Pei Jing brought the envoy down to an abandoned watchtower on Dragon-Back Ridge. The tower had no roof. Wind scoured the stone, fifteen thousand feet above the sea.
The envoy lay on the floor with his brocade torn and dark with grease. He tried to lift an arm. The Chaos qi holding his channels shut made it fall again.
He lifted the purple jade amulet from the envoy’s neck. The marks on it were fine enough to bend a fast strike out of its path. He could see three places where the ward failed to answer a slow pulse of mortal intent. He copied those marks onto a bamboo slip for the alliance armorers.
Then he laid the Imperial Mandate Seal beside the amulet and let his Nascent Soul read the memories of the array that bound them. Four notes came through. Pei Jing named the first one aloud.
“Eighty-four thousand cycles. Northern Spire. Water vein.”
The envoy looked up despite himself.
“South, a hundred and twelve thousand. East, ninety-six. West, a hundred and eight. Each one has a forty-foot crystal core in a bronze cage.”
“Twelve void-iron pylons,” the envoy said. His voice was thin. “And the three sea trenches take the excess. You’ll never shut it down from here.”
