The royal arks hung low over the gravel. Three hundred students held their swords in the gray air. The glow along the blades came and went. None of the students seemed sure what would happen if he let his weapon fall.
Pei Jing put the whetstone away and slid the Astral Bone Blade into its sheath. He lowered the sheathed weapon from his shoulder. The torn cloth at his chest moved in the morning wind.
“When the sky tore open, your arks had wings,” he said. “When people came to your gates, the gates had locks. Children were bleeding under their wagons while you waited in the clouds.”
His boot came down on the gravel. The dust jumped, and the elders’ sheaths rattled.
“Fifty thousand fiends came down on this gorge. Two million people came through with everything they owned in carts. I saw no rice fall from your ships. I saw no arrows.”
Qi Rong looked at the broken pieces of his tablet.
“Daoist Jing. The Coalition has a charter. The royal seal gives us the right to—”
“Your charter didn’t hold this ground,” Pei Jing said. He pointed past the elders. “Four thousand wagoners hauled gravel to the wall. Seventy fighters used up their qi making shields out of shell. Mothers put wet hides over their children when slag fell on them. You came back with scales as soon as the work was done.”
