Demontech: Gulf Run

by David Sherman

  Alyline hustled back with the pregnant woman she had taken aside and broke his chain of thought.

  “Spinner,” she said preemptively, “we’re taking these people with us. They need help and we can give it.”

  “But—”

  That was as far as he got before galloping horses demanded his attention. He looked back along the road to see five horsemen racing toward them. He stepped through the group toward the approaching horsemen and waited. The lead horseman was Birdwhistle, who Haft had left in command of the rear point.

  “A troop of Jokapcul lancers are coming at a canter,” Birdwhistle said breathlessly as he leaped off his horse. “They’ll be here in five minutes or less.”

  “Where’s the rest of the rear point?” Haft asked. He had four more men back there someplace.

  “In the trees, running this way.”

  Haft gave a disgusted grunt. The lancers would arrive first.

  Somehow they had to stop the hundred lancers coming their way. Spinner took quick stock. They had himself and Haft, five of the men from the rear point, and Fletcher. Postelmuz had lingered; he was one of the partly trained men who’d fought the Jokapcul at Eikby. He was armed and looked ready to fight—nervous, but ready. The caravan was now too far ahead to get more men back before the Jokapcul arrived—nine men to stop a hundred. He turned to Veduci.

  “You say you’re willing to fight alongside us?” he asked. “This is your chance to prove it. Get your men into an ambush position along the side of the road.”

  Veduci nodded sharply and darted back into the trees.

  “Get those people out of here,” Spinner ordered.

  Fletcher put one able-bodied woman in charge and had her lead the women and children up the road as fast as they could go. He returned the weapons to the two of Veduci’s men who’d stayed behind.

  “Where’s Xundoe?” Spinner muttered, suddenly sorry he hadn’t sent for the mage. He glanced about; other than Haft’s demon spitter, none of them were carrying demon weapons.

  “Alyline, ride forward and get fighters.” Spinner paused a second to think of who was where in the column. “Sergeant Phard and his men are near the rear. Get them.”

  The Golden Girl snorted; the Skraglander Bloody Axes alone wouldn’t be enough to swing the battle in their favor. But she was already mounted and turning her stallion to ride for help before Spinner gave his order. She’d tell Phard, then she’d find demon weapons and bring them back. She galloped off, riding on the edge of the road to avoid forcing her way through the frightened racing women and children.

  Veduci came back.

  “Where are your men?” Spinner asked.

  “They’re in position.”

  Haft shot him a quick, hard look. “Yes, you would know how to lay an ambush, wouldn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I know even more,” Veduci said, and hefted a thin, coiled rope.

  Haft looked at it curiously.

  Veduci ran across the road. He found a mid-size tree and tied one end of the rope around it near where its roots spread out. He ran back, uncoiling the rope to lay on the road.

  “We don’t have time to do this properly,” he said. “Get your men into position.”

  Veduci grabbed a few handfuls of leaves and dirt from the edge of the road and tossed them along the rope. It wasn’t effective camouflage, but it might be enough to keep the cantering Jokapcul lancers from spotting the rope in time. He ran into the trees.

  Spinner and Haft quickly took in the situation under the trees. Veduci’s men were only a few yards off the road, far enough to be hidden from a casual bypasser but not so far that they didn’t have clear shots with their bows. Short bows, Haft noted, not powerful enough to be effective against the Jokapcul armor. It was a well-set hasty ambush, even though it had no rear security. It was as Haft had said: these men knew how to set an ambush.

  Haft went about quickly checking everyone’s position. Spinner ran from man to man saying, “Wait for my signal.” The lancers reached the killing zone before the two Frangerian Marines were settled in their own positions.

  Veduci turned the end of the rope once around a slender tree trunk a foot above the ground and waited for the first rank of horses to get close enough.

  Their armor was gray. Maybe it’s supposed to be silver, Haft thought. Unlike the trailing patrol he and the rear point had ambushed a short while earlier, the lancers didn’t have scouts riding ahead. They were in a tight column of twos with only enough space between ranks for the horses to avoid bumping each other. The silver-plumed officer rode alongside the third rank. They carried their lances in their hands, ready to drop the upheld points level with the ground and tuck the butts under their arms. Short swords flapped from each side of their belts.

  As Haft thought they would, the lead lancers saw the rope before Veduci could snap it taut at fetlock level to trip the cantering horses. The men barked warning in their guttural language and yanked hard on their reins, but it didn’t matter: they were already too close to stop in time.

  Veduci pulled hard on the rope, snapping it off the ground, and finished off the knot he’d started—the rope would stay up without him holding it. He took up his bow and got ready.

  The lead horses staggered, thrown off balance with their heads jerked back and to the side. They hit the rope and tumbled, throwing their riders. The next rank wasn’t able to stop in time either, and crashed into the downed pair. The snap of breaking bones was audible through the thudding of falling horses and thrown men, the neighing of frightened and injured animals, the shouts of thrown riders, and screams of the injured. The officer instantly saw that he was too close to stop or turn away from the trap and tried to jump his horse over the pileup, but one of the horses in the scrambling pile lurched upward into his horse and he was knocked off balance and fell from the saddle. The fourth rank tumbled into the horses at the rope and more bones broke; the screams of injured horses seemed to drown out other sounds. The fifth rank stopped short, but their horses were turned to opposite sides, prancing to keep their balance as the downed horses flailed near their legs and the horses behind jostled them. In seconds the entire column was stopped, packed close together near the front, the horses facing every which way. The soldiers were confused, waiting for orders from their officer, but he was dying, drowning in his own blood—Veduci had nocked an arrow and shot him through the throat as soon as he was down. The confused soldiers didn’t immediately notice their ranks thinning from arrows that shot into them from their left flank.

  But the confusion only lasted until Haft used his demon spitter. The weapon’s thunder echoed and reverberated under the trees. Four Jokapcul milling uncertainly in the middle of the column were thrown away by the eruption of the demon’s ejecta.

  Half of the Jokapcul still mounted heard where the thunder came from; they spun their horses to charge into the forest. But they weren’t in formation and couldn’t see who they were charging until they got under the trees. Several more of them fell before they closed with their attackers. Then the forest was filled with thudding hoof beats, the harsh barks of Jokapcul war cries answering the battle cries of the ambushers, and it rang with the clangor of clashing weapons. Haft managed one more shot with the demon spitter before horsemen were on him and he had to drop it in favor of his axe. A cacophony of terrified squawks trailed birds fleeing to safer environs.

  A lancer screamed a bloodcurdling war cry, leveled his lance, and turned his horse to charge Spinner. But the trees were too tight for the horse to maneuver easily and it smashed its rider’s leg against a tree trunk, his war cry becoming a shriek of pain. Spinner let go of his crossbow and thrust his quarterstaff at the Jokapcul’s throat. The soldier’s screams abruptly cut off and he clutched his crushed larynx then slowly toppled off his horse, hitting the ground and spasming in his death throes.

  Spinner didn’t have time to finish him off, he had to swerve out of the way of another lance that darted at him from a Jokapcul whose
horse galloped at him on a cleaner line. He swung his quarterstaff at the soldier as the horse went by, but was off balance and falling away, so the staff glanced off the horse’s hindquarters. The rider threw back on his reins and his mount skidded into a spin. Turned about, the mounted man plunged back at Spinner. Spinner dodged behind a tree, and a shower of bark chips sprayed from the trunk where the lance’s point struck it. This time Spinner was ready and jabbed with his quarterstaff as the rider and horse went by. He landed a solid blow on the lancer’s short ribs, but the man’s armor blunted the strike and he retained his seat. The Jokapcul dropped his lance and drew both short swords as he spun his horse for another charge. That was a mistake—Spinner’s quarterstaff gave him a much longer reach. He thrust between the two threatening blades and caught the Jokapcul in the belly, catapulting him backward off his horse. Spinner jumped in before the Jokapcul could capture a breath and slit his throat.

  A few yards away Haft ducked under a lance and swung his mighty battle-axe into the chest of a charging horse. The falling animal wrenched the weapon out of his hands as it threw its rider into a tree. The Jokapcul crashed into the trunk face first, his neck broke with a loud crack, and he crumpled to the ground, immobile and dying. Haft risked the dying horse’s thrashing hooves to retrieve his axe, but it was buried too deeply and he couldn’t quickly dislodge it. A lance caught his cloak and jerked him off his feet, but the lancer lost his grip on his weapon when its head stayed stuck in the cloak. He drew a sword and turned his mount about to finish his opponent. But Haft still had his knife. He drew it, dropped below the swing of the Jokapcul’s sword, and swiped at the horse’s hamstring, knicking it. The animal screamed and bucked, momentarily out of control. Haft jerked the lance from its hold on his cloak and slammed its point into the small of the Jokapcul’s back as he struggled to regain control of his horse. Haft twisted the lance, the soldier fell from his mount, and Haft pinned him to the ground with his own lance.

  Others among the refugees weren’t as fortunate. Three of the fallen lancers from the head of the column scrambled to their feet and raced into the forest to confront Veduci and two nearby men. They were followed quickly by two other lancers—the remaining fallen Jokapcul were dead or dying. Three of the unhorsed Jokapcul went down, dead or badly wounded, but so did the two men with the bandit leader. Veduci managed to break away from the last two lancers before they could catch him in a pincer and ran to where two other of his men were fighting back-to-back, joining them in a defensive circle.

  A Border Warder stayed down when he dove away from one charging horse into the path of another and was trampled. Another took a lance full in the back as he gutted a lancer he’d just unhorsed. Three more of Veduci’s men were down, dead or dying. Postelmuz lay staring sightless into the treetops, the broken shaft of a lance sticking out of his chest.

  In moments of fighting, thirty of the Jokapcul were down—as were eight of the twenty-seven ambushers. The lancers who’d continued to dance in confusion when the fight began turned into the forest to join battle.

  Not all of them made it into the trees.

  Panting from their run, the rest of Haft’s Border Warder squad arrived to find enemy well within the range of their longbows. They toppled four of the lancers still on the road, then four drew their swords and raced at the Jokapcul flank. Wolf was with these last four Border Warders. He raced into the Jokapcul and quickly dispatched two of them by ripping out their throats.

  Sergeant Phard turned around in his saddle and looked back when he heard galloping hooves approaching.

  Alyline’s stallion raised a dust cloud skidding to a stop when she hauled back on the reins.

  “Golden Lady,” Phard said and gave a half bow, more graceful than one might expect from so burly a mounted man.

  “A troop of lancers behind,” Alyline gasped. “Spinner and Haft need help. Go to them.” She heeled the stallion and it bolted away, farther up the column.

  “Axes!” Phard shouted. “With me!” He twisted his horse about and kicked its flanks. It galloped toward the end of the train of nervously hurrying people more than a hundred yards away. He didn’t look for his men, he knew they’d follow with neither question nor hesitation—and once past the refugees and wagons clogging the road, they’d form up. As he neared the end of the caravan he heard the distant, muffled clash of weapons and shouts of fighting men. He swore under his breath, angry that the noises of the people and wagons behind him had blocked all sound of the conflict to the rear.

  Well before the ten Bloody Axes reached the sound of fighting in the forest, they were riding two abreast on the sides of the road and had their battle-axes ready in their hands. Phard slowed to a trot and turned his short column under the trees. A wild sight met their eyes—close to three score gray-armored Jokapcul lancers, nearly half of them on foot, milled about in undisciplined packs, surrounding pairs and trios of defenders, fighting so closely that they interfered with each other’s weapons.

  Who are they? Sergeant Phard wondered, startled by the sight of strangers battling the gray-armored Jokapcul. He saw a Border Warder back-to-back with one of the strangers and knew whose side they were on.

  At a one-word command from their leader, the Bloody Axes formed into two ranks, five abreast, facing the nearest fight, and broke into a canter—the trees were too dense to allow a gallop.

  “GET THE GRAY!” Phard bellowed, and bent low to side-swing his axe into the neck of a dismounted lancer who was about to plunge his sword into the man backed against the Border Warder. His horse slammed loudly into a lancer’s horse and staggered it, almost unhorsing its rider. The two Bloody Axes flanking him bowled over two more of the Jokapcul surrounding the Border Warder and the stranger, and bones snapped sharply under their trampling hooves. The following rank hacked at the lancers still upright. The two defenders took instant advantage of the Jokapcul confusion to skewer two lancers who’d been knocked down, cutting off their panicked barks. In seconds all but one of the lancers who had attacked the two were down. That one dropped his weapons and sped away, so disoriented that he fled deeper into the forest instead of toward the road. The Border Warder snatched up his bow and shot the man in the back.

  “With us!” Phard ordered the two men he’d just rescued.

  The Border Warder had enough Skraglandish to understand the command and ran behind the horses. The stranger didn’t understand the words, but followed the Border Warder.

  Bellowing battle cries, the mounted Bloody Axes crashed into the seven lancers swarming around a trio of defenders and scattered them. Phard swung his axe at a Jokapcul struggling to retain his seat on his staggering horse. The blade hewed off the man’s arm, sank deep into his chest, and flung him to the ground. Another Skraglander swung his axe in a high overhead arc and brought it down on the helmet of a horseless Jokapcul, the force splitting it on a diagonal, half of the foe’s head shooting away. The half-headless lancer remained on his feet for a long moment, jabbing automatically, aimlessly, with his sword, before he folded to the ground.

  Two mounted lancers and one on foot broke away and sprinted to the next group while Phard and his squad finished off their two remaining companions. The three Jokapcul screamed warnings, and most of the lancers surrounding two Border Warders and a stranger wearing colorful clothes turned to face the new threat, which gave the others room to reach in and cut down the man in motley. The Border Warders shifted back-to-back and continued to fend off their attackers.

  Eight lancers, five on horseback, faced the charging Bloody Axes. One of the dismounted lancers darted forward between two of his mounted mates and dropped to one knee with the butt of his lance planted on the ground at his knee. The horse his upraised lance point was pointed at saw the danger and shied violently to the left—but the animal saw the threat too late and its momentum slammed its shoulder into the weapon. It screamed as its right foreleg collapsed, and it rolled, throwing its rider onto the lancer and shattering the lance into kindling.


  The thrown Bloody Axe rolled under the hooves of the Jokapcul horses flanking the lancer who’d taken his horse down—they reared and stomped down hard, crushing his pelvis and shattering his skull. His horse scrambled painfully to its feet and stomped the dismounted lancer to death. Then it lashed out with its head and viciously bit the throat of the nearest Jokapcul horse, which screamed and reared away, almost throwing its rider. Another Bloody Axe took advantage of that lancer’s struggle to stay mounted and strike a blow that took off the man’s leg at mid-thigh and split ribs on the horse.

  The remaining horses crashed chest-to-chest, snapping and biting at each other. The Bloody Axes’ horses had momentum behind them and staggered the Jokapcul mounts backward. The stranger on foot risked death by darting among the struggling horses and struck from below, gutting a lancer horse. The screaming animal stutter-stepped back for several yards with its steaming intestines spilling onto the ground. The footman grabbed the dying horse’s bridle and went with it, stabbing up at its rider, who jumped off to face his antagonist. The footman twisted to his right, yanking hard on the bridle, and pulled the screaming horse over. The falling horse thudded into the Jokapcul, knocking him over and pinning his legs. Before the stranger could finish off the downed Jokapcul, another lancer swung his sword backhand at him and chopped deeply into his back.

  Then, abruptly, this fight was over. Sergeant Phard and eight of his Bloody Axes remained on their horses; the Border Warder who came with them and one of the two to whose aid they’d rushed were still on their feet. All the Jokapcul were dead or dying.

  “To the next!” Phard ordered, and they headed on line to the next struggling knot.

  Veduci, who had escaped from the leading Jokapcul who lived long enough to pursue him, ran from fight to fight, back-stabbing a Jokapcul here and a Jokapcul there, evening the odds a bit at each confrontation, then running to the next fight and back-stabbing another Jokapcul. Only once was he chased by a lancer on foot. He grabbed the trunk of a young tree and slingshot around it to plunge his sword all the way through the side of the startled Jokapcul. He lost precious seconds twisting and working his sword out of the dead man.