The shriek of the Crown Furnace reached a pitch that ceased to be sound and became pure, agonizing pressure inside the skull.
Steam vented violently through the fissures in the chapel floor, thick white jets screaming from the mortar joints like escaping dragons, carrying the sharp, corrosive reek of scorched saltpeter and boiled river sludge. Out on the high bridge causeway, the cobblestones were erupting into the air, thrown thirty feet into the boiling river as the subterranean conduit flues ruptured beneath the ancient bridge abutments. The river water below the lancet window had turned into a churning cauldron of scalding foam, drowning the cries of the advancing Ash Host skirmishers and filling the valley with an impenetrable white fog.
Sir Cael Ardent stood in the center of the chancel, his armored body shaking with violent tremors that matched the subterranean frequency of the bedrock.
His heavy broadsword slipped from his numb, sweat-slicked gauntlets. The naked blade struck the shattered granite floorboards with a dull, heavy clatter, rolling into the lime dust and ash beside the communion steps. The knight did not reach down to retrieve it. His hands hung limp at his sides, his fingers twitching in uncontrollable spasms as the attunement necrosis pulsed beneath his silver armor.
