Free Demon King by Chris Bunch

and Seer Sinait. We were flanked by archers, then Captain Lasta and the men of the Red Lancers. Before we started, I asked the seer if she felt any magic about, if the wizard who’d ambushed Legate Ili had laid out any wards. She cast two spells, said she sensed nothing, which puzzled her — was the unknown wizard that confident?
    I noted a distinctive crest line just to the right of the direction we wished to travel in, outlined against the darkening sky, and we moved out through the night, not needing a compass. There was not a murmur from the men, and not a clink of weaponry or scuffle as we crept over the hills. Not far ahead, I saw the glow of a fire dimly reflected from the storm clouds above, and I moved in its direction. The ground climbed gently, and I stopped just below a hillcrest, and held out my hand, palm down. The soldiers flattened, weapons ready.
    I touched Karjan, the seer, and Kutulu, and we moved to the top of the hill, keeping in a crouch. I was most impressed with Sinait — though she had none of the training of a soldier, and was hardly in the best of physical shape, she’d kept up without panting, and walked almost as silently as any of us.
    There was a small valley below, almost a natural amphitheater. Fires burned smokily. There were no demons to be seen, but about fifty armed men crouched around the fires. Some were roasting meat, others sheltering under blankets or oilskins. They were talking animatedly, unbothered by the rain, and I heard occasional bursts of laughter. I saw no sentries.
    We watched for some moments. I was about to return to the troops, but Kutulu held up a hand. He was waiting for something. One man stood and called names. Three others joined him, and they moved away from the fire to confer.
    Kutulu leaned close. “Those four,” he whispered. “Or, at any rate, the one in the center. He’ll be their leader. We want him alive.”
    “If possible,” I said, a bit of skepticism in my voice. There were no guarantees in close combat.
    “Not
if possible.
I have some questions that must be answered.” I saw the gleam in his eyes, reflected firelight. He drew on a pair of long gauntleted gloves, his favorite weapons — each had sand sewn across the knuckles and palms, ideal for knocking someone instantly unconscious. In his left hand he held a dagger he carried sheathed down the back of his neck.
    We returned and I whispered final orders to Captain Lasta, and he went down the column, passing them along to warrants and officers. I wanted Tiger Troop to move around the valley to the left, and the Tenth Hussars to the right. They were to be in position by a count of two thousand from the time they left the column and, at my shout, were to charge.
    I counted slowly as men slipped away. At one thousand, I motioned, and my Red Lancers went on line, crawling to the crest of the hill.
    My mouth was dry, and I could feel my lips pull back in a humorless grin.
    Time. I gave it another few seconds, then came to my feet. As I did, Kutulu bounded over the crest of the hill. I thought he’d not understood, or his nerves had gone, then swore as I realized what he was doing.
    “Lancers … Attack!” I bellowed, and we went over the top in a rush down on the raiders. Kutulu was in front of us, and I saw him cannon into a man and send him tumbling.
    There were shouts of surprise, screams. Men scrambled up, grabbing for weapons. Some tried to run, but saw the other two waves of soldiers, coming over the far crest. My cavalrymen smashed into the throng as if they were a phalanx of spearmen; sabers flashed in the firelight, and the screams were louder and now agonized instead of surprised. Some of the Kallians managed to break away from the swordsmen, but with no hope, for my archers stood at thirty-foot intervals around the rim of the valley, whipping down goose-feathered shafts.
    A man was in front of me, open hands pushing, and my blade went between them into his chest. I booted him off my