The last ridge spilled them onto a quarry whose cracked terraces no longer followed their cut lines beneath garrison stakes. Hajin trailed four wagons down the approach while lightning snapped across the tear below and nervous drivers tested their brakes.
Two dozen archers watched from the palisade walks, their bows already strung and their arrows resting loose.
The opening rose three men tall and stretched twenty paces across the quarry floor, its edges twisting around escaping currents.
"Holy shit, that's not a door, that's a wound somebody forgot to stitch."
Another arc cracked through the ground and buzzed straight up through his soles before the first wagon reached the gate. It left a fresh scar on the stone, and the lead horse shied until its driver hauled the reins tight.
Seret halted there while an outpost sergeant hurried over carrying a slate crowded with chalk entries.
