Three hundred feet above the roaring river, in the underground gatehouse of the High Sluice, Master Davin Sorell stood before the massive bronze high-pressure windlasses, his hands clawing at the cast-iron control wheels. The air in the stone vault was choking with white sulfur steam and the acrid stench of burning copper green rust, thrown off by the ruined astral coils of the Hollow Crown.
Behind him, four academy wardens stood with drawn iron truncheons. But their faces were pale beneath their leather helmets. Their eyes were wide with scared uncertainty. Two junior summoners lay unconscious on the wet flat stone slabs near the drainage trench, their ears bleeding from the violent spiritual back-emf that had shattered the deep ring circuit.
‘Keep the purge gates open!’ Sorell shrieked, his voice hoarse and cracked with madness. ‘Open them to the total stop! Let the entire mountain water drain through the lower water chute! Lowbank is washed into the mud flats. Then, Councilor Vesk will see what happens when ignorant tradespeople interfere with the high arts!’
Apprentice Kel Dorr stepped into the gatehouse archway, his student robes torn and spattered with river silt. He carried no weapons. But behind him stood twelve junior summoners and eight academy upkeep mechanics carrying heavy iron wrenches and cold chisels.
