The pikeman had his knife over the rope when he heard Pei Jing come up the bank. He looked back. A man in a muddy robe and bamboo hat was walking toward him with a butcher’s cleaver at his side.
Deacon Zhang Bao had climbed back onto his camel. He looked down at the road and waved a hand.
“Another refugee. Tie him to the line. If he has no grain, take his clothes and leave him in the ditch.”
Two men stepped away from the third wagon. One lowered a bamboo pike.
“On your knees, beggar.”
Pei Jing flicked the pike aside with two fingers. The bamboo burst into splinters. The man landed in the mud and stared at what was left of the shaft. The other man took a step back.
“A rogue.” Zhang’s hand went to his sword. “Sun. Ma. Break his legs.”
The two young men jumped from their saddles. A pale blue edge lit up on Sun’s blade.
