One of the other Royal Lancers tried to take advantage of the distraction and started to grab for his sword. Not everyone was as distracted as he thought—an arrow thunked into the ground inches from his hand. He froze and looked up, his face white. Five horsemen had drawn arrows pointed at him, the one who had shot was already drawing another shaft.
“The next arrow kills,” Spinner announced.
A young woman who had stood silently sobbing near the group of men covered by Spinner and his horsemen suddenly screamed and bolted. Half blinded by her tears, she stumbled through the six men who still sat or lay as they’d been when Haft and his men came upon them.
One of Haft’s men, a Kondive Islands sea soldier, suddenly shouted, “Wanita!” He broke ranks and galloped after the woman. As soon as he was close enough he bounded out of his saddle and grabbed her. His momentum carried both of them to the ground.
“Wanita!” he exclaimed, and held her face in his hands. He kissed her. She struggled to break away, but he held her close and cried the name again and again.
Suddenly she stopped struggling and looked into his face. She gasped. “Pisau! Is it really you, Pisau?” she said in a language only one of the others understood. She rubbed a wrist at her eyes to push away the tears.
He kissed more of her tears away. “It’s me, Wanita,” he said in the same language, his voice almost unable to get through his constricted throat.
“Pisau!” she cried and threw her arms around his neck. “I thought you were dead!”
“And I you, my love!”
Tension broke as everyone, including Silent, who broke off from searching the camp, gathered around the two where they rocked on the ground with their arms holding them close, murmuring to each other as they kissed.
After an embarrassing moment Spinner cleared his throat. “Do you know this woman, Pisau?” he asked in Frangerian.
The Kondive Islander broke his face away from the woman’s and grinned up at the Frangerian Marine. “Know her? She’s my wife! I searched for her when the Jokapcul took Zobra City. Someone told me he’d seen her killed. I never would have left the city without her if I’d thought she was still alive.” He turned back to his wife and repeated what he’d just said in their own language. She giggled and said something. He laughed and spoke in Frangerian. “She says she wasn’t killed, but she’ll show me the scar later.”
“Then these people are really refugees?” Haft asked.
Pisau asked Wanita. She nodded, then struggled out of his grip to stand up. In broken Zobran, she said that some people in Zobra City had taken her in and hid and cared for her after a Jokapcul soldier stabbed her.
The Jokapcul thought they had locked the city down tight but unlike the free port of New Bally, which the invaders had taken in a matter of hours, Zobra City had been subject to invasion many times during its history, and people knew how to retain communications with the countryside, and routes out of the city unnoticed by their captors. For weeks, people and uncaptured soldiers slipped out of the city and made for what they hoped were rendezvous points where they could get organized and begin resistance to the conquerors.
When Wanita’s wound had healed well enough, her saviors—who were among the people she was traveling with—had taken her on their own exodus. But the Jokapcul were more successful in beating down all resistance in the countryside than they had been in the capital city, and the rendezvous points were worthless. This group, eight Royal Lancers and five other men, three of whom were former Zobran soldiers, along with several wives and children banded together and headed east in hope of meeting more Zobrans en route to the head of Princedon Gulf. Until their capture they hadn’t met any other refugees, though they’d often had to avoid Jokapcul units marching northward.
Silent took himself away to bring the rest of the company forward while Spinner and Haft told their story to the refugees. Then the two bands agreed to join forces. They sealed the agreement with a communal dinner to which both parties contributed. The new people were surprised by the way Alyline, Doli, and Zweepee took charge of preparations. Baecker again constructed a temporary oven and they had cakes and pies, which were a particular delight to the refugees from Zobra City. Nobody begrudged a wandering bee the crumbs it dined on.
While the dinner was being prepared, the half-grown boy who shot the arrow at Spinner approached him.
“If the giant hadn’t startled me by yelling, I would have hit you,” the boy said belligerently. “You know that, don’t you?”
Spinner looked down at him. The fuzz on the boy’s cheeks and upper lip told him the boy was of age to learn the ways of men. One of the ways of men was learning how to use weapons and fight.
“I believe you,” he said. “Did you learn something today?” The boy looked at him curiously, not knowing what he meant. “Did you learn that it’s a bad idea to shoot arrows at people who outnumber you and aren’t shooting at you?”
“If you hadn’t been refugees like us, if you were the bandits we thought you were, it wouldn’t have mattered that you outnumbered us and weren’t shooting. You would have killed us anyway. By shooting you when you weren’t shooting at us, we could have taken some of you with us. Maybe we could even have scared you off.”
“If we were bandits, maybe. But we aren’t, so you would have been wrong. We thought you were bandits and you would have proved that to us. We would have killed all of you because you put an arrow into me.”
“I’d do the same thing again,” the boy said defiantly. He turned and walked away, head high and back erect. Wrong or right, he was the only one to fight back when the armed men cornered them; he was proud of that.
Spinner sighed at the boy’s retreating back. The boy was both right and wrong. Being both right and wrong can get people needlessly killed. He hoped the boy learned that lesson before failing to learn it killed him.
Guma, the reluctant leader, had been in the Zobran army for three years. His troop was in the countryside on training maneuvers when the Jokapcul invaded. They found out about the invasion when they were attacked by two troops of Jokapcul light cavalry. The fight didn’t last long—the Jokapcul had magicians with them, the Zobrans didn’t. As far as he knew, he and the seven other Royal Lancers in this group were the only survivors from the troop.
“Our captain was killed by a phoenix. I was close to him when it happened, the phoenix’s wing just missed me. It was the most horrible thing I’d ever seen. They had demon spitters as well. It wasn’t much of a battle, mostly it was a slaughter. More than half of us were dead or down with wounds before they even closed to sword and lance range.”
“How did you survive?” Spinner asked.
Guma shrugged. “We ran. Some of us ran before they reached us.” He looked away from the two Frangerians. “Those who didn’t run soon enough died.”
Haft opened his mouth to say something, but a sharp glance from Spinner stopped him. Haft grimaced; he had little use for soldiers who ran from a fight, but he kept his peace.
“Ealdor’s family,” he named another lancer, “was visiting their home village,” Guma continued, “which wasn’t far away. We went there and got them. A few of the villagers joined us, but most didn’t believe the Jokapcul would murder civilians and destroy the town.” He went silent for a moment, looking west. “I hope I’m wrong,” he said softly, “but I’m afraid they’re all dead now. Dead or slaves.” He shook himself, then continued his story in a stronger voice. “A little east of there, we came upon Mangere, the peddler, and he joined us for protection.”
Haft snorted. “Mangere, the peddler with a full wagon. And you told us you only had the clothes on your backs and a little bit of food.”
Guma smiled. “Little enough for this many people trying to survive.”
“It’s more than we had for more people.”
“But you have officers who know how to lead. We didn’t even have a sergeant.”
“Officers!” Haft hooted.
“That’s enough,
” Spinner said sharply. He thought they were better off if the Zobrans believed he and Haft were officers until they proved themselves. Haft gave him a crooked grin, but didn’t say more. “Please continue,” Spinner told Guma.
“We passed not far from the farm Sulh grew up on,” said another lancer, “so we gathered his family as well.”
There was more. Two of the other Royal Lancers also gathered family, and other refugees joined them for what protection could be afforded by eight leaderless soldiers. There were a few unwed or widowed women in the group, but not as many as there were men without wives.
“That Kondivan of yours—Pisau?—made several men unhappy when he turned out to be Wanita’s husband. We understood that she didn’t want anything to do with a man, not so soon after what happened in Zobra City. But when she was ready . . .” He shook his head ruefully.
“Fortunes of war,” Spinner said with sympathy. He understood waiting—he was waiting for Alyline.
Just then the Golden Girl walked up to them, backed up by Doli and Zweepee. She thrust a sheet of paper at Spinner, who jumped to his feet like a puppy eager to please.
“I don’t imagine you’ve done this yet for the men,” she said.
“What?” Spinner looked at her quizzically, then at the paper. It held a list of names, many with numbers or other annotations next to them. He handed it to Haft and looked at the women. “What is it?”
Haft glanced at the paper and smacked himself on the head. “She’s way ahead of us, Spinner.”
“What do you mean?”
“This is a roster of the women and children. It gives the ages of the children and shows which children belong to which women.” He cocked an eyebrow seeking confirmation. Zweepee smiled and nodded at him. “And, unless I miss my mark, it tells which women are with their husbands and what special skills they have,” he added smugly. “Am I right?” He grinned.
“You’re not always the fool you normally seem,” Alyline acknowledged in a tone friendlier than the words.
Haft’s grin snapped to a scowl.
“We don’t really need a roster,” Spinner said. Haft and I know the soldiers and other men who have been with us, and we’ll get to know Guma and the others soon enough.”
“Spinner,” Alyline said, “you may know their names, but do you know what skills they have beyond fighting and hunting? We need a roster. I’ll make it if I must, but I think the men will be more cooperative about giving information if you make the roster.”
“But . . .”
“Make a roster. Note which men have their wives and children with them and what skills they have.”
“We aren’t a little group anymore,” Zweepee broke in. “We have almost a hundred and fifty people now. We need to know these things.”
“But . . .”
“We’ve begun an inventory of goods,” Doli said, “but some of the people are reluctant to tell us everything they have. They need our commander to make the request official. You’re the only one who can do that, Spinner.”
The tip of Haft’s tongue poked between his lips as looked at Spinner. Commander? It was a shame that as moon-eyed Doli was over Spinner, she didn’t seem to like him, Haft, at all—and Alyline had no more use for him than she did Spinner. If either of them liked him even a little bit, he could probably get her and Zweepee to say he was the commander. He wouldn’t be acting so thick headed about it if the women were calling him the commander! He glanced at Guma. The lancer seemed confused and uncomfortable; maybe he was beginning to understand that neither of the Frangerian Marines was an officer. Hmpf! As if either was wearing officer’s rank insignia. Why—
“We don’t have time to make an inventory,” Spinner said. “We’re pulling out first thing in the morning.”
“No we aren’t,” Alyline said. “We need another wagon. Do we have a wainwright? Carpenters? A wheelwright? Now get that roster made so we know what crafts we have. And hope we have the skills to make a wagon; we’ll move faster if we have an extra wagon to carry the small children.” She spun on her heel and marched back to the middle of the camp. Doli and Zweepee went after her.
“Well, commander,” Haft said with amusement, “shall we get started on that roster?”
As it happened, not only were there men with backgrounds as a wainwright, a wheelwright, and two carpenters, they also had a hooper, a cartwright, a brewer, a chandler, a coldren, a cooper, a farrier, a lorimer, three masons, a mulliner, a saddler, two sawyers, a tanner, and a former apprentice baker, as well as men trained in several other crafts. Alyline was particularly interested in the tucker and the dyer, and spent some time with them detailing her clothing requirements. They were so dazzled by her beauty and what she wanted that they swore to come up with the garments she wanted, and properly dyed.
It took three days to build the extra wagon—the sawyers didn’t have the right saws to cut proper boards, the hooper lacked the iron strapping with which to clad the wheels, and all of the men involved in making the wagon were out of practice in their crafts. But it was finally ready and the wagon rolled, filled with young children who shouted in glee at riding in the ungainly thing.
For the first time in the months ago since they’d first turned northeast, away from Zobra City’s burning harbor, Spinner and Haft had more recent information about Jokapcul movement along the coast. As of two months after capturing capital city, the Jokapcul hadn’t begun moving east into the Princedons. That information was now more than a month old, but during that month and more, both parties had watched so many Jokapcul units moving through Zobra and north into Skragland that it seemed unlikely that the invaders had yet begun to move east. Even if the Jokapcul had entered the westernmost of the small principalities on the long peninsula, the company could likely bypass enemy units easily enough and make its way to a port that was still free. They would head for the ocean coast of the Princedons.
CHAPTER
FIVE
“Which way?” Haft asked. He let his horse turn to face away from the hot wind blowing from the north, but held the reins so it didn’t begin to move south.
“I don’t know,” Spinner murmured. The wind that whipped around them tore the words from his mouth and cast them away almost before Haft could hear them. His horse wanted to face south as well.
The road they’d followed into the root of the Princedons meandered into the southern fringe of the Eastern Waste, where it merged with the southwestern corner of the Low Desert. For two days the lack of trees or other high growth had allowed long sight lines and they hadn’t bothered to put out scouts. They were in an arid land covered with tough grasses and spotted with low-lying shrubs. Here and there stunted, twisted, trees endured a hard life. Spinner looked slowly side to side, along the paths of the two trails that forked from where they stood. The left fork continued east and a little bit north, leading into a rising land that turned sere so abruptly a sharp brown line marked the place of change. The grass of the arid land almost completely disappeared and the shrubs were smaller and far fewer. There were no trees to the east. That fork led to the head of Princedon Gulf. The right fork descended a very gentle slope. In that direction the land gradually turned from arid to healthy-but-dry to lush. The outlying trees of a great forest stood an hour’s easy ride distant.
Haft curled his hands around his eyes and looked east along the road into the sere land. The sun was almost directly overhead and heat radiated from the rocky surface. The air shimmered above it. Tiny specks drifted high in the sky; carrion eaters on watch for the carcass of anything foolish enough to wander into that outcropping of the Low Desert.
“It fades out,” he said.
“What?” Spinner asked. He also looked through curled hands into the Low Desert.
“The road. It only goes a short way into the desert, then it fades to nothing.”
Spinner grunted.
“Now down there,” Haft pointed with his chin toward the distant mountains that seemed to float above the forest, “we’l
l find water and food. And maybe a ship home.”
Spinner grunted. “If the Jokapcul haven’t moved east.” They’d met only a few more refugees since encountering the group guarded by the Royal Lancers, and those had no recent knowledge. Still, those people had been accepted into the company. But without newer information, they had to wonder whether the Jokapcul might have resumed their eastward advance. If they had, the next place they would be was the Princedon Peninsula. If they had moved into the Princedons, they controlled the ports on the southern coast for as far east as they had gone. Spinner and Haft had made port in the Princedons a few times and they knew none of its principalities was strong enough to offer more than token resistance to the invaders. The gulf coast was more likely to be free. But Princedon Gulf was shallow toward its western end, and had little in the way of ocean shipping, its harbors mostly held shallow-draft fishing craft.
Spinner looked toward the forest. Something gray was loping in their direction.
“Wolf’s coming back,” he said.
Haft grimaced. He doubted he’d ever trust the overly intelligent wolf that had attached himself to their company somewhere in upper Zobra. At least he thought they’d made it into Zobra when the wolf first joined them; they hadn’t been traveling on roads clogged with refugees and the border was unmarked.
Two sets of hooves clopped behind them, one set those of a horse, the other sounded too loud to be merely a horse. The hooves came to a stop and they turned to see who was with Silent, the rider of the thing that sounded too big to be a horse.
“We need provisioning,” Fletcher said.
Haft turned to him and nodded, feeling vindicated.
“I’m hungry enough to eat one of these puny ponies,” Silent grumbled. His mount looked far too large to be a horse, though horse it was.
“Yes,” Spinner said so softly the wind tore the word away before the others heard it. Food had been hard to come by since the road led them to the merge of the Eastern Waste with the Low Desert; they were on strict rationing.
Demontech: Rally Point: 2 (Demontech Book 2) Page 5