The final judge dropped his golden axe-spear, turned his back. Then it scrambled up the mountain path like a scared rabbit.
The clatter of his brass boots echoed against the sheer cliffs until the howling high-sky wind swallowed the sound entirely.
Silence settled over the cloud bridgehead.
Tie Shan let out a long, ragged exhale that sounded like an iron bellows venting steam. He lowered his warhammer until the heavy eight-hundred-pound iron head rested against the bloodstained flat stone slabs with a dull thud.
He leaned heavily against the wooden handle. His chest rising and fell in violent, shuddering gasps.
“You took your time,” Tie Shan said.
Lin Tao stepped around the smoking leftovers of the shattered golden pylon. He wiped a streak of black soot from his forehead with the back of his sleeve. His coat was torn at the elbow. The white linen bandage around his left palm was stained with dark rust-colored spots. But his stride was measured and calm.
“The locks were stubborn,” Lin Tao replied.
