team.”
“Horses would have been better,” Volger muttered.
Alek shifted the burden in his grip, the smell of kerosene mixing with the smoked sausages that hung around his neck. His pockets were stuffed with newspapers and fresh fruit. He felt like some vagabond carrying everything he owned.
“Master Klopp?” he said. “While the walker’s still in fighting prime, why don’t we take what we need?”
“And bring the army down on us?” Volger asked.
“They already know where we are,” Alek said. “Thanks to my—”
“Listen!” Volger hissed.
Alek came to a halt… . He heard nothing but the fuel cans sloshing. He closed his eyes. A low thunder rumbled on the edge of his awareness. Hoofbeats.
“Out of sight!” Volger said.
They scrambled down the banks of the stream into the heavy brush. Alek crouched down, his heart beating hard.
As the sound of hoofbeats grew closer, the baying of hunting dogs joined in.
Alek swallowed—hiding was pointless. Even if the hounds didn’t have their scent, sausages and kerosene would make any dog curious.
Volger drew his pistol. “Alek, you’re the fastest. Run straight for the walker. Klopp and I will make a stand here.”
“But it sounds like a dozen horses!”
“Not too many for a walker. Get moving , Your Highness!”
Alek nodded and threw down the sausages. He dashed into the shallow water, feet slipping on wet stones. The dogs couldn’t track him across the stream, and the bank on the other side was flatter and clear of bushes.
As he ran, the sound of horses and dogs drew closer. A pistol shot cracked, and there were shouts and the whinny of a horse.
More shots sounded—the booming reports of rifles. Klopp and Volger were outgunned as well as outnumbered. But at least the horsemen were stopping to fight instead of chasing him. Common soldiers wouldn’t know who he was, after all. Maybe they wouldn’t bother with a young boy in farmer’s clothes.
Alek kept running, not looking back, trying not to imagine bullets slicing through his skin.
The stream ran among the farms, high grass on either side. He could just see the copse of trees where the walker was hidden—half a kilometer away. He lowered his head and ran harder, his focus narrowing to his boots and the stones along the stream bank.
Halfway to the trees an awful sound reached his ears—the hoofbeats of a single horse closing in. Daring a glance back, Alek saw a horseman on the other side of the stream, riding hard. His carbine strap was wound around one arm.
He was ready to fire… .
Alek turned away and scrambled up the bank. The rye in the fields was chest high, tall enough to hide in.
A shot rang out—a geyser of dirt shot up a meter to his right.
He dove into the rye, thrashing away from the stream on hands and knees.
The carbine cracked again, and the bullet sliced past Alek’s ear. His instincts screamed to run farther in, but the horseman would see the tall grass moving. Alek froze where he was, panting.
“I missed you on purpose!” a voice called out.
Alek lay there, trying to regain his breath.
“Listen, you’re just a boy,” the voice continued. “Whatever those other two have done, I’m sure the captain will go easy on you.”
Alek heard the horse splash into the stream, in no hurry.
He began to crawl deeper into the rye, careful not to disturb the stalks. His heart was pounding, sweat running into his eyes. He’d never been in a battle like this before—outside the metal skin of the Stormwalker. Volger hadn’t let him carry a weapon into town, not even a knife.
His first time in single combat, and he was unarmed.
“Come on, boy. Don’t waste my time or I’ll thrash you myself!”
Alek came to a halt, realizing his one advantage—this young soldier didn’t know whom he was hunting. He was expecting some common ruffian, not a nobleman trained in combat since he was ten years old.
The man wouldn’t bargain on a counterattack.
The horse was moving
“Horses would have been better,” Volger muttered.
Alek shifted the burden in his grip, the smell of kerosene mixing with the smoked sausages that hung around his neck. His pockets were stuffed with newspapers and fresh fruit. He felt like some vagabond carrying everything he owned.
“Master Klopp?” he said. “While the walker’s still in fighting prime, why don’t we take what we need?”
“And bring the army down on us?” Volger asked.
“They already know where we are,” Alek said. “Thanks to my—”
“Listen!” Volger hissed.
Alek came to a halt… . He heard nothing but the fuel cans sloshing. He closed his eyes. A low thunder rumbled on the edge of his awareness. Hoofbeats.
“Out of sight!” Volger said.
They scrambled down the banks of the stream into the heavy brush. Alek crouched down, his heart beating hard.
As the sound of hoofbeats grew closer, the baying of hunting dogs joined in.
Alek swallowed—hiding was pointless. Even if the hounds didn’t have their scent, sausages and kerosene would make any dog curious.
Volger drew his pistol. “Alek, you’re the fastest. Run straight for the walker. Klopp and I will make a stand here.”
“But it sounds like a dozen horses!”
“Not too many for a walker. Get moving , Your Highness!”
Alek nodded and threw down the sausages. He dashed into the shallow water, feet slipping on wet stones. The dogs couldn’t track him across the stream, and the bank on the other side was flatter and clear of bushes.
As he ran, the sound of horses and dogs drew closer. A pistol shot cracked, and there were shouts and the whinny of a horse.
More shots sounded—the booming reports of rifles. Klopp and Volger were outgunned as well as outnumbered. But at least the horsemen were stopping to fight instead of chasing him. Common soldiers wouldn’t know who he was, after all. Maybe they wouldn’t bother with a young boy in farmer’s clothes.
Alek kept running, not looking back, trying not to imagine bullets slicing through his skin.
The stream ran among the farms, high grass on either side. He could just see the copse of trees where the walker was hidden—half a kilometer away. He lowered his head and ran harder, his focus narrowing to his boots and the stones along the stream bank.
Halfway to the trees an awful sound reached his ears—the hoofbeats of a single horse closing in. Daring a glance back, Alek saw a horseman on the other side of the stream, riding hard. His carbine strap was wound around one arm.
He was ready to fire… .
Alek turned away and scrambled up the bank. The rye in the fields was chest high, tall enough to hide in.
A shot rang out—a geyser of dirt shot up a meter to his right.
He dove into the rye, thrashing away from the stream on hands and knees.
The carbine cracked again, and the bullet sliced past Alek’s ear. His instincts screamed to run farther in, but the horseman would see the tall grass moving. Alek froze where he was, panting.
“I missed you on purpose!” a voice called out.
Alek lay there, trying to regain his breath.
“Listen, you’re just a boy,” the voice continued. “Whatever those other two have done, I’m sure the captain will go easy on you.”
Alek heard the horse splash into the stream, in no hurry.
He began to crawl deeper into the rye, careful not to disturb the stalks. His heart was pounding, sweat running into his eyes. He’d never been in a battle like this before—outside the metal skin of the Stormwalker. Volger hadn’t let him carry a weapon into town, not even a knife.
His first time in single combat, and he was unarmed.
“Come on, boy. Don’t waste my time or I’ll thrash you myself!”
Alek came to a halt, realizing his one advantage—this young soldier didn’t know whom he was hunting. He was expecting some common ruffian, not a nobleman trained in combat since he was ten years old.
The man wouldn’t bargain on a counterattack.
The horse was moving
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