Chapter 18: Moorhaven

The three hundred came up the hill in a long white-and-silver line, with their spears level and their captain at the front.

Lucas stood in the road to meet them with his hands in his pockets.

Troy was on his right, Julius on his left, and Felix a half step behind, close enough that Lucas could feel his breath on the back of his neck.

"They are not going to stop," Felix murmured.

"They'll stop," said Lucas.

"You said that about the guards in your bedroom."

"And they stopped."

"One of them was sick on the carpet."

"Fine, but he stopped."

Troy made a low, strangled sound that was almost a laugh.

Lucas rolled his shoulders and breathed in.

HUNDREDFOLD CONTROL ENGAGED, said the system. THREE HUNDRED TARGETS. THIS WILL BE TIRING.

"Thank you," Lucas muttered. "That helps."

The captain raised his hand, and the line came to a halt thirty paces away.

"Supreme Omega," he called. "By order of the Lady Melinda, you are to come down to the house and surrender your person."

"The Lady Melinda's order is a forgery," said Lucas. "The will it stands on is a forgery. And I am tired, and I would like to go home."

"I have my orders."

"I know."

Lucas let it out.

It rolled down the hillside, cold honey and cedar smoke and iron and clove.

The three men at his back had been in his bed so often that their scents had settled into his own.

The front rank of spears wavered.

The soldier at the end dropped his spear and sat down in the road.

Then the man next to him sat.

It went down the line in a long, soft ripple, three hundred men folding to the ground.

They sat with their helmets in their laps and their mouths slightly open.

The captain was the last to go.

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