Along the frozen spine of the Black Ridge, the mountain switchback climbed steeply.
Sub-zero blizzards howled down from the northern steppes. It whipped granular snow against the canvas canopy of the supply cart.
The air was so cold that moisture froze instantly upon the eyelashes, turning every blink into a stiff, scraping friction.
Yet the main danger facing Lu Chen was not the physical heat of the gale.
It was the lingering mental venom of the slain Ice-Specter.
With every step he took uphill, the faint, sorrowful weeping inside his skull intensified.
It was the crying of a scared child trapped beneath three feet of black river ice. A desperate, choking wail that seemed to vibrate directly against his hearing cortex.
Then, his visual field began to waver.
