Ren Vale’s boots struck the punched holes in steel narrow high walkway with a sharp, ringing crash that rattled through his teeth.
Before the sound could carry ten yards, the roaring back-draft from the ceiling blower swallowed it whole. Thick, oily yellow sulfur smoke rolled across the overhead frame in choking billows. That turned the green gas sconces into dim, sickly violet embers. The air was so dense with ammonium and boiled away sulfur that Ren’s eyes burned behind his squinting lids, his tears instantly acidifying on his cheeks.
Beside him, Master Ren landed with the heavy, balanced thud of an experienced mountain climber.
The Arch-Scroll-keeper didn’t pause for a heartbeat. His left hand was clamped firmly around Mira’s wool cloak. He lowered her to the narrow high walkway floorplates before spinning to shield her body with his heavy slate-grey robes.
Through the fog, a hardwood stave cracked against the steel handrail three feet to their right.
“Narrow high walkway three!” a voice barked through a leather-and-gauze filter mask. “Intruders on the backup overhead frame! Deploy the burning acid projectors!”
Three paces ahead, Lord Ren’s voice cut into Ren’s mind, cold as a headsman’s axe. Two guards in boiled leather over chain mail. They carry high-pressure brass canisters on their backs. The hoses are vulcanized gut-rubber. Don’t contest their reach—cut the feed-lines!
