Morok began to run. Each step broke through the frozen shale and sent gravel flying behind him. Fifty paces back, the three thousand centurions advanced behind their locked shields. The line of black metal stretched across the mouth of the valley.
Pei Jing left the wall of shells. It had held against wave after wave, but if sixteen tons hit it at a run, the whole bank could come down. He jumped and landed on bare gravel eighty paces north of the bottleneck. The cliffs drew closer together here. Morok could reach him, but the shield line would have to narrow to follow.
Pei Jing touched the Black Mountain Whetstone at his waist, then lifted the Astral Bone Blade by its grip with both hands.
From the timber wall, Shi Kang watched him land.
“He’s making the general come to him,” Shi told Duan Heng. “Look at how the walls close in.”
Above them on the ledges, Master Qian held up his notched sword to stop the crossbow crews.
“Hold your fire. You won’t get through that armor. Keep the shield line in sight and let Senior Pei fight.”
The first mace came in from the left. Violet lightning trailed from its flanges. Pei Jing brought the blade upright and slid his left hand off the grip to brace the flat with his palm. His right hand stayed on the handle.
