The Vale of Kings was a natural amphitheater, a vast basin of emerald grass ringed by jagged limestone peaks. Traditionally, it was where kings were crowned, today, it was where the kingdom was slated to bleed. Three armies, the Crown Prince's crimson banners, the Duke of Blackhawk's black-and-gold, and the Southern Marquis's azure lions, were currently funneling into the valley from three separate passes.
"They're moving into a 'Kill Zone' of their own making," Alaric shouted over the roar of the propane-style burner.
The balloon, a massive envelope of treated silk stitched by the Oakhaven seamstresses, groaned as it strained against its tethering ropes. The air inside, heated by a controlled mixture of sulfur and refined spirits, shimmered with invisible power.
"They're trapped in a 2D mindset, Arthur!" Elena yelled back, checking the pressure gauges on her brass Difference Engine. "They're looking at the horizon. They aren't looking up."
---
With a sharp crack of the release pins, the basket lurched. The ground, the monastery, and the terrified escort of Oakhaven pikemen dropped away. For the first time in this world's history, human eyes saw the curvature of the earth.
"Gods," Alaric whispered, gripping the wicker edge. "It's beautiful. And terrifyingly fragile."
"Don't get sentimental," Elena snapped, though her own knuckles were white. "The Southern Marquis is deploying his longbows. If they see us, we're a giant silk target. Hand me the Heliograph."
---
From two thousand feet up, the three armies looked like colored ants crawling toward a central point. Alaric could see the tactical disaster unfolding, the Crown Prince was overextending his center, unaware that the Duke's heavy cavalry was hidden in a treeline to his left.
"Give me the signal," Alaric said.
Elena adjusted the mirrors of the Heliograph, catching the midday sun and aiming the beam directly at the Crown Prince's command tent.
Flash-flash-dash...
S-T-O-P.
Down in the valley, the Prince's heralds looked up, shielding their eyes from the blinding, rhythmic light coming from the "heavens."
"Now, the 'Thunder-Tubes'," Alaric commanded.
He didn't fire at the men. He fired at the empty ground fifty yards in front of each army's vanguard. From the balloon, he dropped three "Aero-Bombs", iron casings packed with his most potent gunpowder, stabilized by lead fins.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
The explosions ripped through the silence of the Vale, sending plumes of dirt and fire into the air. The horses screamed, the lines broke, and five thousand men froze in primal terror. They looked up and saw it, a golden orb hanging in the sky, trailing the smoke of a god.
---
"Attention, Lords of the Realm!" Alaric's voice, amplified by a massive brass megaphone Elena had designed with acoustic baffles, rolled across the valley like thunder.
"The King is dead, but the Kingdom does not have to die with him! You are standing in a circle of fire. From this height, I can see every move you make before you make it. I have the fire of the sun and the voice of the mountain."
The three Princes, miles apart, were all looking at the same point in the sky.
"Retreat to the edge of the Vale!" Alaric commanded. "Send your emissaries to the Great Oak at the center. No swords. No armor. Only the quill. If a single arrow is fired, I will turn this Vale into an altar of ash."
---
As the balloon slowly drifted down toward the center of the valley, the "Dilemma" hit Alaric harder than the wind. He wasn't just an engineer anymore. He was a Deity by Proxy. He had used the "High Ground" to force a peace, but he had done it through the ultimate expression of superior force.
"They'll hate us for this, Elena," Alaric said as the basket touched the grass with a gentle thud.
"Good," she replied, stepping out and adjusting her ink-stained robes. "Hate is a much more stable foundation for a treaty than love. Now, let's go show them how to write a Constitution."
The three Princes were approaching the Great Oak, their faces a mask of fear and fury. They had come for a crown, they had found the Future.