Alek approached warily, his sword up.
Volger attacked again, still ignoring the rules of priority. This wasn't fencing, Alek realized, this was more like ... a sword fight. He let his concentration narrow, his awareness extending down the length of his saber. Like the Stormwalker, the length of steel became an extension of his body.
"And who is most closely allied with Russia?" Volger asked, not even a little breathless.
"Britain," Alek said.
"Not so." Volger's blade slipped inside Alek's guard, whacking his right arm hard.
"Ouch!" Alek dropped his guard and rubbed the wound. "For heaven's sake, Volger! Are you teaching me fencing or diplomacy?"
Volger smiled. "You are in need of instruction in both, obviously."
"But the British navy command met with the Russians last year! Father said it drove the Germans wild with worry."
"That is not an alliance, Alek. Not yet." Volger raised his sword. "So who is allied with Russia, then?"
"France, I suppose." Alek swallowed. "They have a treaty, right?"
"Correct." Volger paused for a moment, sword point tracing a pattern in the air, then frowned. "Raise your sword, Alek. I won't warn you again; nor shall your enemies."
Alek sighed and took his guard. He felt himself gripping the saber too tightly, and forced his hand to relax. Did Volger think these distractions were useful?
"Focus on my eyes," Volger said. "Not the tip of my sword."
"Speaking of eyes, we aren't wearing masks."
"There are no masks in war."
"There aren't many sword fights in war either! Not lately."
Volger raised an eyebrow at this, and Alek felt a moment of triumph. Two could play at this game of being annoying.
The man lunged, and Alek parried, counterattacking for once. His saber's edge missed Volger's arm by a hair.
He pulled back and covered himself.
"So let us review," Volger said, his sword still flashing. "Austria gets revenge on Serbia. Then what happens?"
"To protect Serbia, Russia declares war on Austria."
As Alek spoke, somehow his mind stayed focused on the play of sabers. It was strangely clarifying, wearing no mask. He'd met German officers from the military schools where protection was considered cowardly. Scars stretched across their faces like cruel smiles.
"And then?" Volger said.
"Germany protects Clanker honor by declaring war on Russia."
Volger lunged at Alek's knee, an illegal target. "And then?"
"France makes good its treaty with Russia, and declares war on Germany."
"And then?"
"Who knows?" Alek shouted, thrashing at Volger's saber. He'd lost his footing, he realized - too much of his body was exposed. He turned to correct it. "Britain finds her way in somehow. Darwinists against Clankers."
Volger lunged forward and his saber spun, wrapping around Alek's like a snake and yanking it from his grasp. Metal flashed as the sword soared across the barn, burying itself in the half-rotten wall with a thunk.
The wildcount stepped forward and held his saber at Alek's throat.
"And what can we conclude from this lesson, Your Highness?"
Alek glared at the man. "We can conclude, Count Volger, that discussing politics while fencing is idiotic."
Volger smiled. "For most people, perhaps. But some of us are born without the choice. The game of nations is your birthright, Alek. Politics is part of everything you do."
Alek pushed Volger's saber aside. Without a sword in his hand he suddenly felt numb and exhausted, and he didn't have the strength to argue against the obvious. His birth had shaken the Austro-Hungarian throne, and now his parents' death had unsettled the delicate balance of Europe.
"So this war is my responsibility," he said bitterly.
"No, Alek. The Clanker and Darwinist powers would have found a way to fight, sooner or later. But perhaps you can still make your mark."
"How?" Alek asked.
The wildcount did a strange thing then. He took his own saber by the blade and handed it to Alek, pommel first, as if offering it to a victor.
"We shall see, Alek. We shall see."
TEN
He eased the saunters sideways and felt the Storm-walker's right foot shift.
"That's it," Otto Klopp said. "Slowly now."
Alek nudged the controls again, and the walker slid a little farther. It was frustrating, maneuvering in tight quarters like this. One bump of the walker's shoulder could send the whole rotten barn crashing down around them. At least the trembling gauges and levers had begun to make sense. A little more pressure in the knees might help... .
With another nudge he'd done it - the viewport was lined up with a ragged gap in the wall of the barn. The late afternoon sun shone into the cabin, the fields stretching out before them. A harvesting combine rumbled along on twelve legs in the distance, a dozen farmers and a four-legged truck following to collect the bundled grain.
Count Volger put a hand on Alek's shoulder. "Wait till they're out of sight."
"Well, obviously," Alek said. With his bruises still throbbing, he'd had enough of Volger's counsel for one day.
The combine made its slow way across the field, finally disappearing behind a low hill. A few workmen straggled behind, black dots on the horizon. Alek soon lost them in the distance, but waited.
Finally Bauer's voice crackled on the intercom, "That's the last one gone, sir."
Corporal Bauer had the uncanny eyesight of an expert gunner. Two weeks ago he'd been on his way to commanding a machine of his own. Master Hoffman had been the Hapsburg Guards' best engineer. But now the two were nothing more than fugitives.
Chapter 8
Alek had slowly come to understand everything his men had given up for him: their ranks, families, and futures. If they were caught, the other four would hang as deserters. Prince Aleksandar himself would disappear more quietly, of course, for the good of the empire. The last thing a nation at war needed was uncertainty about who was heir to the throne.
He eased the Stormwalker toward the barn's open doors, using the shuffling step that Klopp had taught him. It erased the machine's massive footprints, along with any other signs that someone had hidden here.
"Ready for your first run, young master?" Klopp asked.