The screech of the steam-whistle died away against the black basalt cliffs.
Inside the Sector Four boiler room, Princess Valeria peered through the iron slats of the ventilation grate. Her gloved fingers gripped the rusted crossbars until the metal groaned.
“They’ve lowered the gangplank,” Valeria whispered, her voice tight with tension. “A vanguard of twenty enforcers is marching off the barge. Their commander carries a heavy spiked mace.”
Deacon Vane leaned against the damp wall, his hands shaking as he adjusted his jade belt.
“That’s Deputy Warden Vorg,” Deacon Vane muttered, wiping his brow. “He’s Krahl’s chief hound. A brute at Golden Core Mid who specializes in tracking escaping furnace laborers. He holds the Qi-Hound compass.”
Elder Sterling touched the hilt of his short sword.
“My dantian is cracked,” Sterling said in a low rasp. “Even so, I can take five before they reach the cellars.”
“You’ll stay right here,” Kaelen Vance said from his hammock.
