The northern road out of Cloudford Town smelled of wet forge clinker and rotting autumn pine.
Pei Jing adjusted the oiled rawhide strap across his chest. The Cloud-Splitter Cleaver rode between his shoulder blades, twenty-two pounds of cold-cooled hard dark metal steel wrapped in animal fat-soaked hemp. With every stride, the squared handle knob tapped against the base of his neck. A steady, rhythmic balance weight that kept his spine straight and his pelvis level. Beneath his charcoal-grey sleeves, the iron-plated bracers rested flush against the thick corded tendons of his forearms. Their spring-loaded slots held twelve four-inch hard dark metal needles primed for silent release.
Behind him, three miles to the south, the smoking chimneys of the Pei Clan ironworks rose into the grey morning. Two days ago, the elders had tried to present him with a stitched silk sash and thirty pieces of country tribute silver for liquidating Iron Claw Hu and the Black Tiger Gang. He had accepted the silver, handed twenty-five pieces back to his father to purchase charcoal reserves for the winter smelting. Then he left before the third bell of dawn.
Staying in Cloudford Town was a working loss. The low hills surrounding the river basin had been hunted clean for fifty years. A man could walk three leagues and find nothing heavier than mountain hares and scrawny badgers. His bone cleansing had reached the fifth tier, but the transformation had begun to stall. Dense bone stone needs dense fuel. Without the marrow of…
