Over a shelf of hardened black stone, the iron-banded wagon wheels ground relentlessly.
The red desert ended without warning.
Beneath the lead mules’ hooves, the crimson sands fell away into a deep pit so vast that the opposite rim was nothing more than an uneven charcoal smear against the sunset.
Thirty miles across.
An unplumbed, upright trench torn through the land-wide mantle like a butchered ox split down the spine.
Rotten-egg yellow vapors drifted lazily from the depths, reeking of old graves, cold iron, and decomposed fat.
Lu Chen pulled back on the leather reins.
The two mountain mules snorted, their nostrils flaring as they caught the bitter scent of the rift.
