Dusk fell across the high mountain shelf with the sudden, sharp drop in heat typical of the Alderfast heights. The sun dipped behind the jagged western peaks of the Spine. Then, long blue shadows reached across Stonewake’s eastern curtain walk. That turned the pale mortar joints between the granite blocks into cold, slate-grey seams.
Kezra adjusted her woolen scarf against the rising wind, her boots pacing a deliberate rhythm along the eastern castle walls. Beside her, Fellis held the rolled linen tally sheet pressed firmly against his ribs to keep the gusts from whipping the paper, his charcoal stub poised to record every offset and stonework bridge pillar.
“One hundred and twenty paces from the northeast angle turret,” Kezra called out, pausing to let the brass heel of her sounding rod rest against a massive, square-dressed coping stone. “Mark an offset of two spans inward where the low roof wall widens for the hoist tower. The foundation bedrock remains nonstop. But the upper stonework thickens by eighteen inches to support the balance weight crane.”
Fellis made the notation with swift, practiced strokes. “Got it. That’s seventy-two paces of heavy cut stone along this stretch alone. The stone is solid, but look down there, Kezra. In the lower eastern ditch.”
