Demontech: Gulf Run Read Free

readied his crossbow, arrows, and sword. Less than a minute later he turned to Haft and signaled—all nine men in the ambush had their assigned targets, leaving the last six men in the Jokapcul column unmarked. Those last six were the responsibility of Haft and the demon spitter. If the officer was still up, Haft knew he’d use the second spit to take him out—if he could see him from his position. They had to get the officer fast; the Jokapcul fell apart without an officer to give orders.
    Haft checked the angle of the demon spitter’s tube on his shoulder and sighted toward the section of transverse road visible through the trees. He looped his fingers lightly across the signaling lever. Shortly, he heard the faint clop of a hoof striking a rock, followed by a horse’s wet snort. Soon he heard more faint sounds of horsemen on the road. Then the first Jokapcul appeared.
    The Jokapcul horseman held his short bow in his hands, arrow nocked, string half drawn. A lance was tucked beneath his right thigh. He wore a gold-tinted leather armor jerkin, with shields that spread wide over his shoulders. A short skirt the same color as the jacket dropped from his waist over the top of brown leather trousers. His gauntlets had cuffs that reached to his elbows. A conical leather helmet sat on his head, a leather flap hung from its back and wrapped around to the front, protecting his throat. All of his leathern garments were studded with metal rectangles, save for his boots. He leaned forward in the saddle and peered intently to his front and sides as he trotted ahead to the road’s bend, searching for any sign of the people he was following.
    The point rider disappeared for a moment, then reappeared on the straight of the road; others soldiers began crossing the break. The second Jokapcul followed thirty yards to his rear. The remainder were at five-yard intervals. The point man stopped halfway to the cut and signaled for the officer to come forward. The officer was easy to spot when he appeared—his helmet was topped by a golden plume, and the polished metal rectangles on his armor glittered where shafts of sunlight struck them. He stopped alongside the second man in the column and examined the cut. After a moment he quietly ordered the second man to join the point and for the two to scout ahead. The second man readied his bow as he trotted forward. When he was nearly on the first, the first advanced his horse at a walk.
    Haft looked to his right. He couldn’t see all of his men. Those he could see looked like they were well-concealed from view from the road. It wasn’t long before the scouts disappeared from his sight, hidden by the cut’s rising bank. He listened carefully and heard the soft clops of their horses walking through it. His breath caught when the clopping didn’t stop right away—would they go far enough to see where his squad had left the road? The Jokapcul outnumbered his men, and not enough of them were within range for his men to turn the odds in their favor with their first arrows.
    No. It sounded to him as though the scouts had stopped about halfway from the top of the cut, where he and his men had left the road. He hardly dared breathe as he heard them return. They stopped before he could see them again. Evidently they had signaled “all clear,” because the officer now signaled the column to move out.
    But the officer didn’t move when Haft expected him to. In every small Jokapcul cavalry patrol he’d ever seen, the officer was positioned near the front of the column, no farther back than the fifth man, often closer to the front. Haft counted: the two scouts, then a third, fourth, fifth, and sixth man. The officer remained at the far side of the road, watching his men troop by.
    Haft straightened his fingers, moving them away from the demon spitter’s trigger. Move! he thought. You’re supposed to be up near the front of the column, where my men can kill you, not at the rear. He wanted the