Working throughout most of the night, Marcus and the rest of his team got the cannon loaded, the jump box stowed, then camped out on the rocky outcrop. As usual, he slept on a ragged leather bed roll, choosing to lay out on the hard stone surface rather than braving the blood-marsh that formed in the clearing.

  His slumber was short-lived, however, as he felt a presence looming that awoke him. His eyes shot open, and he found a silhouette standing over him. With the early morning sun hidden behind their head, his eyes struggled to focus on their features. Whoever it was, they weren't very tall and had narrow shoulders.

  "Get up." The figure spoke with the voice of a child and prodded Marcus in the shoulder with their toe.

  Marcus winced as the morning light dazzled him. He groaned and sat up the moment he saw the child was wielding a musket. Then he started standing up.

  "Mr. Amurad wants to see you." The child spoke as Marcus rose to his feet.

  After struggling to get himself upright, Marcus noticed that the weapon the child held with both hands was made from three sticks bound together with twine to look like a musket. Then the mechanic rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, yawned, and grumbled. "Who are you?" Marcus couldn't stifle the suspicion from his voice.

  "I'm here to guard you. Make sure you don't get away." The child spoke with the facsimile of a foreboding tone.

  Marcus stifled a chuckle, but it was quickly washed away as his morning brain finally connected the dots of who he was speaking to. This was a child soldier, likely kidnapped by Amurad's goons from some town or outlying village as the brigade passed. It happened often in Lazulus, where he was from. Some of Marcus's childhood friends got snatched off the street and were never heard from again.

  "Fine, I'll go see Amurad. Go stand over there." Marcus motioned toward a small, elevated area of rock on the other side of the larger outcrop, near the baggage train. A quick glance over the pint-sized guard helped Marcus realize that the corpse of the kid's predecessor was starting to bake in the morning sun where he fell. It would put Marcus's mind at ease if the child wasn't in the line of fire for another potential attack.

  The guard grunted, frowned, and brandished his stick-musket at Marcus.

  The mechanic sighed and displayed his palms. "Look, you want to be able to see what we're doing and where we are, right?"

  The child blinked and his cross expression eased. Then he nodded.

  "You see that?" Marcus pointed at the spent shell from the Adder's cannon waiting to be returned to the baggage train, laying near the upright's rear third toe. It was longer than the child was tall.

  The guard turned to look, blinked, then nodded.

  "One of those lands on your head, you're done for." Marcus crossed his arms and then motioned with his head toward the small, raised stone platform. "If you were smart, you'd make sure you weren't in the way when we have to do that again." He gestured with his elbow toward the cannon mounted high on the upright, still displaying his palms to the guard.

  The child looked up at the cannon and then lowered his head to look at the shell and swallowed hard. "I—I'm watching you." He backed away, toward the rock ledge before turning and bolting for higher ground.

  Marcus shrugged. "I expect nothing less." He brushed himself off and looked around for the rest of his team, but they were nowhere to be found. "Hey." He called out to the child. "Where is he?"

  Just before ascending the stone platform, the guard pointed toward the tent city afar.

  Marcus leaned to look around the Adder's leg to see his team lined up at the very edge of the rocky outcrop, near the encampment. After a deep breath, Marcus strolled over to join up with the rest of the mechanics.

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  Layne, Simon, Ekkehard, and Maximilian were all loosely in a line, shoulder to shoulder with each other, and looking into the tent city.

  On approach, there was no sign of Amurad. "What's going on?" Marcus looked to Layne.

  Layne looked over his shoulder at Marcus and shook his head. "Just waiting, I guess. The boss said he wanted to talk to us, but..." The mechanic gesticulated in front of himself, toward the encampment.

  Upon closer inspection, the tent city was in tatters. There wasn't a stitch of canvas or cloth tent cover that wasn't bullet-scarred in the 20 rows by 35 columns of shelters. Two sets of two men with canvas stretchers walked into each tent one-by-one and pulled an endless supply of corpses from each.

  Marcus and Layne were in the service of this brigade since they were in the far west, where Marcus tracked the barbarians down, and discovered them in possession of his father’s—his upright. While Amurad had his fair share of victory and defeat, this seemed to be the most pyrrhic of victories yet.

  A somber expression caught Marcus's eye. On the far side of the line stood Maximilian. He looked to be staring through the ground, his shoulders were slumped and head hung low. Marcus patted Layne on the shoulder, then sauntered over, stood next to the depressed mechanic, and shoulder-bumped him. Like a frail leaf wagging in the wind, Maximilian shifted side-to-side from the impact. But he didn't stop looking at the ground.

  "What a mess, huh?" Marcus slid his hands into his overalls and let his elbows hang.

  Maximilian didn't respond.

  "I'm sure it's not as bad as it looks." Marcus looked over to his compatriot. "Did you get the fuel heater back together?"

  The mechanic produced a subtle nod.

  "Why are you sulking?" Ekkehard, who was standing on the other side of Maximilian also shoulder-to-shoulder, towered over the depressed mechanic. "You should have been more careful."

  "What good is there in saying that now?" Simon piped up, who was standing next to Ekkehard.

  "I'm already tired of seeing him pout." Ekkehard threw his right hand up suddenly. "We almost got killed but he's over there sobbing like a schoolgirl because he messed up. If he's got time to think about his mistake, he should spend some of it figuring out how not to do it again."

  "I don't think that's why he's upset, Ekke." Simon spoke with a hushed tone. Without raising his arm, he motioned toward Amurad, who was marching down the main throughfare of the tent city, observing the carnage.

  Ekkehard grumbled. "Should've thought about that before messing up." He whispered back.

  It wasn't long before the barbarian leader made his way through the encampment and stepped onto the rocky outcrop to meet the mechanics. Gone was his entourage from before. His only companion, the same brute from before, with musket in hand and axe on his belt, stood fast, staring down the mechanics with squinted eyes.

  At first, Amurad said nothing, but simply paced back and forth, up and down the line with his right hand resting on the grip of a flintlock pistol wedged in his leather belt. His other arm was wrapped in a makeshift sling from torn cloth. A circle of dried blood saturated a bandage on his bicep. His face was cut, and head wrapped in a bloody bandage.

  The cacophony of men running amongst the camp filled the silence between them.

  "I see we had a little trouble last night." Amurad broke the silence, motioning toward the dormant Adder looming behind the mechanics. "Unfortunately, this little mishap allowed our ambushers time to escape. I daresay call it a blunder." The barbarian leader's pace slowed as he stared down each mechanic as he passed. "Perhaps its--" Amurad stared down Maximilian for a moment.

  The mechanic cowered and trembled as the barbarian leader passed.

  "...sheer morbid curiosity. But help my lousy little layman mind wrap around what happened here." He stopped and squared off with Marcus, staring him down. "I can't help but wonder if it was, perhaps, the fault of someone here." Amurad's attention shifted toward Maximilian.

  "There was a problem with the fuel heater." Marcus spoke, deadpan.

  Amurad returned his focus to Marcus, then his brow began to lower.

  Marcus exhaled sharply. "...sir."

  "And what, specifically, was the problem with the fuel heater?" The barbarian's lips pursed, then he clenched his teeth.

  The group was silent. Marcus didn't move his head but passed a glance down the line. "It was dropped."

  A frown began to form on Amurad's face.

  Marcus flared his nostrils. "...sir."

  Maximilian winced.

  The barbarian leader passed a glance toward Maximilian. Then he returned his attention to Marcus. "For no reason, it fell to the ground. A matter of fate, circumstance of a cruel world, do you suppose? No one is to blame for this?"

  Marcus's eyes shifted toward Maximilian for a moment, then he took a deep breath. "I dropped it."

  Amurad turned his nose up and cooed. "You dropped it." His voice was inquisitive.

  "Yes." Marcus responded plainly.

  A snarling expression started to form on Amurad's face.

  "...sir." Marcus corrected himself.

  "And what do you feel is a proper punishment for this error?" Amurad tilted his head.

  "I think that--" Marcus started.

  Before he could finish, Amurad drew his pistol and shot Maximilian in the chest. The mechanic collapsed backwards.

  The group jolted and backed away. Marcus gasped and turned to help his friend but found the barbarian leader pointing the pistol at him. He stopped and raised his hands.

  "I'm sorry, what were you saying?" Amurad's voice was calm, and tone conversational.

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