“They emerged on the mountainside below the city walls. The air hit them — clean, cold, the mountain-night air that tasted of pine and ice and emptiness after the close stale terror of the tunnels. The amrita-light was gone — the whole mountain was dark, the city above them a black mass against the stars, lit only by the fires that Rudra's soldiers had set. Orange light flickered against the white stone terraces, and the shadows the fires cast made the city look like it was moving, writhing, a living thing in pain.”