The shift-bells were still ringing when Quinlan Elysiar rode his own wind back up the great shaft from the deep tiers, and set down on the high terrace beside the council hall, where his girls lounged and chatted with each other.
Below them, the vertical city glowed tier upon tier, and its people were answering the new era on their feet.
Cart teams hauled battle debris along the tier roads. Masons walked the galleries with chalk, marking what the war had cracked. A column of miners tramped down toward the deep seams, singing, still in last night's bloodstained clothes.
"They fought a war all night," Lucille mused, watching them go. "Drank through the aftermath, and lined up for the morning shift anyway." A small frown followed the miners down the tiers. "It's like their bellies convert booze to nourishing food."
"Sturdy people." Serika's grin kept widening. "I know we're a family that went the elf route but they're growing on me with every hour."
