Beitang could feel his own halberd against the back of his hand. Pei Jing held him there. For two hundred years the clan lord had fought from behind a ward, with enough open ground to swing or fly. Now he could see rain running down the fingers that held him, and he could not get his hand free.
He reached for the qi in his core. A little of it made the gem at his throat flare. Before the ward could close, Pei Jing brought the Astral Bone Blade across. The edge passed through Beitang’s wrist with a sound the rain almost covered.
The gauntlet fell with the halberd still in its grip. One last violet spark moved across the crescent, then went out. For half a breath Beitang watched the weapon lie in the pine needles. Then he stumbled backward and cried out.
“My hand,” he said. His other hand closed around his arm. “My halberd.”
Elder Yan dropped his sword near the eastern stake. Behind him, Chen and Lu were trying to drag themselves across the mud. Both stopped to look at their lord. Blood ran through the fingers of the hand he had pressed against the wound.
