At the entrance to Throat Pass, the cliffs rose three hundred feet into the clouds. The ravine was thirty paces wide and already narrowing. The wind drove sleet sideways at forty miles an hour.
Chen collapsed between Sun and Zhao. The wound at his shoulder had opened during the march, and blood dripped through the char left by the fire charm. His eyes stared without seeing. Each breath came with a wet rattle.
Lu fell beside him and clawed at his bandage. His skin had gone black and green in patches.
“Senior Brother, I can’t,” he gasped. “My dantian’s freezing.”
He was sick on the shale.
Yan stopped five paces ahead. He leaned on his survey pole, his face tight with pain. Ling stood behind them on a limestone shelf.
“Chen’s in shock,” Yan called over the wind. “Lu’s spirit veins are gone. We can’t drag them through. If the Azure Cloud scouts catch us like this, they’ll pin our rear guard against the slope.”
A whistle sounded twice from the southern slope. Ling looked back and saw a scout eagle bank low toward the pass. He stepped down from the shelf and walked past Yan. His white boots scarcely touched the gravel. He knelt beside Chen and removed the storage pouch from his belt. Then he untied the blue cord that held Chen’s jade sect token. He did the same for Lu and put all four items into his sleeve.
