





Phan scratched his eyebrow. The midday sun beat down on him from high in the sky. Dust blew across the battlements, partially obscuring the telescopic sights on his rifle. He glanced along the lines to his right. Forty ranks, three men deep, along each section of Wall. Six sections of the Wall. Including the snipers in the towers, nearly a thousand soldiers. And at the center of them all, stood the General. He was a lean man, not particularly tall, nor very short. Weathered skin the shade of the sand beyond the wall, his beard was trimmed short and close to his jaw, his black hair cut short. He wore traditional Shinodan armor, overlapping plates that covered his chest down to his waist and then into a skirt of mail that hung to his knees. Bracers with covers ran from knuckle to elbow. His helmet flared out, with cheek guards that nearly covered his face. The sword at his waste was a two handed Katana. Pennants fluttered in the breeze, tied to tall spears. Dragonfly wings, the seal of House Shinoda, gave the impression that the beautiful insects had somehow been trapped in the tapestries and were trying to fly away. The soldiers surrounding the General stood ready to follow any orders their Lord might give, ready to die at a moment's notice for their leader. Their green fatigues and enameled helmets stood in stark relief to the browns hues of the Wall and the golden glow of the Wastelands below. A shout went up from the enemy lines, and Phan's attention snapped back to his sights. The invaders' army lay before them, ten thousand strong, an army of savages and slave jannissaries. They were led by Emperor Krytik himself, the Lord of the Empire of the Wastelands. Steady as a sniper, Phan thought to himself as his crosshairs settled on the enemy ruler. I could take him out just like that, end this whole thing here and now. But Phan understood what was a stake. Killing the Emperor, however symbolic, would be a disaster. The march across the Wastelands would have been brutal and these men wouldn't simply turn tail and run. More shouts arose from the enemy lines. Phan heard murmuring behind him and he glanced over his shoulder. The General stood in conference with several of the leaders of the other houses; Lord Markus of the northern house of Wakefield, Robert, Duke of Bourdon, and Lady Kyara, War Mistress of Heavy Harbor. Several others stood nearby, mercenary leaders headed up by a man named Daze. While the leaders seemed to be considering the battle ahead, the mercenaries looked skittish, like they were trying to find every egress point to get away from the battle if things went south. Ten to one odds, even with the Wall as their vantage point, could make anyone second guess their advantage. Phan hadn't been with Daze's company long. The promise of pay had been good; they'd been granted the right to pillage the enemy train as part of their contract. Still, something didn't feel right. The noise from the enemy horde grew louder. The General, finished with the others, walked toward the edge of the battlements. He stopped beside Phan, hands behind his back as he observed the battlefield. "You're all waiting on a wire here, I see," he said. "Yes, sir," Phan replied. "Do you think we can win?" the General asked. "Sir?" Phan asked, glancing up. "I've been in a lot of battles, soldier," the General said. "Sometimes you feel like you're in a place so dark you can hardly see. That's where Daze and his captains are. I notice you don't seem concerned. You mercenaries are an odd bunch, no offense." "Yes, General," Phan replied, unsure why the General was even talking about it to him. In Phan's mind, you needed to earn a few stripes before you were having conversations with a General. Then again, this was his employer. Talk to the boss if he wants to talk to you.