Taren stepped through pooled water in the drainage trench, keeping his gaiters clear of a broken rail as artillery fell overhead toward the grounded station.
Overhead, the whine of falling artillery bolts mingled with the distant crackle of magical wards detonating along the viaduct apron.
Taren moved along the revetment with silent, low-slung footsteps, his right hand resting on the grip of his curved saber.
Behind him, eight veteran scouts followed in single file, keeping their crossbows leveled beneath the trench lip.
"The ground station sits fifty paces ahead," his sergeant whispered, peering through a gap in the wicker fascines.
"Their commander deployed eight halberdiers across the approach ramp... long formation weapons designed to sweep cavalry."
"Long halberds are useless in a four-foot trench," Taren answered quietly, adjusting the scabbard at his hip.
"They train their soldiers to fight in parade squares, not in muddy culverts where you cannot swing an elbow."
