The cold limestone of the stair rail felt smooth and wet under Noll’s right palm.
He descended the spiral steps with a lurching, uneven gait, the missing left arm forcing his stone shoulders to twist with every drop of his boots. Powdered lime drifted from the fractured socket, settling like grey frost upon the damp steps behind him. Through the stone walls, through thirty feet of solid rock and seventy feet of foundation arches, the valley-wide web of the Dominion rank vibrated against his awareness like a tautly strung lute.
“What is happening up there?” Tessa asked, following close behind him on the stairs, her fingers skimming the rough wall to steady herself in the gloom.
“Arda is standing on Gant’s firing step,” Noll said, his voice echoing in the narrow stone shaft like two gravel bags rubbing together. “She brought the Great Seal. She brought Serit’s emergency suspension order.”
“Did Gant take the parchment?”
“He took it,” Noll murmured, closing his eyes to focus the tether. The sensory chip in his chest pulsed with cold blue fire. “He read the words. But Vane’s deputy is there. A man named Malor. He came out of the trench with four guardsmen and a leather case full of warrants. He told Gant that everyone inside this fort is classified as an infected dependent of a rogue core. He told him that civilians under that classification have no standing under royal law.”
