Get Her Back (Demontech)

by David Sherman

  “Mee kinol oo!” she piped in a voice that sounded like tinkling glass. “Oo gud’ghie!” She planted a wet kiss on the corner of Haft’s eye and rubbed her miniature but massively formed breasts against his cheek.

  Haft cleared his throat and said, “I know you, too. You helped me when I met a Black Dog and a Troll. You told them I was a friend, and they helped me with some Jokapcul.”

  “Ess! Oo membah!”

  “Of course I remember.” He reached up and gently wrapped a hand around her waist to move her off his shoulder.

  “Nah, nah!” she squealed. “Rubbum egg!”

  “No!” Haft laughed gently as he put the tiny female back on the ground. “I’m not going anywhere. You see him? That’s Corporal Kaplar. He’s a good guy. I need you to help him.”

  The Lalla Mkouma jammed her fists into her hips and leaned toward Kaplar, with a pugnacious expression on her face. “Oo zurr ee gud’ghie?”

  “I’m positive. He’s a really good guy. You’ll like him.”

  “Hmmpf,” she sniffed.”Ee zee. Mebbe. Mebbe naw.”

  “That’s right, you’ll see. Now, I want you to go with Corporal Kaplar and make him invisible when he rubs your leg.” To Kaplar he added, “Give her some food, right now.”

  Kaplar accepted the container of demon food pellets that Haft handed over and fingered one out. The Lalla Mkouma’s eyes lit up when she saw the pellet and she pounced on it. The pellet was nearly as big as her head, but she had no trouble shoving it into her mouth and swallowing it whole.

  “Oo gud’ghie!” she chirped, and clambered onto Kaplar’s shoulder, where she rubbed her tummy and burped delicately.

  “Here’s what I want you to do.” Haft gave Kaplar his instructions.

  “I understand, Sir,” Kaplar said when the instructions were finished.

  “All right then, everybody,” Haft said, “now’s do or die time.” He stood and so did everybody else in the small group—except Kaplar. Several nearby Bloody Axes joined them, and soon Kaplar was hidden from the view of any watchers.

  “Corporal, rub her thigh,” Haft ordered.

  Kaplar tentatively placed a hand on the Lalla Mkouma’s thigh and briskly rubbed it. The Lalla Mkouma began spinning her gown. It somehow lengthened and totally enveloped Kaplar. He vanished from the midst of the group.

  “Make a hole,” Haft ordered, and the men spread out, making a space for Kaplar to walk through.

  “I hope to be back in an hour.” Kaplar’s voice came from a few yards outside the circle he’d just left.

  “Don’t look for him!” Haft snapped when some of the Bloody Axes started and began jerkily looking about.

  Corporal Kaplar decided that since the original recon had gone around to the left, clockwise, that he’d go widdershins. After all, they’d already seen what there was to see to the left, but no one had seen what there was around the camp’s right side.

  Not much, as it turned out. There were the close-spaced domed huts on the outer ring, each with its two archer’s-loop windows, and after each twenty huts a wider space to allow egress to the narrow road between the outer ring of huts and the next, offset, ring of closely-spaced huts. People—men, women, and children alike—walked about outside the outer ring, going from one place to another, or heading into the surrounding desert to gather, to gather . . .

  Kaplar had no idea what they were gathering.

  At each wide space there was a cluster of woven-grass cages with corpses in varying degrees of decomposition.

  There was nothing noteworthy until he got halfway around.

  There was a break in the routine of twenty domed huts-space-twenty domed huts. Instead, there was a kennel and a high walled run. A score of shaggy-haired hounds as tall as a man’s waist set up a ruckus when Kaplar neared, barking and baying furiously. The high walls around the run weren’t for show; the hounds repeatedly leapt at the walls, trying to get over them. They couldn’t. Other hounds dug at the foot of the wall, trying to find a way underneath it. The base of the fence was dug too deeply into the ground, and the dogs couldn’t burrow under it.

  Kaplar moved on, briskly but not at a run. Behind himself, he heard handlers enter the run to yell and beat the hounds into silence. The barking and baying finally ended when Kaplar was about fifty yards away. He looked back at that point, and saw three or four warriors outside the run, looking around for an intruder. With the Lalla Mkouma on his shoulder, working her magic, the warriors couldn’t see him. But they were also looking at the ground for the prints of a passing man or beast. When he saw that, Kaplar looked at his own feet. He did leave some tracks, but he was confident that they were lost in the tracks of other people who had traversed the outer bounds of the camp, so it was unlikely that his footprints would be noticed. Still, he kept up his pace, with frequent rearward glances to assure himself that he wasn’t being pursued.

  A hundred yards farther on, something else caught Kaplar’s eye. Glancing through a wide space, he thought he saw huts jammed up against each other without the normal narrow space between them. He wasn’t sure, though. There were people traversing the wide space and the roadway beyond, so he couldn’t linger. It was so odd, though, that he had to investigate. He ducked into the closest narrow gap and looked through to the next row of huts. His view was constricted but there was another thing that looked different on the next hut row—he didn’t see archer’s loopholes of the hut that he could see. Not that that necessarily meant anything; his view might be so constricted he couldn’t see the loopholes to either side of the section of hut wall in his field of vision.

  Careful to not rub her leg, Kaplar reached a hand to touch the Lalla Mkouma’s foot.

  “Ess?”

  “This space,” he asked speaking softly, “can we squeeze through it without snagging your gown? Is it wide enough for us to stay invisible?”

  “Mee zee,” she tinkled at him. He heard her shifting on his shoulder so she could get a good look at the space. After a moment she said, “Naw zwetz. Lez goam.”

  Kaplar felt her tiny heels kick his shoulder. It felt exactly like what he imagined a horse felt when its rider heeled it to begin moving, or to go faster. He had to smile at the image, and would have shaken his head if he hadn’t been afraid that the movement might make the little demon lose her spell on him.

  It was tight, but he made it through the space to where it spilled into the roadway. He’d been right. There was a stretch of four or five huts that abutted each other with no spaces between. Those huts didn’t have archer’s loopholes. He thought it was possible that the Zobrans were being held in these huts—and maybe the Golden Girl as well.

  He studied the people passing by. None of them seemed particularly alert or watchful; he guessed that the ruckus the hounds had made a short distance away was common enough that it wasn’t cause for alarm. There weren’t so many of them that he would have to time himself carefully to get between them. He went at a diagonal to his left, to the nearest space between huts, about the distance of two huts beyond where he was. Inside the space, he put an ear to the wall and listened. He thought he heard voices, but they were too faint for him to be positive, much less tell what language they were speaking. Despite that, he didn’t think they were speaking the language of the High Desert Nomads.

  He decided to take a risk. He went the rest of the way through to the road between the middle and inner rings. There were more people there than he’d seen outside the other road. Warriors lounged in front of the doors of the joined huts. There went his idea of entering one of them.

  Or maybe not. He noticed that the guard at the door of the second hut from the far end kept trying to talk to passing women. He could well guess the kinds of remarks the warrior was making. He’d seen men behave that way in many places and times. A wry grin crossed his mouth—he’d been known to behave that way himself a time or two—or more.

  He went back outside the ring and around to the other end of the joined huts and back to the inner road. Tr
eading softly, he slipped through the passing people to the side of the flirting warrior. His heart leaped in his chest. This close to the door flap, he could make out the voices inside the hut—they were speaking Zobran!

  Did he need to tell the people imprisoned in the huts that he was there and rescue was at hand? No, he decided. But he did need to find out if the huts were joined on the inside, or if they were separate rooms. He also needed to find out where their weapons and horses were being kept. It wasn’t long before the flirting guard took a step toward a passing woman to press his suit. Kaplar took advantage of that to duck inside the hut. Lacking the windows, narrow though they were, of the other huts, it was much darker inside, and it took a few minutes for Kaplar’s vision to adjust.

  He didn’t see Alyline, but he hadn’t really expected her to be held in the same hut as the soldiers. But he did see a Zobran he knew, and sidled up to him.

  “Teon,” he whispered in Frangerian next to the Royal Lancer’s ear, “don’t react. It’s Kaplar.”

  Teon couldn’t help himself, he started at hearing the unexpected voice and jerked his head from side to side, looking for its source.

  “What? Where are you?” At least he kept his voice low, almost a whisper.

  “I’ve got a Lalla Mkouma, she’s keeping me invisible. Listen, we’re going to get all of you out of here—”

  “Guma. They took the lieutenant and some of the other men—”

  “I know, we already rescued them. Guma and three others. I need to know where Alyline is, and where they have your horses and weapons. Can you tell me?”

  Teon was silent for a moment, long enough that Kaplar thought he’d have to repeat his questions, but then he answered.

  “Right before they put me in here, I saw the Golden Girl’s face in an archer’s loophole across the way. She’s still there unless they moved her. The warriors divided our weapons among themselves. I’ve heard a few whinnies farther to the right, so I guess that’s where the horses are.”

  “Thanks, Teon. Now keep quiet about my visit. I’ll be back with Sir Haft and the rest of the Bloody Axes. We’ll get you out of here.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A moment later, Kaplar was past the distracted guard and across the road. He risked a quick look through one of the narrow windows on the hut closest to him. And pulled away instantly—his head and shoulders cast a shadow inside the hut. He realized in that instant that even though he was invisible to eyes, the sun could still see him and he cast a shadow. He’d have to be more careful.

  But.

  But he hadn’t cast any shadows before, so why did he now? He looked at the ground at his feet. It was as he remembered, he cast no shadow. So why did the light inside the hut suddenly dim when he looked into it? Whatever, he couldn’t continue to stand in the roadway figuring it out, there was too much chance that a passer-by would brush against him and raise an alarm at encountering someone he or she couldn’t see. He tried looking into the hut again. Once more, the interior light dimmed. Nobody exclaimed at the sudden reduction in light level, and he didn’t see anybody inside during the quick glance he allowed himself. Either Alyline had been moved, or he was looking into the wrong hut. Did he dare check the other huts in this short stretch, with the risk of accidental discovery? He thought that he had to. If they had to effect a forcible rescue, they needed to know where the Golden Girl was being kept.

  He found her in the third hut that he looked into. He wanted to tell her that he was there, that her freedom was coming soon. But more people than before were in the road, and he didn’t dare tarry, he already risked discovery.

  That was proved seconds later when he had to spin out of the way of someone who suddenly appeared from between two of the huts and nearly ran into him. Kaplar crossed the road as quickly as he could, and twice had to dodge out of someone’s way.

  Then he was squeezing between huts to the road separating the middle and outer rings of huts. It was too early to breathe easy, he knew that. He still needed to confirm the location of the Royal Lancers’ horses, and then get back. And all the while, looking for anything else that Haft and the Bloody Axes might need to know.

  Corporal Kaplar was gone longer than the hour he’d said when he left the Bloody Axes’ encampment, but not so much longer that anybody began to worry that something had gone wrong.

  “Sir Haft,” he said into his commander’s ear when he returned, “I’m back.”

  Haft flinched at the unexpected voice, but recovered immediately and said, “Don’t rub the Lalla Mkouma’s leg until I get enough people around so that nobody will see you reappear.”

  “Of course not, Sir Haft.”

  It only took a couple of minutes for enough people to gather around where Kaplar sat on the ground to conceal him from any but the most alert scrutiny. Everyone but the command group started dispersing as soon as Kaplar returned to visibility.

  “Veed mee!” the Lalla Mkouma squealed as soon as she stopped concealing herself and Kaplar.

  Kaplar quickly retrieved the tin of pellets Haft had given him and got one out for the diminutive demon. She simpered at him, and daintily nibbled at the pellet. A marked contrast to the way she wolfed down the pellet he gave her before she had hidden him more than an hour earlier.

  “Oo nizzem,” she cooed at Kaplar. “Mee likuu!” She tittered, and brushed her lips across his cheek before hopping off his shoulder to the ground. “Whar Tab’b?” she asked.

  “I’m here, delightful one,” Tabib answered, and squatted down so his face was not very high above hers.

  She squealed again and scampered to him. Boo mee way,” she said. “Mee nee zeeb!”

  “Indeed so right, little one,” Tabib said. “I will put you away right now, and you can have your well deserved sleep.”

  The Lalla Mkouma smiled and waved at Kaplar just before the mage closed the lid of her chest over her.

  “All right, finally,” Haft said impatiently. “Report!”

  “Aye aye, Sir Haft!” Kaplar said. It was all he could do to not snap to attention and pop a salute.

  The sun was kissing the western horizon when Itzuli came for them. Before they got close enough to see the long, deep shadows cast in the camp’s central clearing, they smelled the aromas of cooking flesh and spices that wafted through the camp. It looked like everyone in the clan was in the clearing, men and older boys on one side, women, girls, and younger boys on the other. They were all packed in seated rows; shoulder to shoulder, hip to haunch, knees overlapping, the crossed ankles of one row pressed against the buttocks of the row in front.

  Itzuli led Haft, Balta, and Tabib through a narrow aisle in the packed rows of nomads to a low bench on the side of the entrance to Nagusi’s hut. He directed the rest of the platoon, including Lieutenant Guma and the other freed Zobrans, to a stretch of the clearing’s perimeter off to one side, where they formed part of the front row of people seated. The shadows lengthened and deepened, and the ancient man who had earlier said the words that made Haft and the Skraglanders guests rather than enemies came out of his hut and began circling the clearing with a salamander, the first demon Haft had seen evidence of in the nomad camp. The ancient made two circuits of the clearing: on his first passage, he used the salamander to light torches behind the outside row of people, on his second he lit the torches before the front row.

  When the last torch was lit, unseen drums and flutes began playing a processional. The nomads began a chant in time with the music, and every head turned to look at the chief’s hut.

  A remarkable sight met Haft’s eyes when he turned his head to look at the chief’s hut. A naked man with the head of a huge, horned beast burst out of the hut. He and Balta instantly jumped to the side and reached for their weapons, but left them undrawn when they noticed that nobody else acted afraid of the horned beast with the body of a naked man, and eased back to their seats.

  The naked man-beast capered into the middle of the clearing and danced a wild, swirling, twisting dance
in point, counterpoint, and discordance with the piping of the flutes and thrumming of the drums, and covering the entire open area including its fringes, so that he nearly stomped on the toes and ankles of the people in the front row. The early night was closer to cool than it was to hot, but it wasn’t long before the dancer began glistening with sweat, and soon after that beads of sweat began spinning off of him to strike people in the close-packed circles. The people thus baptized reacted with ecstasy, as though the beads of sweat were a great sacrament. After a time the dancer began keening, barely audible at first, but rising in both volume and pitch to a piercing whistle, as of an arrow flying too close past one’s ear.

  Then, with no warning that Haft could discern, both the dancing and the music stopped.

  The beast-man stood frozen in half-step in the middle of the clearing, one foot off the ground, back bent in an inward curl, both arms raised, with the hands curled forward and down, and the horned head ducked below his arms.

  Slowly, slowly, the dancer straightened, his arms lowered to his sides, his raised foot to the ground. A lone drum took up a slow tattoo. A single flute piped a two note tune, its notes sounding between the beats of the tattoo.

  Abruptly, the beast-man shrieked and leaped straight up, his legs and arms wide apart, fingers spread and vibrating.

  He collapsed onto the ground.

  Four warriors picked up the fallen dancer and bore him into the chief’s hut. A short time later, Chief Nagusi emerged, looking refreshed as though he had briskly bathed after strenuous activity. Itzuli was at his side. Nagusi sat on a stool. Itzuli sat on a lower stool between him and Haft.

  “The Great Chief wishes to know how you liked the dance,” Itzuli translated when Nagusi spoke to his guests.

  “It was impressive,” said Haft. Looking around, he added, “I still don’t see the drums and pipes.”