The torn paper screens had not finished fluttering to the stone floor before the first creature struck.
A blur of stitched crimson silk dropped from the thirty-foot pavilion roof edges. It dropped upon Lu Chen like a falling raptor.
Two razor-edged forelimbs flashed in the violet lantern light.
They were four feet long, curved like execution scimitars. Then they covered in rows of linked black glass barbs that whistled through the freezing air with high-pitched rough churning.
Lu Chen held his ground.
With his left hand, he shoved An Ni three paces backward, planting her firmly into the recessed granite embrasure of the gate tower.
“Guard the rear,” Lu Chen said.
His voice was steady, devoid of tension or haste.
