The western roofed porch of the Grand Cathedral was an imposing classical arcade of polished red granite columns supporting a carved pediment sixty feet above the plaza.
Standing between the central columns, barring the great bronze doors that led to the street, stood thirty armed court guards of the High Engineers’ Guild. They wore matching liveries of blue wool faced with silver braid. They carried six-foot axe-spears and heavy iron-bound truncheons. Their captain, a scarred mercenary named Sir Malcor, stood with his hand resting on the handle knob of a heavy cavalry broadsword.
In the center of the arcade, surrounded by four junior master builders carrying velvet rolls of building plans, stood Guildmaster Horace Vane himself.
At sixty-five, Vane was an imposing figure. Tall, arrogant, wrapped in a voluminous robe of dark purple velvet trimmed with Siberian sable, his silver hair brushed back beneath a black velvet scholar’s cap. A heavy gold chain of office—the ancient medal of the Royal Master Builders—hung across his chest, its golden links clinking softly with every imperious gesture.
As Tomas, Nessa, Sile, and Hester emerged from the crypt archway into the roofed porch. She was flanked by Master Rigger Kael’s lightermen, Vane raised his carved ivory staff of office.
