Two people had already been crushed beneath the dragon’s broken jaw. The Blood-Thunder ward killed twenty-eight more who were still on the chain. Pei Jing had let go just before it struck. Blue-white light rose through the four dragons and punched through the roof. Boulders flew eighty feet upward into the clouds. A groan traveled through the mountain for miles.
Below the lip of the trench, Pei Jing felt both shoulders and his left hip slip free. He’d learned to let his tempered joints give under a load instead of fighting it. Now his shoulders folded against his chest, and one leg bent under his ribs. His body took up less of the trench.
The pressure swept over him. Then a slab of basalt rolled in and came down across one side of the cauldron frame and his hips. It drove his face into the cold sludge at the bottom. A sharp edge cut through his trousers and scraped his lower back. His bones held. The stone pinned him there and took the heat of the next wave.
Up in the hall, beyond Pei Jing’s sight, the broken Turtle-Shell ward scattered amber sparks. Yan flew across the chamber and struck the rear wall. His wind sword clattered to the floor, bent from the heat. The four crossbowmen landed near him with smoke rising from their armor. All four were still coughing.
