The dust cloud appeared on the eastern horizon like the dirty yellow plumage of a dead bird stretching across twenty li of very thirsty scrubland.
From the high stone castle walls of the Eastern Pass, Xiao Hei crouched on all fours in his amazing battle form, a twelve-foot lunar monarch whose black fur swallowed the midday glare. His silver star-pattern markings pulsed in rhythmic warning. His deep ruby eyes were locked upon the canyon approach. Beside him, two dozen shadow-wolves sat motionless, their ears swiveled forward. They listened to a sound that was far worse than the advance of an invading army.
It wasn’t the thunder of war drums or the clank of iron armor.
It was the collective shuffling of hundreds of thousands of bare, cracked feet dragging across hot gravel, with the dry, rasping coughs of very thirsty throats and the feeble, muffled whimpers of dehydrated infants.
Lin Xiao stood beside the great wolf king, having shed his scholar robes for simple sky-blue linen trousers and a loose hemp tunic. He held a wide straw hat in one hand, fanning the warm air as he looked down at the canyon road. Beside him stood Su Ling’er. It held a stack of jade writing slates, and Tie Shan, leaning his massive, furry titan arms on a heavy iron spade.
