“And?”
“I had a sword.”
“Who won?” asked Brenner.
“We’re having this conversation, so I did.”
“Ah.”
Slate waved them to silence, and handed Caliban the reins of her horse. A soldier in dusty blue motioned her toward the guard post. She mounted the steps into the small building, already reaching for the document case at her side.
Caliban looked over the outpost. A wall of sharpened posts ran around the outside. From what he knew of them, a Clockwork Boy would go through that in about five seconds flat.
They had taken the precaution of digging a moat around the exterior. The guard post stood at one end of a narrow bridge. If the enemy did arrive, they could destroy the bridges and let the Clockwork Boys fall into the ditch around the palisade. It wouldn’t destroy them, but would at least give the soldiers the ability to attack from above, without being trampled.
Siege tactics were not part of a Knight-Champion’s training. Caliban couldn’t say if the precautions were brilliant or foolish. Presumably it was the best that could be done with what resources were available.
Just like we are.
The sheer awfulness ofthatthought made him flick his fingers across his eyes in a warding gesture.
Brenner started to say something, but Slate’s footsteps stopped him. “All right,” she said, coming down the board steps again. “Our papers are in order.”
“They’re authentic, you mean?” asked Caliban.
She snorted. “They’rebetterthan authentic, I’ll have you know.”
They stabled the horses outside the walls, and crossed the bridge to the inside. It was held up with ropes, easily cut. He looked up and saw archers stationed in towers on either side.
“Will archers stop the Clockwork Boys, do you think?” he murmured.
“From what I understand, not a chance in hell,” said Slate.
Learned Edmund made a small distressed sound, and pulled his robes more tightly around himself.
The commander of the outpost was a woman with long silver hair tied back into a bun. She looked over the four of them with a dour expression. Slate actually heard Caliban’s spine crackle as he snapped to attention.
Didn’t think the man’s spine could get any straighter. She probably reminds him of a nun.
Slate didn’t bother to pretend that she was military. She dropped her papers on the commander’s table with a flourish. Brenner was slouching aggressively. Learned Edmund was looking at a female military commander with the expression of a man having an internal crisis.
The Commander looked at the papers. She read them. She looked up at Slate.
“You’re in charge, I take it.”
“Same as you,” said Slate. The woman snorted.
“You’re the next batch, then.”
“Yep,” said Slate.
“Heard the first ones didn’t do so well.”
“Yeah, I heard that too.”
“You run into a column of Clockwork Boys, they’re not sending the army to haul you out.” She steepled her fingers and put her elbows on the desk. “Theycan’thaul you out, you understand? Those things are walking siege engines.”
“We’re aware,” said Slate, not looking at her companions. Brenner and Caliban were aware. Learned Edmund…well. Was it even possible to tell a sheltered nineteen-year-old boy that he was going to die and make him believe it?
