Chapter 103 - The Singing Ice

The first mission left Valmere under a sky the color of a bruised plum. We didn't leave in the sleek, black carriages of the Foundation or under the royal banners of the Mediator. We left in a heavy-duty freight wagon we had reinforced with scrap iron and salvaged wood, pulled by four draft horses that had been fed on the last of the school's premium oats. The wagon rumbled over the frozen ruts of the mountain road, its axles groaning under the weight of the Vanguard—the upgraded Centurion—which sat under a heavy canvas tarp, dormant but heavy with potential.