Brassworks

The Gorgon's Eye

"From flesh we came. Flesh and bone. To light we rose. Bright we shone. To flame we fell. Pure brimstone. To rock we rise. Sword of stone."

Pillar of Strength

The Words of Jericho

BOOKER stood at the military checkpoint, a sour expression plastered on his face. He had his palms over his head, resting on the sides of his hat. A young private pressed sweaty hands against the lawman's chest, looking for contraband. He gave the Sheriff's pistol a wide berth. Smart move. Booker was looking for an excuse to start a fight.

Sergeant Danelli leaned against their cart with her hands against the door. A female soldier frisked her, her expression bland and miserable. Blake wore her new chevrons on a loose-fitting cloak with a high collar. Her three-point hat was tipped down just over her eyes. Between the collar and brim, Booker could hardly see the red scar across her face.

"Are we almost done?" Booker asked.

The private balked, his pimply face blushing a deeper red. "Sorry, sir. Orders."

"Bullshit." Booker looked over the young soldier's head to where the commanding officer sat. The lieutenant wore a tan battle uniform and sipped from a cup of tea. He sat in the shade, guarded by two bored sergeants. Booker's head started to pound.

Danelli cursed. "Watch those fucking hands." Strands of hair fell from beneath her hat, barely obscuring the fire in her eyes. "Cop a feel and I'll be feeding you those fingers."

The Sheriff looked at his officer and felt a pang of regret. Blake had arrived fresh-faced and eager. He would be sending her away bitter and marred. Three years. You should have cut her loose after one. You're getting into the habit of making monsters. He glanced to his left, where a third private was dealing with the ornery Deputy Crow.

"Little to the left, you'll find a prize." Crow snickered, flashing his chewed-up face at the pale soldier. The young man recoiled, then blanched further from embarrassment. "What? Can't handle a little character on a man?"

Booker was about to yell at Crow when Danelli shouted.

"Lock it up, Deputy. Ain't no one needs to hear you shit talking."

She always did have stones. Booker put his arms down and followed the private away from the vehicle. His four horses—all automatons—stomped the ground impatiently. Glowing pink stones pulsed in their chests. Booker walked behind the soldier until they stopped just short of the commander. The lieutenant made a show of finishing his drink before rising from his cushioned chair.

"Sheriff, I do apologize for the inconvenience." His accent pegged him as city-born. He wore his mustache in a newer fashion, with the ends twisted into curls. A single puff of hair descended an inch from his chin in a triangle. "The County needs protecting in these troubling times."

"And the law offers plenty of that," Booker said. "I don't like military checkpoints in my governance."

"And the Count doesn't like talk of insurrection in his County. I'm sure a man of your like has heard the rumors. The Blood Baron and the Duchess consolidating power, offering money to those who'd turn coat against the Count."

"Rumors," Booker snapped. "I don't really waste my time with idle talk. Mostly I'm too busy actually helping the people of my land."

"Is that what you call it?" The lieutenant smirked, as though he'd made a fantastic joke. "Sheriff, your dusty governance is just a small part of a much bigger picture. The Count is looking out for the well-being of your citizens as much as you, if not more. We're here to make sure that you don't add a war to your list of problems."