71. The Dam Breaks (Dalanat)¶
The Vorkyrda swept her fiery scythe across the ranks of her enemy. The center of the Teshkasir was hot enough to vaporize flesh in an instant, melting armor and bone alike. Screams rose and fell on waves of heat as the base of the titanic whirlwind sucked up soldiers like pieces of straw, spitting out their charred bodies high above the battlefield to fall on the troops below. Some of her own soldiers inevitably got caught up in the attack, but it couldn’t be helped. Their sacrifice was a small price to pay for a better world.
She twisted her body, willing the Teshkasir to carve another path through the Cantereians. Lightning flared along the tower of roiling smoke as it fused the sand into a trail of black glass. The Tementeira had been foolish enough to take the bait, seduced by their numerical advantage. It seemed they were truly as blinded by their zeal as her own propaganda made them out to be.
As the carnage progressed, she sensed an odd resistance in the flowstream. The narrowing was gradual, subtle enough that she hadn’t noticed it at first. Her age was finally catching up to her. Inevitable, she supposed, but the timing was terribly inconvenient. She opened her mind wider, her annoyance pushing her past caution and discomfort, dilating her senses further than she’d ever dared. This was what she had been craving, the thrill of combat, the exhilaration of risk. She felt younger already.
Her first inkling of a problem was a slight pressure behind the eyes. For a brief moment the surge felt like arousal, as though each tiny hair on her skin was being tugged, then pulled, then yanked.
Concerned now, she tried to constrict the flow, but it was like trying to stop a flood with a cork. Information forced its way into her, a raw stream of sensation. Her vision swam and brightened, shimmering in jewel tones. Sound rushed in and out, warbling and vibrating. The noise grew to a roar, then dropped into silence, then roared again, but it wasn’t even sound, it was everything. Everything was roaring, pummeling her with a waterfall of perception.
Her vision was aflame, blotches of color shifting around her, shapes with no meaning. All was chaos. Had she been poisoned? Below her—or was it within her?—some kind of tall, dark shape halted and wavered, but she didn’t know what it was. It had been important, she was certain, but she had no connection to it anymore. She was untethered.
The fluttering swelled, her very skull resonating as though it would shake apart. She tried to scream, but only a strangled sound came out. She was drowning in flames, her blood boiling inside her skin. But it wasn’t even her body anymore, it was just an anchor tying her to this torment.
There was no end.
It had to end.
She had to end.
The Vorkyrda’s generals watched, aghast, as their commander stepped off the cliff, her loose black robe fluttering behind her. Her head connected with the rocks and bounced back with a crimson splash, her corpse flopping down the slope until it landed on a ledge and hung like a discarded rag.
The Sihiri crumpled in a slow wave from the center outward, like morning glories folding inward for the night, sliding from their trance straight into death. The Teshkasir collapsed more gradually. The curtain of smoke dissolved, the cyclone dispersing into smaller whirlwinds before guttering out into a smoldering pile.
With a mighty roar, the Tementeira charged.
Beta Readers: Click the that appears beside any paragraph to leave a comment. You're already signed in — no extra account needed.
Your comments are private — only you and the author can see them, and you can edit or delete them at any time.