The frozen canyon floor of the Viper's Throat was barely three paces wide, squeezed tight between two sheer walls of black basalt that rose sixty paces into the night sky. It was truly worthy of its name.
Icy mountain run-off had frozen across the bedrock in jagged sheets of black ice, making every step treacherous.
Sagiri moved with silent, fluid grace along the eastern wall, his boots finding traction on the narrow gravel seams where the frost had not yet set.
The weight of the five now-five relics inside him burned in his chest, radiating a dull, steady warmth that kept the bitter cold from numbing his extremities.
Nokai pulsed in his hand with every step he took, and he knew he was closer now.
The scent was stronger now. A thick, oily stench of chemical preservatives and stale biological fluids drifted up through the deep stone fissures ahead.
