The hum of the energized six-sided shield was not a spark whine.
It was a deep, physical thrum that shook inside the chest cavity of every living creature across thirty leagues.
Sixty thousand feet above the northern plains of Haven-Hold, two hundred square miles of open sky glowed with a semi-clear, honeycomb pattern of sapphire light.
Inside the enclosed envelope, the howling wind shear of the upper troposphere vanished instantly.
The barometers on the bridge of High sky-One steadied at a steady, perfect one thousand and thirteen millibars.
Outside the sapphire membrane, the bruised void still bled black and violet cold into the upper reaches of the world.
Inside, the air was still, warm, and rich with the scent of pine needles and damp earth carried up from the valleys below.
Giles Croft stood at the bridge railing, his oilskin slouch hat pushed back on his head.
