Ling Xiao pulled himself upright against what was left of the railing. Black blood ran down his violet sleeves. The silver nail guards on his left hand had buckled in the heat, and one of the turquoise stones was missing.
His eyes found his sword. It lay where it had slid across the terrace, beyond the reach of his hand. He dragged himself through the soot until his fingers closed around the grip.
“You think you’ve won?” he said. “I’m the master of Cloud Mist Mountain. Kings have bowed to my lineage. A peasant can’t take this throne.”
Pei Jing saw a faint green light crawl down the notched blade. He put the Astral Bone Blade back in its sheath. Ling Xiao got one knee under him and gathered what was left of his core. Then he lunged.
The Piercing Heart of the Cloud Dragon was the first thrust taught to Cloud Mist children. Ling Xiao had known it since he was six. It was the only form his failing legs could still carry. The point of the sword came at Pei Jing with a thin whistle.
Pei Jing caught the jade between his right palm and the heel of his left hand. The wound opened. He took the weight through his feet before his grip could give. The tip stopped a few inches from his chest.
