The three kites dipped their wings. The lead one turned down toward the chain. The steel vanes on its silk wings made a sound like cloth tearing. The others stayed higher, their red lights bright enough to show the frost along the links.
Pei Jing held tight with his legs. The chain began its long swing back toward the city. He waited until the first kite tried to turn with it. Then he sent all three caltrops out into the wind.
The runes kept the little iron stars on course. The first struck the red crystal on the lead kite and broke the charm that held its balance. A wing caught in the wind. The kite spun once and broke across the middle.
The second caltrop tore through silk. The third struck a signal talisman before it could light. The two remaining kites folded and fell. No red light followed them into the cloud.
A piece of the first kite came within reach. Pei Jing caught it against his chest. Under the chipped red enamel he could make out the seal of the Iron Anvil Vanguard, Beitang’s own men. He dropped the piece. The three kites had sent no signal, but someone would notice when they all went quiet. He might have eight minutes. Twelve if he was lucky.
