The damaged core burst with a deep whump. A ring of white-hot air and pieces of clay swept out of the puppet’s chest. The remains of the supply crates flew apart. Four rogues who hadn’t reached cover fell in the rubble. Two died where they stood. The other two went down clutching their bellies.
The other puppet swung wildly into the wall. Two Cloud Mist disciples came up behind a floating bronze shield and drove a frost spear into its neck gears. Metal screamed. The puppet stopped, and its amber eyes went dull.
Dust settled like gray snow.
Pei Jing stayed beneath two pine boards with his fingers in a crack in the paving. The blast had stripped away what was left of the mortar. Now he could see the things he’d felt beneath it. Three Earth-Boundary Crystals, each the size of a dried apricot, held in copper clips between the rails of the array. A formation master would pay thirty-five to forty low-grade stones for one. The sects kept them off the open market whenever they could.
Pei Jing worked them loose with his thumb. One. Two. Three. He swept his sleeve across the floor as if he were trying to clear the boards. The crystals slid up his cuff and settled in the padded pockets behind his bracer. About a hundred and ten stones’ worth. Anyone who noticed they were gone could blame the blast.
