The maintenance tunnels beneath Crestfall smelled like river water and old iron and the particular cold of places that existed specifically to be forgotten.
Aldric's maps were exact — two years of preparation expressed in precise cartography, every tunnel marked, every anchor point circled in grey ink, the distances between them annotated with the particular handwriting of someone who had been planning this for a long time and had nothing to do with the planning except make it more precise.
Eleven anchor points in the tunnels.
One beneath the altar.
The plan was the same as the Veil — sequential destruction, counterclockwise, the primary anchor last. The difference was the Warden. In Valdenmoor the anchors had been the threat. Here the anchors were the cage and the Warden was the threat and the moment the first anchor fell the cage started opening.
Ninety seconds before full wakefulness.
Calder had timed it.
