Pei Jing raised the two-hundred-pound slab two inches. He turned onto his right side in the mud and guided the rock down with his forearms. It sank with a soft squelch. A crash in the trench could have echoed down into the vaults.
He stood slowly, giving his shoulders and hip time to settle. The floor of the hall was four feet above the bottom of the ditch. He rested his chest against the edge and looked out.
Gray dust drifted through the Great Hall of Seals. Daylight fell through the broken roof and lit the shattered black glass platform. Dark shapes marked where the conscripts had fallen. Fine rain hissed on the hot stones. At the far end, the bronze doors stood a few inches open. The vault beyond was dark and quiet.
Pei Jing pulled himself out of the trench and crouched behind the broken stump of a dragon pillar. He used a strip of cotton to wipe mud and dried blood from his face, ears, and collar. He set down the frame and checked Gui’s cauldron. The sheepskin was full of mud, and the stone had left a scrape on one foot, but the bronze held. He wiped the rim and secured the straps again. Then he checked his sharkskin sheath. The oil had kept the wet out, and the Cloud-Splitter still sat firmly inside. He took out the Black Mountain Whetstone, wiped the dished face clean, and put it away.
