Outside the city’s west wall, close to the shoreline’s broken, jagged edge, a lazy swirl of dust rose from the ground, took form. Tool slowly settled the flint sword into its shoulder-hook, his depthless gaze ignoring the abandoned shacks to either side and fixing on the massive stone barrier before him. Dust on the wind could rise and sweep high over this wall. Dust could run in streams through the rubble fill beneath the foundation stones. The T’lan Imass could make his arrival unknown. But the Pannion Seer had taken Aral Fayle. Toc the Younger. A mortal man … who had called Tool friend. He
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