The rhythmic grind of ninety iron-shod boots over red gravel sounded across the scrub plains of the Crimson Valley, moving with the heavy, unyielding cadence of a rolling border garrison.
At the head of the formation marched Gideon and Mara, their star-iron pavises locked edge to edge to split the dry wind and deflect the erratic spatial micro-rifts that crackled along the flats. Directly behind the vanguard line walked forty-two unaffiliated disciples of the Lunar Edge Sect, moving in tight, orderly columns of three within the protective envelope of the shields. These were men and women who had entered the realm as scattered individuals, only to be chased out of the briar ravines by mutated raptors and territorial packs until Caleb’s scouts swept them up from the margins.
Caleb Conway w
