The warlord reached the upper terrace while the Dread King pressed a gauntlet against its wall.
"The causeway posts are clear, my King," it reported, kneeling by the door rather than near the hand bearing its seal.
"The watchers withdrew beyond the plaza, and the lesser gates remain open."
He lifted his hand from the wall, leaving five grooves gouged beside the terrace's old ward mark.
"Keep them open."
He stepped toward the edge, where the withdrawing guards filed between empty shelters far below the terrace.
The warlord followed only far enough to watch torches crawling along the causeway toward the settlement.
"Their carts slow them, my King," it offered, pointing at small lights beyond the outer ditch.
"Then they will have something to leave behind."
He bent his knees above the fractured edge, and cracks raced outward beneath his feet.
