The five rulers listened in the spine chamber until the fire bowls burned low. By morning they had taken Pei Jing to the fighting pit in the beast’s skull. Three hundred raiders stood around the red sand. Iron chains hung between the bone arches. A row of dried camel hides stirred in the draft.
Iron Mountain Ba stood in the center. The chains across his chest and arms served as both armor and training weights. White scars showed between the links. Across the pit sat the other four rulers. Sand Viper Lady Qi wore a black veil and carried two bone daggers. One-Eyed Han had once built siege engines for the royal army. Blood Scythe Tu had lost two fingers on his sword hand. Old Man Gou had spent so long tunneling under sect posts that his nails had grown as thick as horn.
“You want us to tear down the Western Spire,” Ba said. “You say we can raise thirty thousand from these dunes. You say heaven keeps us like cattle.”
He spat red betel juice into the sand.
“I’ve heard clever men ask for blood before. Out here, you prove your bones are harder than ours before you ask us to bleed for you.”
