John Marco - Starfinder

One way or another , thought Rendor as he gazed at Mount Oronor .

Finally, he turned away from the mountains and regarded his crew. Hand-picked, they had all known the odds the moment they’d come on board.

“Airmen,” he said, “we’re going straight at ’em. And if our guns don’t take them out, we’ve got a nasty surprise for them. We won’t be heroes and we won’t be martyrs. Unless and until it’s hopeless, we fight on.”

Old Donnar nodded. Young Stringfellow did the same. Bottling’s face turned hard like cement, and Gann held his breath. Rendor knew they were ready. Now, at last, he’d find out what a bullet could do to a Skylord.

“Commander Donnar,” he said, “make your speed fifteen knots.”

As she looked up at her distant grandfather, Fiona felt like she was stuck at the bottom of the world. For the first time ever , she wanted to be with him. Around her the centaurs formed their marching hordes, each one fifty strong and shaped like an arrowhead. Jorian himself stood in the middle of his warriors. Bow in hand, flanked by Kyros and Tyrin, he observed his brothers and sisters with a prideful gaze. Around his neck hung a horn of carved ivory. Seeing the Avatar depart, he put the horn to his lips and blew a loud and forceful call. The thousand centaurs clapped their hooves to the ground.

“Centaurs!” cried Jorian, raising both fists like a wrestler. “Pull our enemies from the sky! From this day on, let it be known that the Skylords are mortal!”

The cheers from the centaurs shredded the air. Fiona clutched the bow Jorian had made her, the one she had practiced with for days.

“I’m ready,” she declared. “Tell me where to go and I’ll follow.”

Jorian reached down, offering his powerful hand. “You ride with me, Little Queen.”

She looked at him, stunned. “You mean on you?”

He opened his palm insistently. Fiona grabbed hold, and Jorian tossed her onto his back. He shook his black mane, squaring his shoulders at the sensation of Fiona’s weight. Tyrin smiled but did not laugh. Old Kyros snorted. Fiona quickly pulled her bow over her shoulder, then wrapped her arms around Jorian’s torso. In all the world, Fiona knew, there was no safer place than on the mighty centaur’s back.

“Thank you, Jorian,” she whispered in his ear, then squeezed him with a little hug. The affection made the Chieftain bridle.

“Hold on to me tightly,” he warned. “When a centaur charges, even the mountains cower.”

From a tower on Mount Oronor, Artaios looked upon the rising sun, his heart filled with melancholy. The human airship was aloft now, the tiniest of dots on the horizon. Around him flew his army, culled from every corner of the Realm. Three enormous, hideous ogilorns floated out beyond the mountains, their soft, bloated bodies a sickening shade of pink. Skylords and Redeemers perched on the balconies and ridges of the fortress, and dark fairies fluttered like starlings across the dawn, released from their prison in the foundry, their tiny, needlelike swords swishing in their dainty fists.

Artaios gazed through the eyeslits in his helmet. The sun rose with the color of blood.

Ivokor’s armor wrapped his torso like a steel cage, holding together his fractured bones. Beneath his helmet his face burned with the scar Alisaundra had given him, and his eye stung with the damage, swollen and drooping. His right shoulder, dislocated, could barely wield his sword, and his right wing was fractured too, almost enough to keep him grounded. He was, he knew, lucky to be alive, and if Alisaundra had wanted to kill him she could have done so easily. But she did not. She had wanted to maim him, to destroy that part of him that was uniquely Skylord.

A figure dropped from the air behind him. General Rakuiss waited a moment before speaking. Artaios did not turn around. Even with the helmet to hide him, Artaios found facing anyone difficult.

“My lord? The airship…”

“I see it,” Artaios sighed. His gaze shifted toward the ship as it floated ever closer. Artaios rested his hand on his sword. “I haven’t the stomach for this, Rakuiss,” he confessed. “Centaurs aren’t dragons. This will be a slaughter. And the humans…”

“The humans have the Starfinder, my lord.” Rakuiss came closer, putting his lips to Artaios’ ear. “It’s your father’s wish, remember. End it here, before they come again.”

“It won’t end here, Rakuiss. Even if we kill them all, there will be others. They’ll keep on coming through the Reach, or we’ll go to their world to destroy them. And it will go on endlessly. Forever.”

Rakuiss put a hand a hand upon his wounded shoulder. “You are the Sword of Korace,” he reminded.

Artaios smiled. “Of course. And like a sword I will cut them down. I’ll make my father proud today, Rakuiss. After all, that’s what matters, right? My father’s pride?”

Rakuiss looked suspicious. “Yes, my lord. We must all remember that.”

“Rakuiss, how could I ever forget?”

He turned away from his general, took one last look at the rising sun, then lifted himself into the sky, his wounded wing and shoulder on fire with pain. One way or another, he would lead his army to victory. First, though, he would find the one called Skyhigh Coralin. That one, he decided, would be the first to die.

RENDOR WATCHED THROUGH the open bridge as a wave of feathers and scales rushed at them. He hunched over his chair, pulled a speaking tube to his lips, and waited for their chance to fire. One gigantic ogilorn had been unleashed against them, floating toward them and surrounded by Skylords and Redeemers. The small fairies with the tiny swords flocked like birds behind the ogilorn, urging it forward. A mass of tentacles reached across the sky, ready to grab the Avatar . The riflemen stationed on the bridge brought up their guns, choosing their marks.

“One good shot is all we’re going to get before they swarm us,” said Rendor into the tube. “Hold for my order.”

His voice echoed through the airship. In the nose and on the platforms, airmen trained their weapons on the monster. Past its many, outstretched arms, Rendor saw the creature’s toothy beak.

“Not yet…”

The Avatar continued forward, its engines whining. Rendor remembered the stories Merceron had told him, how the ogilorns were vicious but stupid. The thing came mindlessly toward them, proving Merceron’s theory.

“Hold…”

The sky ahead filled with flailing arms. The Skylords veered away, knowing what was coming.

“Fire!”

All at once a hundred fingers squeezed their triggers. The Avatar shook as the sky filled with lead and tracers. The ogilorn instantly drew back, screeching, its tentacles recoiling, sieved with bloody holes. On the bridge the crouching riflemen pulled their smoking bolts, loaded up new rounds, and fired again.

“Keep firing!” Rendor cried into the tube. He swiveled his chair toward Bottling. “All ahead! Keep after it!”

Bottling pushed the throttles and the Avatar lurched forward, hunting the wounded ogilorn. Skylords and Redeemers wheeled, arcing away from the deadly bullets.

Beneath the Avatar , the centaurs tilted a thousand arrows skyward. Sitting astride Jorian’s back, Fiona drew hard on her own bowstring, aiming toward the center of the swirling mass of Skylords. She had watched the Avatar open fire on the ogilorn, sending the creature retreating in a hail of gunfire. The Skylords and Redeemers spread out across the sky, massing to decend upon the valley. Fiery chariots wheeled high above the fray, drawn by cloud horses and carrying the Skylord generals.