Cold drizzle hung under the dome. Near the bronze stakes, drops fell out of the still air and hissed against the runes. The clearing smelled of wet bark, pine rot, and the oil on star-iron armor.
Pei Jing walked three paces out from the cave and stopped. His sandals sank into the needles until he felt the rock beneath them. Beitang and the four elders from the auction were waiting on the open rock. The sixty guards stayed with the skiff and the array crews. The five strongest had come down to take him.
Beitang’s armor had scales cut into it. Each caught the light of the array when he moved. Violet sparks came off the crescent of his halberd and cracked against the ground. At his throat, an azure gem in a heavy gold collar fed qi into a ward that covered him from head to foot.
Elder Mo stood on his left with a bronze mace. He was six feet six inches tall and broad enough to make Beitang look narrow. On the right, Elders Chen, Lu, and Yan held cold-iron swords. Frost crept along the blades and over their silver mail. All four were at Middle Golden Core. The clan lord was in the late stage. Pei Jing felt their combined weight in the air before any of them took a step. Pine branches bowed around the clearing.
