The three-tyred brass sandglass sat upon a flat ledge of dressed limestone. Its polished fittings shone in the pale morning sun. Inside the upper globe, the red garnet sand fell in an unbroken, whispering thread, marking the minutes with the cold, impartial care of a medical instrument.
Kezra Venn looked from the falling sand to Paxa Sel’s face.
“Paxa,” Kezra said. Her voice was tight with the urgent driving force of an expedition on the verge of activation. “The tags are bonded. The mirrors on the Spine have confirmed the plateau is clear. Krail has his men standing to their wagons, and Adra has the standoff line secured below. Every minute we wait gives the wind a chance to kick up snow squalls across the pass.”
Paxa didn’t step aside from the doorway. She didn’t raise her voice, nor did she uncross her arms.
“The tags are valid for twelve full hours, Mapmaker,” Paxa answered. Her tone carried the total, unbending power granted to her under the Expedition Medical Charter they had signed in Kilnstep on Day 64. “They were bonded at sunrise. They will remain valid until four bells past noon. The mirrors on the high ridge are steady, and the weather is holding clear.”
