The Burning Sun camp stretched five miles across the shale flats. Red tents crowded the lanes inside its timber walls. Siege batteries shook the ground with each volley. The smoke smelled of sulfur, burnt leather, and old cooking fat.
Pei Jing wore Lie Yang’s scarlet surcoat over his own robe. He had wrapped the Bone Blade in greasy oilcloth. It looked like a long pry bar. He carried an empty fuel cask on his shoulder as he came to the south gate.
Two sentries in red armor crossed their weapons in front of him.
“Halt. Division and roster?”
Pei Jing showed the eight-sided medallion. The seal under the three golden suns lit up, and the ward over the gate flashed in answer. The ward took it for Gu’s order to let the furnace crew through. The lead sentry straightened.
“Siege Artillery maintenance detail,” Pei Jing said. “Emergency work on the central solar battery.”
“Yes, Elder.” The man pulled his weapon clear. “Go through.”
Pei Jing walked past corrals where two quartermasters argued over grain sacks. Wounded men groaned under the canvas of a field hospital. One still had the lower half of his mail on. There was blood running off it onto the dust. The next siege volley went out before anyone had come to see him.
