He hadn’t thought about the height.
The soldiers looked surprised to see Miro’s arrival. They quickly drew back as the airship pilot gestured. One man held a ladder. The dirigible stood floating, high above. Miro gulped. He took hold of the ladder and began to climb. He felt his weight cause the airship above him to dip slightly.
"One foot after the other," he muttered to himself.
"Sir!" the pilot called from below him.
"What is it?" Miro called, turning to look down at the pilot.
"Don’t look down!"
Miro’s vision swam. He breathed in and then out, slowly releasing the air. "Thank you, pilot," he called.
He finally reached the top of the ladder. Miro tumbled over the side of the wooden tub. "Not too graceful," he muttered.
The pilot soon followed him over. "I meant for you to not look down, sir," the man said.
Miro grinned wryly, "I know you did, pilot. What’s your name?"
"Pilot Varoun, sir."
"Varoun. That’s a Louna name isn’t it?"
"Yes, sir. My father, he was an artificer, sir. I was born in Altura."
Miro smiled. "Good to have you with us, Pilot Varoun. Now, how about you show me the whereabouts of our enemy."
"Yes, sir," said the pilot.
He called a series of runes. The men below released the rope. The dirigible began to rise into the air. Varoun went to the side and brought up the ladder. "Wouldn’t do for the enemy to climb up, sir."
"I’m sure, Pilot Varoun."
There was barely room in the dirigible for the two of them. Miro looked over the land below. He couldn’t believe how high he was. "Lord of the Sky, it’s amazing," he said. "Every commander should spend time up here."
The pilot nodded. "I have often thought so myself, sir."
Looking ahead, Miro could see far into the rugged land of Halaran. He turned around. Behind him the Sarsen wound through deep canyons. Far in the distance it plunged inland, to be lost in the beloved forests of Altura.
The dirigible moved slowly, the runes lighting up as the pilot activated them. Miro felt the freshening wind on his face.
"There, sir," Pilot Varoun pointed. "We probably shouldn’t go any closer."
At first Miro couldn’t see what the man was referring to. Then he realised. That long line on the horizon, stretching across the entire land. That wasn’t a forest. It was the Black Army.
Miro peered forward. He could make out the haze of dirigibles in the air. There must have been a quarter of a million men, maybe more. "Are you sure? A better knowledge of their numbers would be invaluable."
The pilot simply tilted his neck, revealing a deep scorch mark. "The elementalists. They’re with them now."
Miro held the man’s gaze. "I understand."
He took as best a gauge of the distance as he could. Their numbers would slow them down, but he knew this enemy well. They had pushed him across half of Halaran, from east of Ralanast all the way to Mornhaven, and now they had pushed him here.
Two days was the upper limit.
"We can return now, Pilot Varoun. Thank you."
"My pleasure, sir."
Miro fought to keep his face impassive. They were out of time.
59
And the Lord of the Sky said, ‘Anyone who thinks the sky is the limit, has limited imagination.’
— The Evermen Cycles, 14-14
KILLIAN slipped past the templar. He was so close that he held his breath, afraid the sense of it would reach the man.
"What is that?" the templar suddenly said. Killian didn’t slow. He dropped and rolled, straightening behind a column.
"Did you feel it too?" another warrior said.
It wasn’t the first time. Somehow the templars were able to sense him. He knew he had to keep absolutely silent.
The harvesting plant was just ahead. Killian’s eyes followed the height of the great machine. Evrin had said this was where they brought the lignite ore. The priests said the harvesting plant was a relic of the Evermen, a sanctified gift to the people of Merralya.
Killian saw an awesome construction, made of the same strange metal as the Lexicons. It was covered with runes, and glowed with an array of colours. Pipes and vats whistled and bubbled. Steam suddenly shot out in a great hissing cloud. As Killian drew closer he could see the intake, a massive doorway the size of a house.
The instinct that had seen Killian survive the streets of Salvation on his wits alone, suddenly told him to drop. As he hit the floor, a sword whistled over his head. The templar swung overhead at Killian’s body; Killian rolled. The man swung again; this time Killian wasn’t quick enough. He vainly raised his arm in front of his face in protection. The sword crashed into his arm, bouncing off it like stone. The templar howled.
"What is it?" a voice called.
"It’s here, there’s something here!"