The smell of ozone and roasted bone drifted through the gaps in the floorboards.
Outside the wagon, the red glare from the three crystal spires shifted. A wide, sweeping fan of crimson light descended from the crest of the central tower, raking across the slag road like a comb of fire.
Behind the fourth wagon, Princess Valeria’s breath hitched in her throat.
Her fingers closed around the hilt of her ancestral shortsword. Her body tensed, preparing to summon her Golden Core protective barrier the moment the beam touched the wagon canopy.
Beside her, Elder Sterling sank his boots into the black gravel. The old elder reached toward his talisman pouch, his lips already forming the syllables of an iron-skin defensive incantation.
THUMP. THUMP.
A hollow, wooden knocking sound echoed from inside the second wagon.
Kaelen reached up from his pile of turnip sacks and rapped the flat curve of his bamboo back-scratcher against the timber roof.
