The first rays of amber sunlight hit the western glass domes of the First Spire at dawn on Day 25.
High above the central plaza, the sacred herb conservatory glittered like a diamond set into obsidian stone. Three layers of defensive barrier runes shimmered across the crystal panes, humming with ancient imperial power.
Suddenly, a wet, metallic screech tore through the quiet morning.
Deep inside the main intake flue, three four-hundred-pound desert mud-boars were sliding down the polished copper shaft.
Deacon Vane had done his job with terrifying thoroughness.
The three beasts had been gorged on two wooden buckets of fermented turnip mash. Their thick, bristly hides had been rubbed with three coats of goose grease, rancid mutton tallow, and boiled ghost-skunk pepper.
The copper shaft had been greased until it was slicker than river ice.
THUMP.
