The High King’s guardsmen put their bicycles on their kickstands and stood at parade rest behind Rudi Mackenzie—or behind High King Artos, probably. They didn’t have shafts nocked, but that could be changed very quickly indeed with the bows strung. Fred dismounted and walked forward. The men were braced at attention, but quite properly they were looking at Rudi. A quick glance showed him they were mostly in good health. Well fed, certainly, and only a few showed healing wounds. Their olive-green uniforms were the field model, meant to be worn under armor and optimized for endurance and protection rather than comfort. The rough cloth was clean but worn and patched, and a few had been eked out with civilian gear.

The High King leaned forward on the pommel of his saddle and waved a hand towards Fred.

“I’m not the center of this occasion, to be sure,” he said in a clear carrying voice. “Stand your men at ease, if you would.”

Fred took a long breath and stepped forward. A rising murmur started to turn into shouts as dozens recognized him. One of the officers drawn up to the right of the block of enlisted men shouted: “Sir!”

That was aimed at Artos, not at him; the man was ostentatiously ignoring Frederick Thurston. He was in his thirties and gaunt-looking, with an empty left sleeve pinned to his olive-green jacket. The other hand pointed at Fred, who recognized him; he’d been tight with Martin.

“Sir, this is . . . is unacceptable.”

Rudi smiled. “Captain Hargood, isn’t it?”

“Ah . . . yes, sir. Centurion Hargood, under the new regulations, technically.”

“Well, Captain Hargood, there’s naught in the rules or customs of honorable war, from before the Change or since, which says prisoners can’t be talked at. I can’t make you pay attention and I certainly can’t make you believe what you hear—wouldn’t if I could, unlike some people I could name—but I can and do insist that you stand quietly. Now go do it, man, and stop wasting our time.”

A pause, then his voice went hard and cracked out: “Back in ranks!” Hargood blinked and recoiled half a pace, then obeyed. Fred took one more step forward and flung up a hand.

“Nobody has to listen to me,” he said, pitching his voice to carry as he’d been trained. “Anyone who doesn’t want to hear what I have to say can leave right now. No names, no punishments.”

The buzz rose and then fell, as the ranks rippled. A good many left; he estimated that it was more than a tenth but less than a fifth. Hargood hesitated, since he was more than smart enough to realize that the exodus was lowering the hostility quotient Fred had to face, but then decided he had to join it for form’s sake.

I do like putting an enemy where all his choices are bad, Fred thought grimly.