Dainyl looked eastward toward the Spine of Coras and what lay at the base of the red cliffs footing those snow-capped winter giants. The late afternoon light fell across the redstone spires of the Vault of the Ages, turning them a deeper and duskier shade, outlining them against the lighter stone and scattered trees of the peaks to the east. Directly below the columned entrance to the Vault were the wide stone steps that descended westward to the polished redstone plaza, empty so late in the day. In the still air just before twilight, a haze blanketed the lower areas of the hills to the east and north of the Vault. “We’ll set down on the plaza, sir,” added Quelyt. “Go ahead!” Dainyl had flown into the plaza himself, more than a few times, but he’d seen little of Lyterna, outside of the barracks tunneled into the cliffs to the south of the Vault, where he had waited as a ranker to carry dispatches to regional centers and other places without Tables. There was little visible from the air, or the ground—except for the great steps and the plaza—because the entire complex had been carved into the rock ages before.
