The outer wooden wall of Weeping Pass spanned the narrowest throat of the canyon like a jagged row of blackened teeth.
Trunks of ancient hardwood, four paces thick, were bound together by rusted iron bands and anchored deep into the frozen ground.
Thick sheets of blue rime frost crusted the timber castle walls. It formed drooping icicles as thick as a man’s thigh.
At the center of the wall stood the outer barrier gate. A massive drop-gate of forged pig iron hung from counterweighted chains.
A low guardhouse of mortared river stones sat beside the gate, its chimney belching thin, foul-smelling gray smoke into the freezing dusk.
Lu Chen led the mule cart up the packed snow road. Then, five figures emerged from the timber watch-shack.
They were border conscripts of the Great Yong Northern Army. But little remained of royal dignity in their appearance.
Their rusted iron layered-scale armor was tied together with frayed hemp string and strips of raw cowhide.
