TKC 78
We are not yet safe. Despite a sense of ease, I am not a
dreamer. We are not out of danger.
The asteroid, according to prediction and science, is but
ten days from impact with Massin. When we see the flames surrounding it as it
enters atmosphere, only hours will remain. The unwieldy line of people snaking
towards the edge of the plateau and then down have elderly among them, many
weak and ill, children too young to understand haste or with the ability to
employ it, and many weary souls carry weight upon their backs. All of this will
slow the march.
Last night Mirlin told me we need fourteen days to cross the
plains. We have eight, for we need two days to negotiate the pass into Arc. I
foresee the front runners abandoning everyone when flames wreath the skies.
I pray for a miracle.
And now a more immediate threat is upon us, and it comes not
from the heavens.
Thunder reverberates to the north and east, and tremors
shudder the earth. I feel them in the fort’s ancient foundations. This is not
weather, I immediately recognise.
Cavalry.
A host on horseback gallops our way. Do they seek to join
with us, aid us to haste and safety … or are these the masters who refuse to
release us, whether enslaved or free, to a new future?
Mirlin hurtles into the courtyard below, shouting and
already turning the horse he is on. “The Blues from Alarn, Damin! Get to your
horse!”
Ice fills my veins. Massin’s main force approaches. These
are hardened soldiers, without compassion and reason. They follow orders,
whatever those orders are. The masters of Porlese must have summoned them.
I race down and jump onto Forest.
We cannot run. We cannot fight them either. We are doomed.
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