In the center of the High Redoubt walkway rose the towering symbol of eighteen years of high-born trick. A twenty-foot huge equestrian statue cast in dark, patinated bronze.
The monument depicted Marshal Brand in heroic armor, his bronze saber pointed toward the northern mountains, his stallion rearing upon a stone base of polished red granite. Chiseled into the stone base in gold-trimmed letters was the stone carving. TO THE SAVIOR OF THE REALM, WHO ALONE CRUSHED THE INVASION.
At eight the next morning, Nessa Vale stood at the foot of the granite stone base, her brass sighting rule in hand, directing thirty veteran riggers and wagon drivers.
“The balance point is eleven feet above the stone base, directly through the horse’s flank,” Nessa called out. Her voice was sharp and clear in the frosty air. “The anchor pins are four two-inch wrought-iron dowels set into molten sulfur sockets. If we pull from the neck, the head will shear off. We must take the strain from the main chest band and the rear crupper at the same time.”
Sile Rook and four veteran timber-fellers hoisted two heavy ash gin-poles forty feet into the air, guying the timber spars with double-lashed steel wire. Through the bronze pulleys they threaded four-inch manila hauling cables, passing the thick ropes around the bronze horse’s belly and securing them with forged iron cable clamps.
