patrol’s leader taken out with the opening shot, but the officer was far enough back that even a broadhead arrow from a long bow might not kill him, and horsemen were passing between him and the ambushers.
The fifth man in the column was a sergeant. Against soldiers from another army, he’d settle for shooting the sergeant first. But the Jokapcul weren’t like other armies—their sergeants were little more than disciplinarians and relayers of officers’ orders; they had no leadership function. Taking out the sergeant first would do little more than setting off the ambush by shooting a private. Haft glanced to his right. The first soldier behind the two scouts was already nearing the place where the cut would take him out of his sight. In only a moment or two the front third of the column would be beyond the ambush. The last men were passing through the transverse section of road, and he knew he had to have the demon spit now if he wanted to hit the rear of the column.
He lightly tapped the side of the tube near the demon’s door to let it know he was ready, carefully aimed at a horseman passing his front, then squeezed the lever.
The demon spat with a thunderous crack. A second later a Jokapcul and his mount vanished in a burst of fire and smoke. To his sides, Haft was aware of arrows zipping through the air. He heard thunks as they struck leather, and the pings of arrowheads striking and glancing off the metal plates that studded the Jokapcul armor. He swiveled to aim at the officer—but couldn’t see him; someone must have shot him.
In seconds half a dozen Jokapcul were down, arrows sunk into chests, bellies, thighs. As Haft looked back to the transverse section of road, a horse staggered and went down on its hindquarters with an arrow sticking out of its chest. Another, struck by an arrow that glanced off its hip, reared violently and threw its rider. The tossed Jokapcul rolled over and started to rise, then dropped back down when three arrows hit him—one glanced off, another pierced his armor over his chest, and the third found its way between the protective neck flaps of his helmet.
A roaring voice drew Haft’s attention, and he saw the plumed officer’s head alongside a standing horse that strained against its tightly held reins—the officer had dismounted and was hiding behind his mount. Before he could aim the demon spitter, its door popped open and the demon gave him a sharp rap just below his eye.
“Hey!”
“ ’Ey oozeph! Ook!”
The demon pointed a gnarly arm at the road where it came from the trees.
Haft looked and swallowed a gasp as he swiveled the demon spitter away from the officer—the demon had spotted a dismounted Jokapcul aiming a demon spitter at the ambush! The other demon spat even as Haft was sighting. Thunder erupted fifteen yards to his right and twigs and clods of dirt rained at him through the brush. The Jokapcul with the magical weapon darted to another position, but Haft followed his route and was able to fire before the other could begin to take aim once more. The enemy with the demon spitter disappeared in a thunderous gout of flame.
Haft gave the field a quick glance but didn’t see any other demon weapons, then looked again for the officer. The tall golden plume was right where he’d last seen it, sticking up behind the shoulder of a struggling horse. Haft sighted on the horse’s shoulder and fired the demon spitter again. The horse erupted in blood and gore; when the smoke cleared, the officer wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but his plumed helmet hung from a nearby tree branch. Then yells and the clatter of galloping horses came up the road. The few remaining Jokapcul were fleeing.
“REPORT!” Haft bellowed.
“One, got mine!” called Hunter from the first position.
“Two, mine’s dead.” That was Archer in the second position.
“That was too close, but I’m all right,” someone called out—the Jokapcul demon spitter hadn’t caused any
The fifth man in the column was a sergeant. Against soldiers from another army, he’d settle for shooting the sergeant first. But the Jokapcul weren’t like other armies—their sergeants were little more than disciplinarians and relayers of officers’ orders; they had no leadership function. Taking out the sergeant first would do little more than setting off the ambush by shooting a private. Haft glanced to his right. The first soldier behind the two scouts was already nearing the place where the cut would take him out of his sight. In only a moment or two the front third of the column would be beyond the ambush. The last men were passing through the transverse section of road, and he knew he had to have the demon spit now if he wanted to hit the rear of the column.
He lightly tapped the side of the tube near the demon’s door to let it know he was ready, carefully aimed at a horseman passing his front, then squeezed the lever.
The demon spat with a thunderous crack. A second later a Jokapcul and his mount vanished in a burst of fire and smoke. To his sides, Haft was aware of arrows zipping through the air. He heard thunks as they struck leather, and the pings of arrowheads striking and glancing off the metal plates that studded the Jokapcul armor. He swiveled to aim at the officer—but couldn’t see him; someone must have shot him.
In seconds half a dozen Jokapcul were down, arrows sunk into chests, bellies, thighs. As Haft looked back to the transverse section of road, a horse staggered and went down on its hindquarters with an arrow sticking out of its chest. Another, struck by an arrow that glanced off its hip, reared violently and threw its rider. The tossed Jokapcul rolled over and started to rise, then dropped back down when three arrows hit him—one glanced off, another pierced his armor over his chest, and the third found its way between the protective neck flaps of his helmet.
A roaring voice drew Haft’s attention, and he saw the plumed officer’s head alongside a standing horse that strained against its tightly held reins—the officer had dismounted and was hiding behind his mount. Before he could aim the demon spitter, its door popped open and the demon gave him a sharp rap just below his eye.
“Hey!”
“ ’Ey oozeph! Ook!”
The demon pointed a gnarly arm at the road where it came from the trees.
Haft looked and swallowed a gasp as he swiveled the demon spitter away from the officer—the demon had spotted a dismounted Jokapcul aiming a demon spitter at the ambush! The other demon spat even as Haft was sighting. Thunder erupted fifteen yards to his right and twigs and clods of dirt rained at him through the brush. The Jokapcul with the magical weapon darted to another position, but Haft followed his route and was able to fire before the other could begin to take aim once more. The enemy with the demon spitter disappeared in a thunderous gout of flame.
Haft gave the field a quick glance but didn’t see any other demon weapons, then looked again for the officer. The tall golden plume was right where he’d last seen it, sticking up behind the shoulder of a struggling horse. Haft sighted on the horse’s shoulder and fired the demon spitter again. The horse erupted in blood and gore; when the smoke cleared, the officer wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but his plumed helmet hung from a nearby tree branch. Then yells and the clatter of galloping horses came up the road. The few remaining Jokapcul were fleeing.
“REPORT!” Haft bellowed.
“One, got mine!” called Hunter from the first position.
“Two, mine’s dead.” That was Archer in the second position.
“That was too close, but I’m all right,” someone called out—the Jokapcul demon spitter hadn’t caused any