The twelve armored corpses didn’t roar. They charge with the ragged, desperate lunges of mortal infantry. They advanced at a relentless, clockwork trot of exactly four paces per second, their iron cleavers cocked back at shoulder height in terrifying all at once.
“Hold the doorway!” the lead border scout cried from the blockhouse entrance, raising his ash spear with trembling arms. “They will cut us to ribbons!”
“Step back,” Tie Shan rumbled.
The giant didn’t shout. He didn’t issue a martial proclamation or invoke the old family spirits of his clan. He simply stepped three paces forward into the open courtyard, cutting off the charge before the corpses could reach the narrow entrance of the blockhouse.
His left foot planted into the frozen earth with a bone-shaking crunch that cracked the top layer of dark rock paving. The broad crimson silk sash across his chest tightened as he rotated his massive torso forty-five degrees to the right, coiling the dense muscle along his back and spinal column. Both hands gripped the cold-drawn iron pry-bar. The left hand near the narrowed edge point. The right hand was locked around the cold six-sided stock near the base.
Twelve pounds of solid, unbending iron swept through the freezing air.
