Over the next two and a half days, the alliance secured the outer city and worked its way toward the inner wall. The autumn wind whipped through the open courtyard of the Royal Censorate, carrying the rich scent of old parchment and wood polish.
Sera Thorne gripped the leather strap of her Storm-Pike, her amber eyes scanning the outer avenue.
Along the broad stone thoroughfare, fifty thousand guards from the capital’s outer-city reserve stood in long, orderly columns.
Under Deacon Vane’s sharp direction, every imperial soldier unclamped his heavy dragon-scale gorget and tossed his weapon onto the mounting salvage heaps.
An imperial brigade commander named Wu stepped forward, handing over a stack of bronze identification plaques.
“Our men have received half-rations of dried peas for three months,” Commander Wu said, his voice trembling with exhausted relief. “The God-Emperor sacrificed our forward garrisons to feed his blood-pillars. We are honored to serve Master Ash.”
“Eat first, swear oaths second,” Deacon Vane replied briskly, handing Wu a wooden voucher stamped in red wax. “Present this at cauldron three for three ounces of salted pork and two dry wheat biscuits.”
In return, alliance quartermasters tied broad blue armbands around the soldiers’ forearms and handed out steaming wooden bowls of barley porridge.
