The field court-martial of Baron Korgan Rask was convened at 11:30 hours in the newly glass-fused dark rock courtyard of Iron Trench Outpost.
The rain had finally ceased. Through the parting gray storm clouds, a pale, cold shaft of midday sunlight cut across the mudflats, lighting up the gleaming black stone walls and the assembled ranks of the commoner guard post.
In the center of the courtyard, seated upon an overturned ammunition crate with his iron shackles resting across his knees, was Baron Korgan Rask.
The Baron had been revived with intravenous strong salt water and mild neuro-stimulants. His manic delirium had faded, replaced by a hollow, sullen venom as he glared through bruised, swollen eyelids at the men and beasts surrounding him.
Arrayed before him were sixty commoner infantrymen of the Iron Trench Battalion. He stood at rigid parade attention with their rifles grounded. Standing beside them were the forty-two liberated commoner beasts, their heads held high. They formed an unbroken circle of judgment.
At the head of the trial sat Captain Varley, Sergeant Corvo, and Arthur Vance.
Behind Arthur stood his three companions. Grimm sat tall and watchful, his jet-black coat gleaming in the sunlight. Pip perched atop an iron flagstaff, his fiery golden crest streaming a gentle warmth. And Titus rested peacefully beside the trial table. His massive three-hundred-and-fifty-two-pound was dark rock shell serving as a solid, unmoving dais.
