From the introduction: The villagers told us where the angel fell, pointing north to the hills. We were generous with royal coin, but none except a drunken sell-sword would guide our expedition. Superstitious peasantry. Hiking up, trees lay ruined, flat as by fierce storms, many burnt. Come dusk, some glowed. My soldiers nearly had to use force to pull the sages from curious twittering. Mules and canaries grew ornery. When we reached the scar’s end, the crater was black and smooth, granite splashed like wax. The Object lay half buried where it fell. I mused it seemed a titan’s helm, or the lid of a soup tureen. The men said more an overturned saucer or a snail. The sages blathered about “asymmetrical helix topology”. Surface was silver, iridescent. My palm felt waves of faint buzz, my fingertips slipped from it as if greased. Not even my own blade marks it. Set the men to drag logs for palisade and outbuildings, cut stone for towers, dig latrines and drainage. The sages sketched and whined about tightness of their laboratory and quarters. I expect the entire fort and complex completed by equinox, with the Object sheltered. It is very beautiful. The sages have begun to argue how to prize it open, humming and scribbling. I’m sure the Generals will see value, once we obtain whatever treasures lie within.