Thirty knights waited beneath the eastern gatehouse while slush soaked their leggings and four covered wagons crowded the open courtyard. Seret checked the roster as another horse stamped beside its harness and splashed muddy water across the nearest driver's knees.
"Thirty minutes," a knight grumbled, shifting his shield from one numb shoulder to the other.
"A recruit would peel tubers for a week if he pulled this."
His neighbor blew into his cupped palms and squinted at the empty road beneath the arch.
"A recruit doesn't carry Atheron's signature," he snorted, jerking his chin at the parchment against the captain's forearm.
"Neither does a corpse."
The first knight stamped warmth back into his toes, "Family crests won't stop a seven-Shard Gate from eating whoever crosses it, and this royal favorite hasn't even learned the bell."
Seret closed the roster as their squad leader straightened beside the nearest wagon.
