Demontech: Gulf Run by David Sherman Read Free Book Online Page B

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.
    Haft stood alone, backed against a large tree, fighting like a madman as he swung the half-moon blade of his battle-axe in broad arcs that wrapped all the way around to protect his sides from flank attack. He’d shattered every lance thrust at him. Twice he knocked arrows aside, and once ducked out of the way of a shaft. Another arrow had slit along his ribs, and a lance gouged his thigh before he could break it with his axe. He bled from numerous other nicks and cuts, but half a dozen Jokapcul bodies lay before him, and most others now kept their distance. To the lancers, it truly looked like he and his axe were one.
    A short distance away, Spinner danced like a dervish, twirling his quarterstaff so fast it was a blurred shield before him. Whenever a Jokapcul came within the quarterstaff’s reach, Spinner shot an end out to jab at a face or exposed throat, or to swing it to deflect a weapon or break an arm or leg or crack ribs. Dead and dying lancers sprawled on the ground beneath his dancing feet, injured Jokapcul shuffling away desiring nothing more than to escape with no more hurt.
    Nearby, Fletcher and Birdwhistle fought back-to-back, fending off five Jokapcul. Three more lay dead around them. They tried to move to where their attackers might trip over the bodies.
    All about, the refugee fighters gave good account of themselves, killing more of the lancers than they lost. Wolf dashed about, harrying the horses, ripping at their hamstrings with his teeth, and brought several down, tumbling their riders. Seldom did the shaggy beast pause to