Three days after the spires went quiet, Pei Jing climbed Central Heaven Mountain. Alpha’s drawing put the old World Anchor under this summit. Zhao’s gate had left a scar in the dome almost directly above it. From Cangmang it had looked blue. Here it was a white mark in a clear sky.
Shen’s runners had marked the footpaths for the families coming down. Pei Jing found a slate on the summit with three things written on it. How many people were still in the upper villages. How much room was left in the river shelters. Which paths could take a wagon. He added the last settlement he had passed and gave the slate back to the runner.
He tested his blade after the runner left. Geng’s saber had left a catch near the bend. He used the Black Mountain Whetstone until the edge ran clean, then slid the blade home. His shoulder ached when he put the blade on his back. He shifted the strap.
The scar gave off a few sparks. He had planned a longer retreat after the battle. He could try to make his soul and body move as one here, while Shen emptied the slopes. If the court came first, he would have to stand with whatever he had.
