The second battery salvo struck the western slope of the ridge, and the shock traveled straight down through seventy feet of limestone into the soles of Noll’s stone boots.
In the Hall of Witness, suspended oil lamps swung in wide, frantic sweeps. Plaster dusted down from the crown of the high vaults, scattering grey specks across the vellum folios on Clerk Cale’s table and whitening the dark cloth of Lord Auditor Orin Vane’s coat. A low, grinding groan echoed through the rock—not the sound of artillery itself, but the sound of the hill fort’s foundation stones taking a load they had never been mortared to bear.
Across the circular chamber, on the tiers where townsfolk and camp delegates sat side by side, people ducked their heads and threw their forearms over their faces. An iron miner from Mere shouted a curse into his beard. On the lower benches, two infantry delegates scrambled to their feet, their eyes wide and white against the dim lantern glow.
“Sit down!” Master Serit’s voice cut through the dust like an iron chisel. The royal envoy did not flinch, though a chunk of dry lime had shattered on the flagstones three feet from her skirt. Her knuckles rested flat against the cherrywood table, anchoring her authority to the floor. “The docket is open. Any man who flees this room forfeits his company’s standing before the Great Seal.”
