A suffocating vibration rattled the basalt bedrock beneath Elder Sterling’s boots.
Down in the subterranean magazine, the twelve fused Golden Cores shrieked in unison. Their tarnished surfaces flared with blinding crimson fire, and the copper siphon conduits overhead began to hiss with boiling heat.
“Out!” Sterling roared, grabbing two vanguard captains by their collars. “The array is overloading! Get to the surface!”
They scrambled up the stone stairs as the entire ziggurat groaned.
Behind them, the eighty captured Imperial sentries began to laugh hysterically through their gag cloths. Their eyes bulged with fanatic hope as they looked toward the sky through the open courtyard doors.
“You’re dead!” the captured Imperial sergeant muffled through his cloth, wriggling against his ropes. “The Chancellor felt the altar severed! He is coming for your souls!”
Sterling hauled the man to his feet with one hand. “Shut your mouth before I feed you your own belt.”
Above Red-Crag Pass, the morning sky tore open.
