The beach on the west side of Coral Spike was sixty paces wide. Limestone cliffs rose behind it. Seventy paces out, waves hit the reef and sent white water hissing over the shale.
The four war junks held in the deep channel two hundred paces offshore. Their catapults were loaded. Men watched the beach from the mastheads. They expected the landing party to bring the lone cultivator back in chains before the tide turned.
Reef-Ripper Chen stood in the surf, one eye on the stairs. He led the first group, with an eight-foot boarding spear in his hands and copper plates over his sharkskin coat. Gale-Cutter Song had two curved swords and green wraps on his arms. Iron-Grip Lu held a tower shield of oak and iron in one hand and a boarding axe in the other.
The others spread out behind them with crossbows, harpoons, and pots of Abyssal Fire-Oil. They shouted to one another as if they were about to empty a fishing village.
“Spread the net,” Chen called. “Keep him away from the cliff. If he jumps, the boats can take him.”
“Captain,” a young crossbowman shouted, pointing. “He’s coming down.”
Pei Jing stepped off the last limestone stair onto the shale. Salt had dried white on his boots. The forty-pound Cloud-Splitter rested against his shoulder. He stopped thirty paces from the pirate line.
