The day was a blanket of oppressive grey. I couldn't tell if the sun was hidden by the smoke still rising from the distant, smoldering ruins of our camp, or if the heavens themselves had chosen to weep with us. We formed a massive, ragged line on the plains north of Luoyang. Twelve thousand survivors standing in grim silence as we faced the force that had come out to meet us.

  There were perhaps only two thousand of them, a paltry number, but they stood in a disciplined, impenetrable formation, a thorn of black iron in front of an iron gate. No cavalry in sight.

  From their line, two riders trotted forward to the halfway point between our armies and waited. One was an officer in the immaculate lamellar of the capital's Divine Strategy Army. The other was a slender, unsettling figure, a masked specter whose presence felt like a sliver of ice in the humid air.

  I knew them.

  "Luo," I growled. My old friend, despite his wounds, joined me. Together, we spurred our mounts forward.

  Of course it was Zhang RuLin, the architect of my ruin, and his masked familiar beside him.

  He greeted me with a perfect, formal salute, his hands clasped before him. "General Cui," he said, his voice maddeningly calm. "I had hoped we would not have to meet under such circumstances."

  I returned the courtesy with a curt, sharp nod, my knuckles white on the reins of my horse. It was a gesture born of protocol, not respect.

  "Will you retreat, General?" Zhang asked, his tone reasonable, as if discussing the weather. "Your men have suffered a great loss. There is no dishonor in preserving their lives."

  A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "We will not retreat," I said, my voice as cold and dead as the men we had buried. "Not until the walls of Luoyang have fallen. Not until you have fallen."

  Zhang's calm expression finally faltered only briefly. He seemed to genuinely believe he could appeal to some better nature within me. "General, the cause you fight for is not the righteous one you believe it to be. On our journey, we have seen the rivers of refugees your army has created. We have seen men and women, ragged and abused, who thought themselves lucky only because they were not among the countless more who could not flee. Jiedushi An has unleashed a plague upon this land."

  I had no interest in his words. This was no longer about a righteous cause or the grievances of the north. This was now personal.

  Seeing my resolve, Zhang’s demeanor hardened. He gestured with his chin back towards his own lines. For the first time, I saw them clearly: dozens of thick, arrow-like projectiles resting on metal racks, angled toward the sky.

  "Those," he said quietly, "are what you witnessed last night. Rockets I call them. They are why your camp is a field of ash and why thousands of your men are dead. To attack us would be futile. Don't waste their lives."

  "Then it will be a slaughter," I replied, my voice unwavering. "No matter the cost, we will have our vengeance. We will right what is wrong with this world. That is what my father would have wanted."

  A soft voice, clear and feminine and surprisingly scholarly despite the mask. The specter spoke. "Would your father, an honorable general of the Great Tang, truly support the barbarism of An Lushan's men?"

  "My father," I said, turning my horse to leave, "is now dead."

  I did not wait for his reply. I wheeled my horse and galloped back to my own lines, the conversation over.

  There would be no clever maneuvers, no feints, no grand strategy. There would only be a tide of angry men washing over a shore of black iron.

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  We outnumbered them six to one. They could never kill all of us.

  “Form line!” I roared, my voice carrying over the murmuring ranks. “Loose spacing! We march straight on!” My spear felt comfortable in my hands. “With me!”

  I took my place at the very center of the line, in the vanguard of the vanguard. In a charge like this, it was neither the safest place in the front nor in the rear, but my men would see that their general shared their fate. With a ragged, collective battle cry that was more a howl of grief than a shout of courage, twelve thousand men began to march.

  I saw Zhang RuLin gallop back to his own lines. I saw him give a signal. Behind his shield wall, I saw men moving around the strange metal racks, tilting them forward. They were igniting the cylinders.

  I braced myself, my shoulders tightening, expecting the sky to fall upon us.

  A deafening BOOM ripped through the air, a physical blow that I felt in my bones. But the rain of fire and death I expected did not come. Instead, a brilliant, terrible fireball erupted from behind the enemy’s own shield wall, engulfing their rearmost ranks. Screams of shock and agony, not from my men, but from theirs, reached us across the field. A stunned silence fell over our advancing line.

  Then, a cheer went up. A massive, spontaneous roar that shook the very heavens. The gods were with us! Their devil-work had turned upon them! The men’s weary march broke into a charge, a tidal wave as we ran towards their line.

  Then the first few drops of rain began to fall, fat and cold against my face. Ahead, I saw Zhang RuLin frantically signaling and whistling, not for an attack, but for a retreat. The massive gates of Luoyang began to creak open behind his lines, a dark maw promising sanctuary.

  His men began to pull back, but our charge was almost upon them. The rain, which had been a mere sprinkle, began to pour. Through the downpour, I saw their front ranks raise their own thunder weapons.

  Again I tensed, the memory of Jieshi being torn apart flashing in my mind, and braced myself to feel the iron shot pierce my body.

  For the second time that day, the thunder did not strike me down.

  There was no volley. No deafening crack. I saw the enemy soldiers looking down at their weapons in confusion, their powder wet and useless in the sudden storm. I heard Zhang’s voice, sharp and clear even over the drumming of the rain.

  “To the walls! Into the city! Find cover where it is dry!”

  I looked to the heavens, the pouring rain a welcome baptism on my face, and offered a silent prayer of thanks. The heavens had given me a sign. They had chosen me.

  “CHARGE!” I roared. I dug my heels into my steed’s flanks, leading the way myself.

  The enemy was already in an organized retreat, pulling back towards the city gates. But between them and the safety of the walls was a rearguard, a frustratingly disciplined line of pike steel. And at its heart, his own blade drawn, was Zhang RuLin. Perfect.

  I charged him directly. The reach of my spear was a clear advantage, and I intended to press it. I feinted low, a flicker of my spearhead toward his steed’s legs, forcing him to shift his weight. As he turned to avoid the blow, I lashed my spear high in a vicious arc aimed at his head.

  Sparks flew as his sword met my spearhead in a desperate, last-second block. The impact shuddered up my arm. He was strong. He immediately tried to press forward, to get inside my reach where his shorter blade would be supreme. I gave him no such opening. I spun the spear in my grip, the long ash wood a blur, and used the heavy butt-end to strike at his chest, forcing another block that sent him staggering back a pace. I could feel the shock of our impacts; his raw strength was greater than my own, his reserves of qi deeper. I would have to rely on the length and spring of my weapon to keep him at bay.

  He moved backwards slowly, never turning his back, a slow, fighting retreat towards the yawning city gate. His rearguard moved with him, a frustratingly coordinated formation of shield and sword that absorbed the charge of my men and gave ground without breaking. But he could not close on me. I controlled the distance, my spear a constant, flickering threat that kept him purely on the defensive. With a final, powerful downward swing, I brought my spear crashing onto his blade. His sword bent under the impact.

  I had him. The thought was a flash of triumph in my mind.

  But then the specter was upon me. A blur of motion from my right, she came to Zhang's rescue. Before I could bring my own weapon to bear, hers flashed out. There was a high, ringing shriek of metal, and the tip of my spear sheared clean off, her blade cutting through the wood easily, sending a length tumbling uselessly to the muddy ground.

  The sudden loss of balance and reach forced me back several steps. In that single, precious moment, Zhang and the specter slipped back through the last of their rearguard. With a deep, groaning sound that echoed across the field, the massive iron-studded gates of Luoyang slammed shut between us.

  My vengeance had been denied. I stared at the closed gate, the rain plastering my hair to my face, and let out a roar of pure frustration.

  "LAY SIEGE!" I bellowed, turning to my commanders. "BRING FORTH THE YUNTI!"