Li Xian judged his moment well. He had led the warriors of Tianqin off to the west almost a league along the river. A handful of Swamplings had tried to oppose him, his sword was wet with their hellish ichor, and it was as easy as taking the heads off fennel plants in his mother's garden.
And now— Oh, the glory.
He raised his arm, closed his fist, and turned his horse. "Halt!" he ordered. "Now turn to face the enemy!" It was not a royal command, but he had never led so many Warriors and did not know their commands in their language. So, he turned out of the line and cantered along the column. "Face me!" he called. "Come! Turn your horses!"
As soon as half a dozen Warriors understood him, they all understood. The great column, a thousand horses long, turned into a line a thousand horses wide as he cantered down the front, his spear held above his head, the royal arms of Tianqin sparkling on his chest.
Not a mere duke, but someday I will be a proper king.
