THE PAIN OF INHALING with broken ribs was worse than any pain he had read about in books. He couldn’t actually remember anyone describing that. Maybe they all did and he ignored it. Wet ice had crusted on his face. He was so cold he could not feel the difference between his own skin and the black-iron armor. He lay back and stared up into the abyss. He could hear the steady rushing of wind. Or possibly that was the river.