The moment the scarlet tab vanished into the spray, Technician Ren turned on his heel. He caught the arm of his junior colleague, Kael. That twenty-year-old assistant was trembling wildly near the stone stand. “We’re going, Kael. Move!”
“Traitors! Deserters!” Sorell screamed, lunging after them with his brass discharge wand. “I’ll strike you dead on the narrow high walkway!” He raised the wand. But the charge bank banked behind him backfired with a sharp, blinding crack that sent a cloud of white sparks into his face. That forced him to stumble backward against the hot bronze housing.
Ren and Kael didn’t look back. They scrambled across the tilting granite platform, ducked beneath the warped iron handrail. Then they swung themselves onto the narrow timber service ledge that Eren Tal and Carver’s men had rigged beneath the main narrow high walkway. The heavy hemp safety hawsers caught their weight smoothly as they hauled themselves hand-over-hand along the cliff face, fifty feet above the foaming water.
Sergeant Vane and two town guardsmen met them at the western stonework gatehouse. They reached down with strong, calloused hands to haul the two exhausted mechanics over the granite low roof wall onto the dry flat stone slabs. Sister Merrow was waiting with warm wool blankets and tin cups of chickory. “Sit down, boys,” Merrow said gently, wrapping them in thick sheepskin. “You did your work. You’re safe in Lowbank now.” On the platform, only two figures remained: Davin Sorell. He grabbed his hot bronze wheel…
