Five strides, and he forced the bundled cords from his grip. With a whispering swish the clusters were gone, and he yanked back hard on the kite’s handle, trying to arrest his dive. The little bundles of oblongs fell away faster than he did, the kite’s descent slowing momentarily as the huge engine beneath him began to fill the world. He was still moving forward, still dropping, but no longer plunging.

Something whiffled past his ear, and the side of his head felt suddenly hot. Above him, something tore a rent through the fabric of the kite’s wing, and he felt it give to one side. He had dropped within crossbow range. Another missile followed the first, ripping through the upper tier, splintering wood. Chel felt one side of the handle go slack.

Behind and beneath him, the last of his clusters crunched against the massive body of the siege engine. He felt, rather than heard, the whoomph of ignition, then the cries that echoed around him took on a different pitch. He saw the growing light from behind him reflected by the barren flanks of the mountains in front, then it all happened at once. A blast of heat hit him at the same time as a head-splitting wall of sound and force, and the kite bucked and swirled, this time with enough force to throw him up and over. Tangled in his strapping, he could only watch as explosions ripped through the line of engines, each setting its flames upon the next, even as their panicking operators tried to haul them away before they went. As the blasts lit the plateau, they abandoned their task, fleeing for safety as flaming debris tore through the air. A chunk of something hit the kite, smashing through its upper tier, and Chel saw the desolate ground approaching with gathering speed.

The kite hit first, its impact softened by a combination of the wind’s return and the sudden impromptu thermals generated by the blazing engines. Even smashed and ruined, Chel could still force enough lift from the whirling construction to give himself the chance to cut free. As it collapsed, smouldering, into the hillside, Chel bounced into the scrub, feeling every thump of its prickly embrace as he rolled, arms over his head and screaming.

It took him several minutes in the infernal, smog-choked aftermath to become certain that he was still alive. At least the feeling had begun to return to his fingers, albeit in an entirely unwelcome way. His entire body felt grated, knees and knuckles skinned, and sticky blood crept hot over one ear. His damaged shoulder lurked beneath it all, simmering, vengeful.