Demontech: Gulf Run

by David Sherman

  Few of the injuries suffered by the freed soldiers were more serious than could be dealt with by the healing mages and their demons and the healing witches’ potions and poultices. Mostly, those men were malnourished. Their spirits rose rapidly once they were fed and clothed and they realized they were free of the cages. Some of them asked for weapons even before they finished their first meal. Captain Phard, his officers, and NCOs started organizing them by unit type as soon as they’d been fed and looked over by the healers.

  They were Bostians, Skraglanders, Zobrans, Easterlies, and sea soldiers of many seafaring nations, as well as soldiers from the captured city states of the Penston Peninsula, and even a handful of men from distant Oskul. There were border guards, lancers, pikers, light horse, light foot, heavy cavalry, heavy foot, swords, archers, and a variety of royal household troops. There were junior officers, grizzled senior sergeants, raw recruits, and everyone in between. None questioned the assumed ranks and authority of the officers and NCOs of the combined battalion that had freed them, and all were willing to accept their leadership and command. They didn’t even question the right of the young Frangerian Marine with the huge axe to be the overall commander. There were no mages or magicians among them; the Jokapcul had summarily killed everyone they believed knew how to control a demon.

  Sergeant Rammer took responsibility for organizing them.

  The women, children, and oldsters were a bit different. Like the soldiers, most of their injuries were relatively easy to heal with proper care and cleanliness, and they all suffered from malnourishment. But some of them were ill, and some of the women—and even a few children—had infections because of the rough way the Jokapcul had handed them about and used their bodies. Those were more difficult to heal, and some of that healing would have to be on the march; the caravan could not risk staying long in that place.

  Fortunately, there were large stores of food. It was the food preferred by the Jokapcul and not much to the taste of others, but it was food, and Fletcher and Zweepee were glad to add it to the caravan’s storage wagons. There was likewise clothing taken from these prisoners or others the Jokapcul had raided and pillaged along the way, so every civilian—woman, child, and man alike—was able to have at least two complete sets of clothing. Many of the freed soldiers had to settle for Jokapcul armor, which they didn’t much like; not only because it put them in the uniform of an enemy, but because the Jokapcul tended to be small and the armor was a proper fit only for the smallest among the former prisoners. However, they didn’t object much to being armed with Jokapcul weapons. Doli and Maid Primrose found seamstresses and dyers who could take cloth and make surcoats for most of the soldiers so they would at least have a surface resemblance to the uniforms of the caravan soldiers and their units.

  “Where’s Spinner?”

  As soon as all the former prisoners and the soldiers who freed them were fed and she had the “kitchen” crew cleaning up and preparing to fix another meal, Doli ran about asking everybody she knew.

  “Where’s Spinner?”

  “The same place he’s been all morning,” said the Prince’s Sword named Hyse, looking at her oddly. He pointed to the east, to the edge of the trees where Spinner still slept.

  “He’s not dead?” Doli exclaimed. “Oh, I was so worried, nobody would tell me where he was. I was afraid he might have been hurt, but he’s just busy! Thank you!” she called back to Hyse as she scampered to the former battleground.

  Hyse stood staring after her. She’d been afraid Lord Spinner was hurt? Nobody had told her? “But—” he called out, then stopped. If she didn’t know, he was probably better off if he wasn’t the one to tell her.

  “Spinner! Spinner, where are you?” Doli cried out as she ran across the battleground, oblivious to the bloody sand under her racing feet. She looked anxiously at everyone, searching for Spinner, but didn’t see him. She was inside the treeline before she realized everyone that she looked at looked away.

  “Spinner!” she shrieked, suddenly terrified that he was dead after all. Bodies lay unmoving in the shade of the trees. Was Spinner one of them? No, they weren’t unmoving, they were wounded and healers moved among them. She ran about aimlessly, looking at the wounded men, seeking Spinner.

  “Doli!” Nightbird snapped, and the healing witch bustled to her. “Quiet, woman, you’re disturbing the wounded! Have a care for them.”

  “But—But Spinner!” Doli’s eyes were welling with tears. “Where’s Spinner?”

  “Come with me,” Nightbird said, laying an arm over Doli’s shoulders.

  “Is he— Is he—”

  “No, he’s not dead,” Nightbird said comfortingly. “He’s sleeping quietly. I’ll take you to him.”

  “He’s sleeping?” Doli squealed joyfully, thinking he was merely resting after the strain of battle.

  “Yes, sleeping. Now be calm and come with me.” The healing witch gave her a hug.

  Had Doli been thinking more clearly, she would have realized Spinner wasn’t sleeping because he was merely tired. Spinner never lay down to sleep in the aftermath of a battle, he always saw to it that the wounded were cared for and the dead gathered for burial before he took any comfort for himself. “Yes, take me to him, please.” She started walking at random, and Nightbird had to pull her back and point her in the right direction. The healing witch didn’t let go of her.

  “Spinner!” Doli cried when she saw him on a pallet of bumber leaves covered with a blanket. She wrenched out of Nightbird’s grasp and ran to him. Kneeling at his side, she caressed his cheek, murmuring to him, then gasped and pulled back. Nightbird grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away before she could throw herself on Spinner.

  “He’s sleeping, that’s all. He was thrown from his horse this morning and struck his head. But he’s sleeping now, he’ll be fine.”

  “But—But he’s hurt!”

  “Shush, shush.” Nightbird gathered Doli in her arms and rocked her. “He’ll be fine. He just needs to sleep. Don’t disturb him now. Let him sleep.”

  Doli turned her face up to the older woman, tears running down her cheeks. “He’ll be all right? You—You’re sure?”

  “He’ll be fine,” Nightbird said with more confidence than she felt. “Just let him sleep.”

  Doli fumbled a hand free and brushed at her tears. “All right,” she said with a snuffle, “I’ll let him sleep.” Nightbird loosened her hold, and Doli broke through her arms to lean close over Spinner and hug him. She rained soft kisses all over his face, murmuring to him to get the rest he needed, promising to care for him when he woke. Then she sat up on her heels.

  “You’ll send for me when he wakes?”

  “I will.”

  “Good.” Doli rose to her feet and used her sleeve to wipe away the last of her tears. “I’m going to find Haft,” she said sternly. “He knew Spinner was injured and he didn’t tell me.”

  “Go gentle on him,” Nightbird said to Doli’s rapidly departing back. “He thought he was doing the right thing.”

  She found Haft with Sergeant Rammer, who had just finished organizing the new men into units and assigning them officers and NCOs.

  “Haft!”

  He turned, and groaned when he saw the way she was bearing down on him.

  “Haft, we have to talk!”

  “Not now, Doli, I’m about to address our new troops.”

  “Yes now! You come with me so we can talk.”

  “In a little while, Doli. There’s something else I have to do right now.”

  “Fine. If you don’t want to come with me where we can talk in privacy, we can do it right here.”

  Men in the ranks looked at each other. Their new commander was being addressed in a demanding way by someone who looked like a serving girl. Their officers and NCOs, most of whom had just been promoted from the caravan’s existing units, signed them to be quiet, to keep their eyes straight ahead and ignore what was happening in front of them.

  “But, Doli, this is i
mportant.”

  “Yes it is important, Haft. Spinner was hurt and you knew it and you wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Doli, the last I heard, you were mad at him. Anyway, there was nothing you could do that the healers weren’t doing better.”

  She froze, glaring at him, fists tightly clenched at her sides. “Me, mad at Spinner? Wherever did you get that idea?”

  He made the mistake of shrugging and saying, “You know. After that night he spent with Maid Primrose in Eikby.”

  She reacted so fast he didn’t even see the hand that slapped his face until it was on its way back to hit him again. He was barely fast enough to grab her wrist before she connected a second time.

  “Ow! What was that for?”

  “You—You—” she sputtered. She kicked him.

  “Doli!” Haft hopped back, letting go of her wrist as he reached for his stinging shin.

  She followed, pummeling both sides of his face with open palms. “You—You—”

  Rammer sighed and shook his head. He stepped behind Doli and threw an arm around her waist. Ignoring her indignant squawk, he lifted her off her feet and turned around so she faced away from Haft.

  “Put me down!” she shrieked. She flailed her arms and kicked her heels, but couldn’t hit him with any force. “Let go of me, you—you—”

  Rammer walked away with her struggling in his arms and protesting.

  “Now now, Mistress Doli,” he said calmly. “You’re not behaving like the lady we all know you really are. Haft has important things to do now, and he didn’t hurt anything by not telling you about Spinner.”

  “He—He had to bring up that—that—”

  Rammer shook his head. “The way I heard it, you were mad at Spinner. But that’s over now. We all have other things to do.”

  “Put me down, you—you—” She flailed and kicked more vigorously.

  “Mistress Doli, I’ll put you down as soon as you stop trying to hit and kick me,” he said firmly.

  “You—You—” She kicked and flailed even more violently, then sagged in his arms.

  Rammer set her on her feet but didn’t let go immediately. When she was still for a few seconds, he released her and took a step back. “Mistress Doli? Are you all right?”

  She slowly turned and glared at him, her face flushed deep red. She pointed an accusing finger and gasped, “You—you—” Then she spotted Haft, both of whose cheeks were glowing bright red from her slaps, and flung her arm at him. “And you too!” she screamed. She spun about and flounced away, head high, fists once more clenched at her sides.

  Rammer watched until he was certain she wouldn’t turn back, then he rejoined Haft in front of the new battalion formation.

  “Let that be a lesson to you,” he said softly when he reached Haft. “Never, ever, remind a woman of her man’s infidelity. Even when he’s not her man and he wasn’t unfaithful.”

  Spinner regained consciousness in the afternoon. Doli cooed over him and spoon-fed him broth. Then he went back to sleep. Though Doli stayed mad at Haft, she didn’t go after him again.

  Come morning, Silent was the only man in camp other than the slaves who didn’t have an aching head and upset stomach. Which gave him a certain advantage.

  He told the chief again what he’d said to him the night before. The chief nodded cautiously to indicate his understanding, and said something to the interpreters. When their translations agreed, Silent decided they weren’t in too much postfeast pain to translate accurately and continued, advising the chief on what he should do.

  Before the chief could compose a response, a slave brought a bowl of fermented comite milk for him and his face brightened. The chief eagerly emptied the bowl, then belched and sat quietly with his eyes closed for a few moments. When he opened them, he looked far less hung over. He sounded it too, when he spoke. The translators, who hadn’t had a remedial libation, had trouble keeping up with him. He and Silent spoke back and forth.

  By the time the sun was at its zenith, all the Desert Men were up, and most were no longer feeling the effects of the previous night—or near enough that it didn’t affect their ability to move or speak. The chief ordered everybody to eat hearty. They did, though without music, singing, dancing, or more fermented comite milk than was needed for medicinal purposes. When they were all full, the chief dispatched riders deeper into the Low Desert. Silent and the chief made arrangements on how to meet again should they need to.

  Soon afterward, the giant was back in the saddle, headed south, returning to the caravan.

  The caravan stayed at the Jokapcul camp for three days. The eight hundred former prisoners, bathed, wearing clean clothes, and properly fed, regained strength quickly. The rest, combined with the ministrations of healing magicians and witches, had considerably moved their injuries and ills far along the path to health.

  Spinner, however, was up and about the day after the battle. He wanted to move out immediately, or as soon as the new people could be fed into the caravan.

  “You’re a fool, Spinner,” Haft snorted. “You had a concussion. They take time to heal. If you mount a horse now and try to do what you have done all along our journey, you will kill yourself.”

  “I’m all right, I just have a mild headache,” Spinner replied.

  “It’s a small headache now,” Alyline sniffed. “It won’t be tonight if we go now.”

  “I’ll be all right, really.”

  “Spinner, you’re badly hurt,” Doli told him, wrapping her arms around his chest and pressing her body against his back. “You need rest.”

  Even Maid Primrose, who had barely spoken to him since she found out about Doli’s love for him and his for Alyline when she first joined the flight from Eikby, stood before him and lay a gentle hand on his cheek. “You have to rest, Spinner,” she insisted. If you don’t …” She choked back a sob and turned away so he wouldn’t see the tears slide down her cheeks.

  Sergeant Rammer exchanged a grin with Captains Phard, Geatwe, and Mearh, then said sternly, “Marine, head injuries are treacherous. If any one of the healers says you need bed rest, you will have bed rest. And that’s an order.”

  “But—”

  “You shouldn’t be standing up,” Nightbird snapped, “you need to be in bed.”

  “Rest is the only cure for you,” added one of the healing magicians.

  “Lay down or I will put you down,” Rammer growled.

  “The Jokapcul—” Spinner objected.

  “The Jokaps aren’t coming now,” Silent interrupted. “We have time for you to rest.”

  “How do you know that?” Spinner demanded.

  Silent gave him a look that said he’d asked a dumb question. “We nomads of the Northern Steppes have our means.”

  “But—”

  Haft, Rammer, and the company commanders closed on Spinner as Doli and Maid Primrose took his arms and pulled him to his pallet.

  “But—”

  Nobody paid any attention to his objections, and he didn’t resist when the women lay him down and covered him with a light blanket.

  “Haft,” Rammer said when he was satisfied that Spinner was going to stay abed for at least a time, “come with me. We don’t have much time, but we need to take full advantage of it. I want some help training the recruits of Company D. Have you seen to security?”

  “Yes, Sergeant!” Haft said briskly in automatic response to his former detachment commander. “Lieutenant Jatke has the border soldiers screening to the west.” Then he grimaced. He was the commander here, not Rammer! He was supposed to give the orders, not take them.

  Rammer ignored the glare Haft gave him. The two headed for Company D. In fact, Haft knew Rammer was right about taking advantage of this time to train the recruits.

  The shouts they heard as they approached the area assigned to the recruit company didn’t prepare them for what they found when they got there. All the survivors of Company D’s mistaken pursuit of the Desert Men stood in ranks with the men Rammer had re
cruited during the two days since—the survivors who had wanted to quit arms had instead decided to stay and get properly trained. Maybe it was simply due to encouragement or taunting from the other survivors, but they stayed.

  Two hundred more men from the caravan were also gathered around—they all wanted to join the company and be trained in order to protect their families.

  “We’re going to need two training companies,” Rammer said softly.

  Haft simply nodded, he didn’t trust his voice. Who would command the other company?

  “Call a meeting of the officers,” Rammer advised. “Find out who we’ve got who can properly train raw recruits.”

  “Right,” Haft managed, and left to assemble the officers.

  “We’re going to have problems,” Zweepee told Haft on the second day of the rest. It was a problem she would normally have taken to Spinner, but she didn’t think he was well enough to deal with it, and she wasn’t sure it could wait. Fletcher and Alyline, the only people she’d discussed it with, agreed with her.

  Haft stifled a groan. “What problems?” He’d solved the problem of who would train the influx of recruits, but was still wrestling with who would replace the men assigned to that task from their positions as sergeants and corporals—and a lieutenant—in the other companies. He was also dealing with problems associated with the force suddenly growing from battalion-size to that of an understrength regiment. And, somehow, eight thousand people on the move had to be fed.

  “The caravan had a few more than three hundred widows and other unmarried women,” Zweepee said, either not knowing or not caring about Haft’s other problems. “There are about a hundred and more among the prisoners we freed.”

  “Yes? We have 450 widows and other unmarried women. So?” Haft had no idea what she was driving at.

  “We had about a hundred unattached men. Now we have about six hundred. There are too many men, not enough women. There will be fights.”

  Haft stared at her for a moment, not comprehending. There were always more men than women when a fleet put into port, and that seldom caused problems. Sure, a sea soldier or a sailor might get a little too attached to a whore and not want to share her and pull a knife on someone else who wanted to buy her for a time. But blood was seldom shed. All they had to do was …