Chapter 12: What Pluto Puts in His Hands

Durn slid a battered map across the worktable and did not look up from it.

The forge crew had gathered at the long table with their hammers still on their belts.

'Show them where the southern route fails,' Durn said.

Aquas had not slept.

The fracture under his eye was bright enough that the nearest smith had moved his stool back twice.

He set one finger on the third southern pass and traced it to the chain of rock at its throat.

'Here,' he said. 'The depth gives way at the second chain. Load it and the whole shelf comes down.'

Durn leaned in and looked at the line he had drawn.

Then he tapped two ridges east, where a faded mark ran almost invisible under a fold.

'And this one,' he said. 'Nobody's used it in a hundred years. It holds. It's narrow, but it holds.'

The crew went quiet.

Durn straightened up and looked at him for a moment.

'Sharp,' she said, to the whole table. 'No moon-blood clerk ever read a pass that fast.'

One of the smiths said his name. Just his name, no title.

Aquas kept his eyes on the map and did not smile, though something in his chest went warm anyway.

Lucien had moved to the edge of the table.

He stood close enough that his sleeve brushed Aquas's when Aquas leaned over the parchment.

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