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that Cordelia’s conduct hardly gave her moral grounds to criticize Jesamine’s choice of companions, but he decided it was too early in the day and too early in the adventure to start an argument. He also did not want to make this reunion of The Four any less promising than it was already, but, as it turned out, the choice of conversation wasn’t his. In the next moment, perhaps working on the principle of “speak of the devil,” a column of Ohio braves thundered through the camp, moving out in high aboriginal style, clearly demonstrating how they were arguably the finest light cavalry in all the ranks of Albany and its allies. As they passed close to where Raphael and the others sat on their mounts, a half-dozen riders peeled away from the main body of horsemen, and galloped straight towards them. When they were only twenty or thirty yards away, five of the six swerved to the side, but one kept coming straight at them. Raphael tensed in anticipation of attack, but then, to his surprise, he saw the rider was Jesamine. She was making the grandest of grand entrances. Hardly a skilled horsewoman, she must have been hanging on for dear life, and Raphael was quite amazed that she was trying for such theatrical impact. Had her time with the Ohio endowed her with some new and wild spirit? Only a few yards from the group, she pulled up her rearing horse, flushed and smiling. “So, my friends, are we Four off to war?”
    By this point half of the surrounding camp was watching the spectacle, and, as Jesamine brought her horse under control, she acknowledged a round of applause from the onlookers.

TWO
    ARGO
    Fountains of dirt and flame erupted behind the Mosul lines, and Argo fancied he saw bodies and body parts fly high in the air. The Albany artillery leapt and thundered, pouring a barrage of fiery destruction on the enemy. As the acrid smell of gunpowder permeated everything, the field guns blew away all pretense that war was a dashing and noble business as they relentlessly pounded the other end of the valley. Even rational thought became difficult against the background of the deafening explosions and the doom-shriek of the flying shells. Mosul gun positions, hidden in the trees of the wooded ridge on the Albany right, fired in response, but their shots fell short. A line of Albany fighting machines stood just out of the enemy’s range with engines running and smokestacks belching, ready to roll into the fight the instant that the deadly barrage ceased. Dense ranks of infantry were crouched behind them, equally ready to advance in the mechanized wake of the hulking battle tanks, using their iron-clad armored bulk as cover. The crucial assault would shortly start, and the outcome of the engagement, indeed, the whole future of the war, would hang in the balance. Albany had committed all of its mobile strength to the fight. If they did not prevail, there would be no second chance.
    While the battle remained strictly terrestrial, The Four had no function, and Slide had organized that they be stashed close to the top brass until they were needed, believing absolutely that the generals always found the safest place on the field. The theory seemed to be that no shell would dare land among the stiffly immaculate commanders, and no shrapnel would dare tear through the tailored uniforms, the medal ribbons, mirror-shined boots and belts, and the scarlet epaulets of the general staff. A ten-man detachment of light horse had also been assigned as their escort. Albany believed that The Four were their paranormal secret weapon, and were protecting them accordingly. The last thing Albany wanted was that their spooky wonder-children, their antidote to the Dark Things of the Zhaithan, should be shot down, blown up, or captured in some idiotic battlefield mishap. Argo totally agreed with Albany’s view of things. If the winter training had taught him anything, it was never be in a hurry to fight. He had his part to play and he was under no