Hot wind from the ark blew along the canyon. It lifted dry shale dust and black ichor from the road. Two light barrows rolled into a ditch, spilling barley and salted roots. Wagoners leaned against their oxen to keep them from tearing free of the traces.
A tall man in sky-blue silk walked to the gold rail of the ark. Nine jade plaques hung from his belt. A gold carp held up his hair. He was Elder Qi Rong. He ran supply ships for the Heavenly Sword Sect and had reached Late Golden Core. Four students stood near him with their swords out and scented cloths pressed to their noses.
Qi Rong raised a carved jade horn.
“You, on the wall. I can feel your Golden Core. Why are you down in the dirt with these people?”
Pei Jing stood on the bank of shells and rested the blade on his shoulder. His answer reached the ark without a horn.
“State your business, Elder.”
“Our flagship escorted the Third Ark Flotilla out of the western provinces,” Qi said. “Thirty thousand flying fiends hit us at Red Cloud Ridge. The third fire took in void flame. The lift wards can still hold us here, but the side thrusters burned out on the way in. If we try to move, we’ll drift into the cliffs. We have three hundred tons of slag in the purge crucible and five minutes before it breaks the holding array. Send your people into the northern basin…
