The crimson ribbon whipped wildly against the rusted iron survey stake. Its vibrant scarlet dye stood out in shocking contrast against the blinding white snow.
Yseld belayed Kezra forward along the narrow rock lip. That kept the three-quarter-inch hemp safety line taut around a natural granite bollard. Paxa and Voss waited ten paces behind in the sheltered lee of the sandstone stone support prop, their packs resting on the flat stone slabs.
The wind on this exposed shoulder blew in harsh, freezing gusts that tossed dry spindrift into their faces. Kezra knelt in the snow three paces back from the stake. She tested the crust with the brass metal ring of her sounding rod before committing her weight. The snowpack here rested on solid bedrock. But ten paces further east, the rock ended at the sheer fracture line of the top stone ledge.
The iron stake was eighteen inches long, forged with an eight-sided shank and stamped on its flattened head with a three-digit military lot number: H-094. Around the neck of the stake, tied in a stiff, frozen clove hitch, was a strip of fine-weave silk dyed with cochineal—the clear insignia of an advance scouting scout from the Cairn Host.
