The bombs began to rain down, heavier now, like a deadly storm. Blood sprayed, limbs were ripped free of their owners’ bodies.
The soldiers began to break ranks; Miro didn’t blame them. It was murder, pure and simple. He was infinitely glad for his armoursilk. The murmuring of the bladesingers continued steadily.
"Hold, Skylord scratch you! Hold, I said!" the officers yelled.
A small group of soldiers buckled, and left the column, running like the wind. Miro knew one moment more and it would be a rout.
"Someone run this over to the mortar team!" an officer yelled nearby. He held a basket of small, rune-covered orbs.
Miro knew he probably stood a much greater chance than an ordinary soldier of making it. He also knew he was probably the fastest runner. The soldiers were all weighed down with their clumsy armour.
Without giving it further thought, Miro changed his song. The runes on his armoursilk changed colour; the way they pulsed became more of a shimmer. He had kept some of the protective strength but added a large degree of agility.
He met the officer’s gaze and took the basket. "Where?" he said.
"Near the enchanters. Behind us."
Miro didn’t look for approval. Bladesingers weren’t soldiers, they were weapons.
He leapt up and began to run alongside the column, the large basket held awkwardly at his side, clutched in one arm, impeding his progress. His heart pumped, his breath deepened.
Miro saw sights along the way that he knew would stay with him forever. A cook’s assistant, her face torn away. A group of legless soldiers all writhing together, trying in vain to staunch the flow of blood. The youth of his homeland, dying.
Miro ran like he had never run before.
The enchanters were recognisable by their flowing green silk, standing out amongst the soldiers like flowers in mud.
Miro saw them well before he reached them. He looked for the mortar teams but couldn’t see them.
Miro ducked when a dirigible buzzed low above his head. He saw a bomb drop, scoring a direct hit on the soldiers below. In the same instant, an enterprising soldier with a strong arm threw up a prismatic orb. Miro braced himself. He was too close!
The twin explosions threw Miro to the ground. Both the dirigible and the soldier were destroyed by the blast. There was nothing left but soot and charred earth.
Miro picked himself up and looked around. His basket was upturned, the orbs scattered about.
He began to gather them, ignoring the chaos around him.
A soldier joined him in gathering the orbs, then another, wordlessly handed him the heavy objects. Soon the bucket was full.
"Thank you," Miro said.
"Go with speed, bladesinger," one of the soldiers said, nodding.
Miro touched his fingers to his lips and, balancing the basket on his side, he ran on, feeling a pain in his side but ignoring it.
Miro finally reached the enchanters. They were standing in a terrified bunch; there was nothing they could do here, enchantment took time and care. "Where are the mortar teams?" he panted.
An officer grabbed him from behind. "Lord of the Sky, the orbs, here they are! Where are the rest of them?"
"The rest?"
"We need more! Many more!"
Miro’s breathing was laboured. He yelled above the din. "I don’t know why, they’re closer to the front. An officer there gave these to me."
"Just get more!"
The officer took the basket from his hands. Miro, turning, felt a grip on his arm. "Bladesinger?"
"Yes?"
"Your song."
Miro realised his armoursilk had grown limp, the runes faded. His heart thudded as he thought about how close he’d come to the explosions.
"Thank you."
On the run back, Miro learned something. He learned that if running with a basket was hard, running while exhaustedly chanting a series of complex runes was very, very hard.
"Lord of the Sky, are you all right?" Ronell said.
"More," Miro panted. "We need more. Orbs. For the mortars. Help."
Ronell and Bartolo looked at each other. "Where do we find them?"
It became a nightmare of running and barely-missed explosions. Miro chanted as he ran, the glowing armoursilk saving his life more than once, the other two recruits following his lead.
Then he felt the atmosphere change as the Alturans began to fight back.
Great bursts of flame flared against the sky, again and again. A dirigible went up in flames, still in the air, its occupants screaming.
The Alturans cheered.
As the orbs found their way to the mortar teams the frequency of the explosions in the sky increased. Soon two more dirigibles were down, and another partly destroyed, fleeing as smoke poured from its cabin. The remaining pilots decided they had taken their best shots — and fled.
~
THE army struggled to pull itself together. They had lost thousands of men, workers, and valuable supplies. The question on everyone’s lips was the same — how had this happened?