At noon, when the pale winter sun stood directly over the broken top door beam of the seal court, Hall Mistress Soran struck her iron spear shaft once against the central map stone to summon the council. The wind from the northern ridge had grown sharper since morning. It carried tiny crystals of blown ice that hissed across the flat dark rock table where Vaska Ren had chalked the stonework of the lower returning hub.
All of the senior defenders gathered around the scored stone. Soran at the northern edge where the light fell clearest on everyone’s faces. Daro Kesh with his short Jade sword hooked at his hip. Ilyra holding her rawhide-bound spear. Vaska Ren kneeling with his slate pencil and chalk rag. And Commander Keth Or standing half a pace behind Vaska’s right shoulder. From the lower terrace wall, Pera, Kes, and sixteen-year-old Halin watched wrapped in heavy wool blankets.
Seyun walked to the southern side of the map stone carrying his open Account Book in his left hand. As he approached, he caught Keth Or watching him closely. The former recovery commander’s right hand was bound in thick boiled-linen splints where two fingers had been snapped away during the rescue at the lower shrine. His jaw was set in the tight, defensive squint of a career officer waiting for a subordinate to minimize a bad check report.
