His mind was moving, thinking, planning, but the forepart of his brain refused to analyze it. Now and then he’d feel another surge of fear, as if he were floating over one of the waterfalls in gorge of the Columbia, weightless, rushing out into space and turning and turning with the rocks below, and then it would slip away again.

I must get back to Gervais, Guelf thought and spat reflexively. No, the longer but more sure route is my best bet.

Dawn came soon, touching the eastern horizon with a paler color. He grabbed one of the bicycles and spoke quietly to the sentry.

“I’m uneasy about our railroad team. Something woke me up. Tell Sergeant Gavin to carry on as planned and I’ll rejoin you late tomorrow.”

“Sir Guelf, do you think you should? Alone?”

If anything was lacking to convince him that his cover had been ripped, this questioning of his orders was it.

“I’m not losing seven good men just because I’m too timid to follow up my instincts. Carry on.”

He wanted to snap, to yell, to roar at the impertinence of the man . . . But he didn’t want to wake up Sergeant Gavin.

Let the interfering old relic sleep. If I’m gone, he’ll wait for me to return. Besides which, he really needs to get the scouting done, not waste time chasing a wild hare called Guelf!

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER TEN

ARMY HQ
THE HIGH KING’S HOST
HORSE HEAVEN HILLS
(FORMERLY SOUTH-CENTRAL WASHINGTON)
HIGH KINGDOM OF MONTIVAL
(FORMERLY WESTERN NORTH AMERICA)
AUGUST 8, CHANGE YEAR 25/2023 AD
rack.

Crack. Huon Liu grunted as the shield buffeted into his, taking him at a wicked angle that threw the stress across his leg rather than punching straight back into his fighting crouch. He snarled and switched stance as fast as he could, trying not to stagger, giving ground and bringing the shield up. The armored figure rushed at him with a movement as smooth as oil, nothing to see above the shield save the long vision slit in the curved visor. He was wearing an open-faced sallet himself, but he’d been maneuvered until the lowering sun was making him squint.

Perhaps if he tried a looping flourish cut and—

Crack and his sword struck against the shield, jarring his right hand and arm. It pushed in, binding and hampering his sword-arm.

The other sword lunged towards his face. He brought his shield up and around and ducked his head, desperately trying not to block his own vision. The other’s shield twitched out to block his cut at the leg then darted in to lock its edge under the rim of his and lever it aside.

Another quick pivot, and the blunt tip of the wooden practice sword struck the back of his thigh with paralyzing force. Huon gave an involuntary grunt of pain and went down on one knee, desperately propping the point of his shield on the ground and against his shoulder, whipping his padded oak sword back.