The Crucible at the sixth hour ran amber. The quartz dome caught the morning light through the mountain and filtered it down onto the training floor in a warm-gold colour that came from the volcanic core running warmer in winter, the pipes along the walls reflecting it back. The room smelled of hot stone and ozone from the previous session.
Alistair was already on the floor when they arrived.
He did not greet them. He was standing at the center of the hall looking at the rack of training implements with the attention of a man conducting an audit. He selected nothing. He turned and looked at Vane.
"The Quicksilver Thrust," he said. "First form entry. From neutral."
Vane ran it.
Alistair watched. He said nothing. He walked a half-circle around Vane while he ran the form and stopped at the nine-o'clock position.
"Again," he said. "Slower."
