Leviathan (9 page)

FOURTEEN

They trudged along the streambed, the kerosene sloshing with every step, its fumes burning Alek’s lungs. With each of them carrying two heavy cans, the trip back to the Stormwalker already seemed much farther than the walk to town this morning.
And yet, thanks to Alek, they’d left behind most of what they needed.
“How long can we last without parts, Klopp?” he asked.
“Until someone lands a shell on us, young master.”
“Until something breaks, you mean,” Volger said.
Klopp shrugged. “A Cyklop Stormwalker is meant to be part of an army. We have no supply train, no tankers, no repair 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 into the rye now; Alek could hear its flanks parting the high stalks. The tall, gaudy plume of the rider’s helmet rose into view, and Alek dropped lower. The man was probably standing up in his stirrups to peer down into the grass.
Alek was on the horse’s left side, where the rider’s saber would be hanging. Not as good as a rifle, but better than nothing.
“Don’t waste my time, lad. Show yourself!”
Alek watched the plume of the horseman’s helmet, realizing that the curve of its tall feathers betrayed the direction he was facing. Standing up like that, he couldn’t be too steady.
Alek crawled closer, staying low, waiting for the right moment …
“I’m warning you, boy. Whatever you stole, it’s not worth getting shot for!”
He drew closer and closer to the horse, and at last the rider’s head turned the other away. Alek rose from the ground and ran a few steps, leaping at the man, grabbing his left arm and pulling hard. The horseman swore—then his carbine fired straight into the air. The explosion of noise startled the horse, which thrashed ahead through the rye, yanking Alek’s feet up into the air. Alek held on to the man’s arm with one hand, the other grabbing for the saber swinging wildly in its scabbard.
The rider twisted, trying to keep his feet in the stirrups. His elbow smashed down into Alek’s face like a hammer. Alek tasted blood, but ignored the pain, his fingers scrambling.
“I’ll kill you, boy!” the man shouted, one hand twisted in the reins, the other trying to bring the butt of the rifle down onto Alek’s head.
At last Alek’s hand closed on the hilt of the saber. He let go of the rider’s arm and dropped back to the ground, the steel singing as it drew. He landed beside the still-thrashing horse and spun on one foot, slapping the flat of the sword against the horse’s backside.
It reared up on its hind legs, the horseman crying out as he finally tumbled from his perch. The carbine flew from his grasp into the tall grass, and he landed with a heavy thud.
Alek slashed his way through the rye until he stood beside the fallen horseman. He lowered the saber’s point to the man’s throat.
“Surrender, sir.”
The man said nothing.
His eyes were half open, his face pale. He wasn’t much older than Alek, his beard wispy, his splayed arms thin. The expression on his face was so still… .
Alek took a step back. “Are you hurt, sir?”
Something large and warm nudged him softly from behind—the horse, suddenly calm. Its nuzzle pushed against the back of Alek’s neck, sending a cold shiver down his spine.
The man didn’t respond.
In the distance, shots rang out. Volger and Klopp needed his help,
now
. Alek turned from the fallen rider and pulled himself up into the saddle. The reins were tangled and twisted, the horse unsteady beneath him.
Alek leaned down and whispered in its ear. “It’s all right. Everything’s going to be okay.”
He prodded his heels into its flanks, and the horse shuddered into motion, leaving its former rider behind in the grass.
The Stormwalker’s engines were already rumbling.
The horse didn’t hesitate when Alek urged it between the huge steel legs. It must have trained alongside walkers— it was an Austrian horse, after all.
Alek had just killed an Austrian soldier.
He forced the thought away and grabbed the dangling chain ladder, sending the horse clear with a shout and a kick.
Bauer met him at the hatch. “We heard shots and started up, sir.”
“Good man,” Alek said. “We’ll need the cannon loaded too. Volger and Klopp are a kilometer from here, holding off a troop of horses.”
“Right away, sir.” Bauer offered a hand, and pulled him inside.
As Alek scrambled through the belly and up into the pilot’s cabin, more shots sounded in the distance. At least the fight hadn’t ended yet.
“Do you need help, sir?” Hoffman asked. He was halfway up through the hatch, a look of concern on his bearded face.
Alek stared at the controls, realizing that he’d never piloted before without Master Klopp sitting beside him. And here he was, about to stride into battle.
“You’ve never piloted, have you?” Alek asked.
Hoffman shook his head. “I’m just an engineer, sir.”
“Well, then, you’re better off helping Bauer with the cannon. And both of you strap in tight.”
Hoffman smiled, saluting. “You’ll do all right, sir.”
Alek nodded, turning back to the controls as the hatch swung shut. He flexed his hands.
One step at a time,
Klopp always said.
Alek pushed the saunters forward… . The walker reared up, valves hissing. One huge foot pushed ahead in the stream, sending spray into the air. Alek took another step, urging the machine faster.
But his power gauges all flickered deep in the green— the engines were still cold.
In a few steps the Stormwalker had climbed the river-bank, up to level ground. Alek gunned the fuel injectors, the engines roaring.
The power gauges began to rise.
He pushed the machine forward, letting its strides grow longer and longer. The furrows began to flash by underneath, the sound of tearing rye audible above the engines. He felt the moment when the walker shifted into a run, the machine rising up into the air between footfalls.
From the top of each stride he could see the troop of horses ahead. They were spread out across the rye, in search formation.
Alek smiled. Klopp and Volger had also slipped away into the tall grass—that was how they’d held out for so long.
Heads turned, the horsemen wheeling toward the new threat.
The intercom crackled. “Ready to fire.”
“Aim over their heads, Bauer. They’re Austrians, and Klopp and Volger are somewhere in that grass.”
“A warning shot then, sir.”
A few of the carbines crackled, and Alek heard a bullet strike metal close by. He realized that the viewport was wide open, with no one to wind it shut.
The young rider he’d killed had missed him on purpose. But these men were aiming to kill.
He changed the walker’s stride, pushing outward with the feet so that the machine weaved from left to right.
Running serpentine,
Klopp called this, cutting a path like a snake through the grass.
But the machine’s winding path didn’t feel as graceful as that.
The cannon boomed below him—then a column of dirt and smoke shot into the air just behind the horsemen. Widening circles rippled through the grass like pond water from a stone, and two horses fell sideways, throwing their riders.
A second later a wave of dirt and sheer force struck Alek through the open viewport, and his hands slipped from the saunters. The walker lurched to one side, wheeling toward the stream. Alek grabbed at the controls, twisting them hard, and the Stormwalker came to, staggering but still upright.
The horsemen had gathered into tight formation, about to retreat. But Alek saw them hesitating, wondering if the walker was out of control. Lurching around like this, it probably looked as intimidating as a drunken chicken. He doubted Bauer could reload the cannon unless he could steady the machine.
Shots crackled again, and something pinged around