The battle for the Anchor Platform was not fought with spells. It was fought with the cold, linked machinery of three men who shared the same stubborn soul.
With the Warden pinning the harpoon line to the pillar, the air-powered winch on Malakor’s dread-heavy steel crossbow whined in clockwork panic. The five-ton motor tried to reel in the cable. But dragging Ren-of-the-Trench was like trying to drag a sunken frigate out of the silt. The cable snapped with a sound like a rifle shot, whipping across the platform and slicing two of the Praetors’ crossbows in half.
“Advance,” Lord Ren commanded.
The Ash Emperor moved across the flat stone slabs with terrifying, measured violence. He didn’t run. He walked behind his blackened broadsword, his boots crushing incendiary bolts into dust. When the leading Praetor drew an electrified combat dirk and lunged, Lord Ren didn’t bother blocking. He caught the man’s armored wrist in his iron gauntlet, pivoted on his heel. Then he hurled the two-hundred-pound soldier over the edge of the platform into the roaring deep pit below.
“Second company, halt!” Lord Ren barked, his voice striking the leftover six Praetors like a physical blow. “Drop the iron and kneel, or I’ll execute the Summary Code of the Frontier!”
