The Seer King: Book One of the Seer King Trilogy Read Online Free PDF Page B

plan, sir. It’s a good un. They’ve got three magicians, an’ th’ center of th’ triangle that’s made, givin’ focus to the magic, is where they hit ‘em. Th’ spells’ll be th’ same as they gen’rly use — confusion, fear, feelin’ helpless — but most of all bein’ wi’out skill, not able t’aim a bow right, or strike true wi’ y’r sword.”
    I saw the third man, atop a crag just beyond us, above the road. I swear I could hear, from three directions, the low rumble of chanting.
    “Yon diplomat, sir, may have some magickin’ powers,” Bikaner went on, “but not when there’s three t’his one.”
    “Then let’s even the odds before we take them.”
    “We c’n do that, sir,” Bikaner agreed, ran for his horse, and clattered back to the troop. Twelve of my best archers were dismounted and, with saber-ready escort, split into two parties. The first started up the narrow draw that led to the rock closest to us, where the hillmen’s seer continued roaring out his spells, paying no heed to anything around him. The others went for the second Kaiti magician to the east.
    Within minutes one party was within bowshot of the nearest wizard, and, aiming carefully, fired. Three arrows buried themselves in the wizard’s chest, and it seemed as if the world shook. I heard a screech of pain, as if the man were next to me, and the sorcerer crumpled and fell. Soldiers scurried to the summit, to make sure he was, and stayed, dead.
    As arranged, we did not wait to see if the second party of archers was successful in taking out another Kaiti magician, but went into our attack.
    “At the walk … forward …”
    Cheetah Troop, Seventeenth Ureyan Lancers, crested the hill into the valley of the Sulem River.
    I heard shouts, cries of welcome, and then howls of surprise from across the river as the hillmen saw us, but I paid them no mind.
    We reached the ford and splashed into it.
    “Sound the charge!” I cried and my trumpeter raised the long bullhorn and sent the challenge echoing across the valley.
    As it rang forth, I saw something I shall never forget, one of the most noble sights I’ve witnessed in battle.
    One of the elephants I thought dead, who must have been a war beast before he grew too old and was shamefully made into a cargo animal, heard the blare in the dying recesses of his mind, and rolled up, staggering to his feet, trunk lifting, curling, and his own war cry bugled back at us, and he stumbled a few steps, trying to obey the long-forgotten command, and fell dead.
    Our lances were couched and we thundered into the charge, and I was at the formation’s arrow-tip. Robed men were before me, one drawing his bow, and my lance struck him fair, the first man I’d ever slain, and sent him spinning away. I wheeled my horse, yanking my lance free, and came back on the line of tribesmen, and took down another hillman, then cast aside my lance and came in with the saber, my troop following like we were a single horseman.
    The hillmen may have been bastards, but they were brave bastards. I saw no sign that they were breaking and running, which is usually the case when soldiers afoot are surprised by cavalry.
    Instead, the Men of the Hills held their line and then counterattacked, trying to take down our horses with spears, and slashing at us as we rode past.
    It was a brutal, bloody melee, men shouting, hacking at each other, gut-ripped horses going down screaming, and rage exploding, sabers too clean for this work, daggers and clawed hands savaging at their enemies.
    A line of hillmen came at us, almost like regulars in their order, and I cried warning to my men.
    Then the world hummed about me, and I saw something unimaginable. Not far from me a spear was embedded in the sand. I saw it pull free from the ground, with no one close to it, and then arc through the air, hard-thrown, and bury itself in a hillman’s chest. Fear coursed through me, and I saw other abandoned weapons — arrows, swords,