The night wind was like a cold rasp, grating against the Stukas' wings.
Altitude: eight thousand meters.
Below the clouds, the Black Stone Mountain Range coiled across the land like a dormant python. This was the heart of Hector's territory, and the source of that putrid stench.
"It's right there."
Mia hugged Ola's stout waist tightly from behind, her entire body pressed against the Dwarf's broad back. Her voice trembled, not from the severe cold at this altitude, but from a spasm of mixed fear and excitement.
She released one hand, extending a slender finger to point with certainty at a pitch-black valley below.
"I don't need a map... Every ridge on this path, every swirl of the air currents, is etched into my nightmares."
