt knife and sliced through the wire. One of the men looking through the entrance saw several swords magically lift themselves from the wall then disappear when Spinner pulled them close to his body. The man in the doorway screamed and pointed, but by the time the other men looked, there was nothing to see. Spinner hurried to another part of the wall and added a longbow to his collection of swords but could find no arrows to go with it. He wrapped the weapons in the cloak Haft gave him.

“Now for confusion,” Spinner said.

Haft grinned, then charged at the men looking in through the doorway. He threw a shoulder into the chest of one man and slammed his fist into the face of another. Screaming, the two men tumbled backward into those behind them, who leaped backward, cursing.

Spinner followed close behind Haft. When he was near enough to the men outside the door, he swung the bundle of weapons like a big club, slamming it into one man, who was tossed into his companions. They all went down in a heap. Spinner and Haft stepped on the downed men as they ran toward the crowd milling in front of the inn.

Haft thought of the slaves and decided just knocking people down and frightening them wasn’t enough; men who dealt in slaves enraged him. He swung his axe at a slaver, and the fat merchant barely saw the descending blade before it hit him at the base of his neck and clove deep into his chest. Haft yanked the axe free of the falling man, spotted another slaver a few feet away, took two steps, and hacked the man almost in two. He killed two more slavers before men in the crowd realized there was someone unseen in their midst sowing bloody murder. Panic radiated around Haft.

Meanwhile, Spinner ran about wielding his bundle of weapons. He couldn’t pick his targets as Haft did; his weapon was too unwieldy and he wasn’t bent on vengeance. Even so, as he waded through the crowd, men went down pell-mell in front of him. In moments, all the men still on their feet were in full rout, trying to escape the deadly magicians they couldn’t see. Many armed men flung down their weapons in their flight.

“Haft!” Spinner shouted when the crowd was scattered.

“Here,” Haft cried back.

Spinner looked toward his voice and saw the axe blade dripping gore. “That’s enough,” he said. “Let’s get back to the others.”

Haft looked ruefully at the fleeing men. He wanted to kill more slavers, but he knew Spinner had made the wiser decision. In the short time they might have left before someone could start to organize a defense, it would be impossible to chase down enough of the fleeing men. “Let’s go,” he said, then followed the sound of Spinner’s footsteps.

As soon as they were across the road and under the trees, they stroked the thighs of the Lalla Mkouma to return to visibility. Twenty paces inside the forest everybody was waiting for them. They handed out swords to the men.

“I found you a bow, Fletcher,” Spinner said. “I don’t know if it’s any good though. No arrows.”

“Thank you,” Fletcher said. “I can always make what I need.” He bent the bow to test its flex and nodded. He seemed satisfied.

“Now we have to free the people in the barn,” Spinner said. “We’ll go through the trees to a spot closer to the barn where you’ll wait for us again.” He paused while Doli and Fletcher translated. “Freeing the people in the barn should only take a few moments.” He looked back at the clearing. Small knots of men were beginning to gather, looking back toward the inn, but most of the men had run out of sight. There were a half dozen men-at-arms in front of the slave barn. They looked like they didn’t want to be there.

“Let’s go!” Spinner and Haft led their group parallel to the road and through the forest until they were near the east side of the glade.

Spinner tried to drape a silken cloak over the Golden Girl’s shoulders; she stepped away from his touch and shrugged from under the cloak before he let go of it. He was surprised, but didn’t have time to wonder about her actions. He dropped the cloak at her feet.

“Everyone wait here,” he told the group, then turned to Fletcher. “I want you to come with us,” he said. “Assign one of the other men to take charge until we return.” He waited a moment while Fletcher did that, then he, Haft, and Fletcher ran across the road to the barn.

Six torches stuck into the ground illuminated the guards without allowing them to see very far into the night; the only direction they could see anyone approaching from was the inn, where a man would be silhouetted against the flames that raged through the building. Spinner, Haft, and Fletcher stopped in shadows from which they could see the front of the barn.

“Do you know them?” Spinner asked.

Fletcher nodded. “Master Yoel’s men. He hires only the worst. Most of them have been cashiered from one army or another. He feeds them well and lets them have the women for free. He never makes them pay any gambling debts they owe him. He has their loyalty.”

“Do they know you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you friendly with any of them?”

Fletcher spat.

“Then here’s what we’ll do.”

“Yo, guards!” Fletcher said as he stepped into the circle of torchlight.

The guards started at his words and hefted their swords. They relaxed when they saw who it was, but still held their weapons at the ready. They looked past Fletcher into the shadows.

“What do you do here, laborer?” one of them asked. “Why aren’t you putting out the fire?”

“Have you seen Master Yoel?” another asked.

“Is it true, Master Yoel wore a demon anklet and tried to run away?” a third asked.

“I still think we should run while we can,” one mumbled.

Fletcher didn’t answer their questions. He walked briskly toward the guards, showing his empty hands. The scabbard belt was draped awkwardly over his shoulders, with the scabbard hanging down his back and the hilt of the sword behind his head.

“Stop there!” the first guard snapped, lifting his sword threateningly. “Answer our questions! Why are you here where you don’t belong? Where is Master Yoel? What is happening out there?” He took a menacing step toward Fletcher, then a grunt behind him made him spin around. What he saw froze him for an instant.

One of the other guards was on the ground, his head rolling several feet away. An axe hovered in midair above the corpse. A second guard was crumpling from an unseen blow. The axe swung at the third man, but the guard who’d challenged Fletcher never saw it land; as soon as the man’s back was turned, Fletcher drew his sword and ran the guard straight through, the point of the sword appearing briefly in the man’s chest. The guard collapsed as another man fell to Haft’s axe. Spinner’s staff took still another, and Fletcher killed the last guard before either of the invisible men could reach him.

Fletcher stood over the man’s body, grinning down at the corpse. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he said.

Haft clapped him on the shoulder. “I understand. Now, let’s take their weapons.” In a moment they had more swords and scabbards slung over their shoulders and as many more knives in their belts.

When Haft stepped up to the barn door, only his axehead was visible.

“Let them see us,” Spinner said. They stroked the thighs of the Lalla Mkouma.

Haft didn’t bother examining the barn door to see how it was secured, he simply flailed away at it with his axe. It shattered in three blows. They stepped inside and recoiled from the stench before calling out to the people inside. “Does anyone in here speak Frangerian? Ewsarcan? Apianghian? Skragish?” They ran through the litany of languages they had among them. Some voices answered in those languages, more of those inside simply whimpered.

“Come outside,” they said in Frangerian, Ewsarcan, Apianghian, Skragish, and whatever other languages they could manage. “We are taking you to freedom. The slavemaster is dead.”

“So are many of the slavers who brought you here,” Haft added in each of his languages.

Slowly at first, then with mounting eagerness, the people began to stumble out.

“Keep quiet,” Spinner ordered when the prisoners started raising a babel of voices. “Some of the men who brought you here are still about. There aren’t enough of us armed to fight them all off.”

“Let them come,” someone said. “We will kill them with our bare hands.”

A low chorus of growls agreed with him.

“Not now,” Haft told them. “Maybe later you’ll have your chance.”

The three of them started moving the former slaves, who numbered nearly a hundred, to the road and across it to where the others waited.

“Fletcher, you’re in charge,” Spinner said when everyone was together and listening. He and Haft handed over the weapons they’d taken from the guards at the barn. “Decide who should have these and distribute them. A dozen armed men should be able to protect everyone for the moment. Now, follow this road until it reaches a main highway. Take the highway to the north. It will lead you to Oskul, the Skragish capital. You can find safety there, and probably a way home as well. Haft and I have other places to go, other things to do. Good speed and fare thee well.” Spinner moved the Lalla Mkouma from his right shoulder to the Golden Girl and pulled her along. He and Haft and the Golden Girl, invisible, raced away, back across the road and into the trees on the glade’s east side. They ignored the cries from behind, the voices of people who wanted their saviors to stay with them, or at least stay long enough to be thanked.