General Dravus dragged himself backward through the wet gravel, leaving a red trail across the broken flagstones.
His right forearm was bent at an unnatural angle. Splinters of white bone jutted through his torn flesh, but he barely seemed to notice the pain. His bloodshot eyes were fixed entirely on Kaelen Vance.
“You cannot be human,” Dravus rasped, his voice trembling against the cold cave air. “No rogue exile possesses such physical force.”
Kaelen did not answer him. He did not even look at the fallen general.
He stepped slowly over a pile of crushed limestone, his faded cotton slippers scuffing against the damp stone. The cold subterranean draft blew right through his bathrobe, making him pull the collar tighter against his throat.
Fighting in the afternoon always ruins my circulation, Kaelen thought, stifling a yawn. Now my slippers are coated in lime dust, and my tea is cold. People who make noise before dinner should pay an inconvenience tax.
Ten paces ahead, the Star-Fall plinth rose from the edge of the dark underground lake.
The plinth was carved from solid black basalt. Twelve heavy bronze spikes were hammered deep into its perimeter, pinning the subterranean Dragon-Vein to the bedrock. Harsh crimson runes crawled across the bronze, pulsing with the oppressive weight of the Imperial Censorate.
