TKC 336
Swiftly we have an escort flying on either side of our
shuttle; standard practice when the king is aboard. Unfortunately it paints a
massive target on our tiny hull and we are soon dodging missiles, while our
escort fights back. One shuttle explodes and Enris swears foully. We are not about to return
fire, though; our task is to reach ground no matter what happens in orbit.
The dry plains soon rush towards us. Silver glints reveal
the snaking rivers, while the growth near the water is highlighted as green
lines. To the north Massin’s great ranges beckon, while the plateau’s height is
an earthy smudge to the east. Our pilot goes in fast and low to skim the sands,
thereby forcing the enemy to take a wider path. In doing so, they are open to
attack and our escort immediately takes advantage. Fireballs accompany our
swift passage over desert scrub.
Shuddering assails our shuttle. “We are too low,” the pilot
mutters.
“We will survive shudders,” I say. “Stay the course.”
No further words are spoken as the pilot concentrates on
trajectory. We skim hardy bushes and giant boulders in a wide swirl as the
shuttle heads west towards the mountains surrounding Arc. Skirmishes between
Ilfin shuttles and Glonu flyers create a veil of dust and fire between us and
those mighty peaks.
The battle for Massin is in full flight.
Horses rear in our path as we approach a mighty herd. Great teeth
snap the air as fear overcomes them, and then they are galloping south as one
as if demons pursue them. We are the demons indeed; us, and the Glonu. That
fleeing herd must be the horses the Messengers released to the plains. I pray
they survive.
Three shuttles remain with us and they begin the upward
clamber to clear the sky for us. We follow and soon the first peaks pass below to
reveal the paradise that is Arc’s great protected bowl.
Arc is no longer paradise.
Arc burns.
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