Prologue: Anchor The 19th day of early summer, 530 A.E./A.F. Azosh-ek trembled as the first sacrifice toppled over, face first, onto packed earth. He tried not to breathe, but it did no good. The after-echoes of the heathen’s death surrounded him like flames. Hundreds of tiny, purple-edged wisps of gold licked at his bloodied robe, squeezing through the needle holes and seams of the fabric to curl around his skin. Bile burned in his throat at the sight. He ought to weep—no, he needed to flee! While this city of unbelievers did not keep a proper starwatch, there were regular patrols,…