Demontech: Onslaught (12 page)

At his side, Spinner also stood, and drew his knife. Haft gave him a quick glance. Spinner’s face was wan and he was unsteady on his feet.

“Anybody over there speak Frangerian?” Haft asked the Skraglanders without looking at them. The only reply was the Skraglander sergeant, who said something that sounded to Haft like: “You’re not with them, are you?”

“How about Ewsarcan?” Haft asked in his native tongue. No answer. “What about Apianghian?”

The sergeant said something to one of his men, who turned and ran to the nearby cluster of cottages.

The Jokapcul ignored the Skraglanders. They grinned wickedly as they closed on Spinner and Haft. They didn’t stay in a straight line as they advanced; the ends of their short line moved faster than the middle, so that when they reached the two Marines they would form a half circle around them.

Haft didn’t want them to get caught with their backs to the tree. He knew that what little chance they had would vanish if they couldn’t maneuver. “Our weapons are nearer the fence,” he said softly. “Let’s try to go over that way and get them.” He thought they could defend themselves if they had their weapons and the fence was to their back. Then, having something at their backs might help.

“I’m with you,” Spinner said. His voice was so weak Haft wasn’t sure he’d be able to fight.

They stepped away from the tree and sidled toward the crossbow and quarterstaff.

The Jokapcul officer barked, and his men moved sharply in unison to position themselves to block the fence. The six soldiers then began advancing again. Their outermost men were almost level with Spinner and Haft; it looked like they were going to curl around and form a circle around the two.

Everyone stopped when a huge voice boomed out from the fence, “Somebody over there speak Ewsarc?”

Standing on the other side of the fence was the biggest man Haft had ever seen. He towered over the Skraglanders, who themselves were big men. A huge sword dangled lightly from his right hand. He wore a jerkin of white fur. His knee-high boots were fashioned from some tough hide, iron plates lashed over them with rawhide strips. The wrist covers on his gauntlets looked big enough to serve as breastplates for the Jokapcul, and the gauntlets themselves were bigger than most men’s helmets. His own helmet was a heavily braced tub; massive horns sprouted from the helmet’s top.

As startling and remarkable as his size and accoutrements were, one thing was even more startling and remarkable about the giant. He was leaning down with one elbow on top of a fence post; the wrist of his sword hand rested lightly across the deadly fence’s top strand.

Haft had to swallow a couple of times before he could find his voice to speak to this apparition. “I do,” he finally croaked. He swallowed again and his voice came out stronger and clearer. “I do. I’m Ewsarcan.”

“What are you doing here?”

“We’re Frangerian Marines. We managed to escape from New Bally when the Jokapcul took it. We’re trying to get home.”

“Well there, little brother,” the giant boomed, “for people trying to get away from the Jokaps, that’s some strange company you’re keeping over there. Why, where I come from, those little Jokaps aren’t considered good for much but pounding on.”

“You’re right about that. But they’ve got us outnumbered and we don’t have our weapons. We could use some help.”

The giant shook his head. “You’ll have to come over here, then. These are border guards. They aren’t allowed to cross the fence or go through the gate.”

“I already figured that,” Haft said. He was looking around for his axe. He saw it, beyond the lancer on the right of the Jokapcul line. “But what about you? Is there any law that says you can’t come over?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, the last time I was in Bostia, the duke himself told me never to come back.” He looked at the border guards and added, “And I am a guest of these fine gentlemen here. Now, you could say that if I violated the rules they live by, well, I’d be unduly abusing their hospitality.”

By then the Jokapcul officer had gotten over his initial startlement at the sight of the giant and realized, even though he couldn’t understand Ewsarcan, that the giant was just leaning on the fence and talking. As long as he stayed on the other side of the fence, he was no threat—though the fact that he could lean on the fence without being killed was threatening in itself. He growled an order at his men. They hesitated and looked back at the giant. The officer barked at them. Their heads snapped forward and they resumed their advance.

“On the other hand,” the giant said, “I never did much care to do what dukes and such tell me to, and I do like a good fight. Especially against Jokaps. Besides, anyone who doesn’t like Jokaps, well, he’s got to be a friend of mine.” Bellowing a war cry that startled everyone and silenced even the forest noises, the giant bounded over the fence and in a stride was on the Jokapcul. Two of them went down with the first swing of his sword—a lancer decapitated and a swordsman split nearly in two.

Haft yelled a battle cry of his own and in three steps was on the startled lancer to his right, inside the swing of the lance. His knife flashed twice and the enemy soldier crumpled at his feet. He dove beyond the bleeding corpse and came up with his own axe. He charged the nearest Jokapcul and chopped deeply into the man’s side. He looked around as the giant cut down the sixth Jokapcul soldier. That left only the officer.

As soon as the giant leaped over the fence, Spinner quickly limped over to the startled officer and knocked him to the ground, then dove beyond him to retrieve his quarterstaff.

The officer scrambled to his feet with his sword raised
en garde
. He looked puzzled, as though wondering what Spinner expected to do with the stick in his hands; he didn’t seem to recognize the quarterstaff as a weapon. He found out about it almost instantly.

Favoring his wounded leg, Spinner was almost tentative when he swung one end of the quarterstaff at the officer’s head. The Jokapcul easily ducked under the swing then came up lunging with his sword, but had to turn his lunge into a parry when the back end of the circling quarterstaff came at his side. The officer turned his parry into a riposte, and Spinner dodged back, out of the way. Then he had to parry a slash. He tried to thrust inside the officer’s guard, but the smaller man was agile and danced aside. The officer came back with a flurry, and Spinner was barely able to fend him off before he managed to start twirling the quarterstaff as he had against the guards on the
Sea Horse
.

The officer laughed at the twirling piece of wood and danced about, keeping his blade away from the spinning quarterstaff and waiting his chance to strike. Suddenly, Spinner stopped twirling the staff and spun an end at the Jokapcul’s head. The man pulled his face out of the way and came back with a lunge of his own—a lunge that simultaneously parried Spinner’s back-end follow through. Now the officer advanced, slashing and thrusting, and parrying Spinner’s blows. He was, obviously, a master swordsman. Spinner concluded the man was just waiting for an opportunity to make his killing strike, and knew he had to do something first.

The officer came at him with another flourish and nearly broke through Spinner’s guard. As Spinner backed off, he stumbled. Instantly the officer was inside the arc of Spinner’s swing, and Spinner had to fall backward to avoid a sword thrust. The officer’s momentum carried him forward, and he tripped and fell over Spinner, who scrambled to his feet first, quarterstaff already swinging as the Jokapcul officer regained his feet. Head and staff met. The officer’s helmet flew off and Spinner’s backswing caught him full on the temple.

The fight was over. Spinner looked around.

All the Jokapcul were down. The Skraglanders were still on their own side of the fence. The giant was looking at Spinner speculatively. Haft was struggling to free himself from where he was pinioned by one of the giant’s arms.

The giant released Haft, who ran to Spinner and threw his arms around his chest, as much to hold him up as to congratulate him on beating the officer.

“I wanted to help you, but he wouldn’t let me,” Haft said. He glared over his shoulder at the giant.

The giant grinned back and said, “I knew your friend was smart enough to figure out how to beat that Jokap.” He winked. “Anyway, if I thought the Jokap was going to win, I would have evened the odds in your friend’s favor.” He flipped a throwing knife he had concealed in his huge hand, caught it, then slipped it into a recess of his cloak.

“He could have been killed,” Haft snapped.

The giant shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not a staffmaster. Certainly not one traveling with a man who carries the eagle rampant on his axe.”

Baffled at what the giant meant by a staffmaster, Haft looked at Spinner. And there was that business about the eagle on his axe again. Spinner didn’t seem to notice; he looked like he was about to faint from loss of blood.

“Now we have to get back to the other side of the fence,” the giant said. He bounded over the fence.

“Wait,” Haft called. “Why don’t the imps kill you?”

The giant looked solemnly at the remains of the cat sagging against the fence. “When they’ve killed something big enough, they take their time feasting on it and don’t bother anyone else who wants to cross their fence until they’re through. After that they’ll kill the next person or animal that touches their fence.”

“Then we better go now,” Spinner said, and pointed at the tabur. Sated imps were beginning to leave it. Quickly, the giant hopped back to the Bostian side of the fence, gathered their weapons and other belongings, and tossed them over the fence.

Haft climbed over the fence while the giant lifted Spinner over, then bounded back himself. No sooner were they on Skragish soil than the imps that had left the cat rushed toward where the men had crossed the fence.

A shout made them look toward the gate, where two of the Skragish border guards were shouting and pointing down the road. They heard the beat of horses’ hooves. The sergeant shouted a command at the two men on the gate, then snapped an order at the rest of his men. Everybody ran to the gate. Haft brought up the rear, with Spinner leaning on him.

In response to the shouted order, the two men at the gate picked up longbows and let loose down the road. One of them gave an excited shout, the other muttered an unhappy oath.

The sergeant shouted a question as he reached the gate. The guard who’d made the excited shout pointed down the road and gave an equally excited reply.

The sergeant rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he looked at where the man pointed.

“What’s happening?” Haft called out as he and Spinner approached the gate.

“Two Jokaps stayed at the gate,” the giant told him. “When they saw their side was beaten, they mounted their horses and took off. These guards got one. The other one got away.”

The two Marines reached the gate and were able to see for themselves. Three-quarters of the way to the bend in the road, a Jokapcul soldier lay on his face in the grass between the ruts, an arrow protruding from his back. Closer to the bend, a horse stood calmly chomping at the grass between the ruts in the road.

The Skragish sergeant talked quietly for a moment, as though to himself, then issued a series of orders. Four of the guards took up positions guarding the gate and stood sharp, like a ceremonial guard. The others relaxed and headed toward the cottages.

“Why don’t they go and fetch the body?” Axe asked.

“Sergeant Pilco”—the giant indicated the Skragish sergeant—“considered that. But his orders are still, ‘Don’t cross the border.’ If his men had gotten both of those Jokaps, then I suspect he’d send someone to get them and the horses.” He paused and looked around. “If
all
the Jokaps were dead, he could just bury the bodies somewhere and claim they had never been here. Or say they came and went away. But one got away, so the Jokaps are going to know they had men killed here and they’ll come for the bodies. If the bodies aren’t there, they’ll know the guards crossed the border, and there’ll be trouble.” He paused again and looked someplace only he could see. After a moment his eyes refocused on the dead man laying on the ox cart road. He said quietly, “Probably be trouble anyway.”

At that moment, Spinner collapsed.

Haft checked Spinner’s wound; the flow had slowed to a trickle, but the flesh of his lower leg was an unhealthy-looking gray and was cold to the touch.

Sergeant Pilco immediately took charge. He called back the men whom he’d just released from duty, he and the giant quickly prepared a litter, then he directed his men to carry the litter to one of the cottages. He wouldn’t let Haft help with the carrying.

“You carry his weapons and pack,” the giant translated for Sergeant Pilco.

The cottage Sergeant Pilco led them to was home to a healing witch. She scolded the sergeant for taking so long to fetch the wounded man, then shooed everyone out, including Haft. The giant refused to translate what she said.

“I don’t talk that way myself, and I won’t repeat it when someone else says it either,” the giant explained. “Especially not when a woman says it.” He cast a quick look at the healing witch’s cottage as though wondering if she really was a woman, and if so, what kind.

Outside, Sergeant Pilco wanted to inspect the site of the fight. Haft and the giant accompanied him, and meanwhile talked. But they didn’t talk about the one thing that was bothering Haft: What had the giant meant about the rampant eagle? The old man in New Bally had also made a point of the eagle on his axe. Now that he thought about it, some Marines had looked at the axe oddly, and a few acted deferentially toward him after noticing it, but nobody had ever commented about it except the old man in New Bally. But then, in the Frangerian Marines, no one asked anyone anything about his past—that was a hard and fast rule. And what did the giant mean about Spinner being a staffmaster?

“I’m called Haft. What do they call you?”

“They call me Silent.”

“With
your
voice?”

“I’m of the Tangonine people of the Northern Steppes. When one of us goes wandering alone in the world, he takes a vow of silence about the People. You said you are a Frangerian Marine. I know enough about you to know that you are also wanderers in the world, and that you adopt names not your own. You do it, I understand, because it is tradition that Frangerian Marines have no past, no history. For us, it’s because names are magic things. If someone knows our true names, he can have power over us. I named myself after my vow.”