Glenda Larke - Stormlord rising

She grinned and decided even her meager skills could do that much; it was easier than drying out ziggers or drawing water from men. She sent ball after ball of water into the battle area. Withering hells, she thought, why didn't we think of this during the battle for the Breccian waterhall? She knew the answer, even as she asked the question. After a lifetime of always saving water and never, ever wasting it, the idea of flinging it at someone was almost blasphemous. It had simply never occurred to them to do it, let alone that such a harmless tactic could be so effective.

Still, even throwing water around was tiring to her in her present state, especially as she had never been a particularly strong rainlord anyway. Fatigue soaked her, dragging at her limbs, miring her thoughts until they were almost incoherent. She slipped back into the smaller cave to check on Khedrim again. Her gaze softened as she cuddled him; it happened every time. Sunlord damn, what was happening to her? So absurd-she'd become as soft as a bowl of bab mash. Here she was, in the middle of a battle, wanting to smile at a baby or feel the tight grip he gave when she put her finger into his palm.

He was restless, so she fed him briefly and he soon dozed off once more. She forced herself to eat some more, pilfering bab fruit and dried apricots from the jars stored in the cave.

When she returned to the main cavern, she had an even better idea. Now that no one was looking, she grabbed up as many of the zigger cages as she could carry and held them one by one under the water of the cistern until the beetles inside had drowned. Then she returned them to where they had been stacked. Each cage had ten ziggers, so she'd disposed of several hundred beetles before she had to stop-or be caught doing it.

The battle had changed. The bullroarer was sounding and the Reduners were retreating in an orderly fashion toward the waterhall.

"Pedeshit," she muttered. "Now what?"

She hunkered down against the wall once more, still with her head and face wrapped in the cloth from the zigger cage. She could hear the sandmaster shouting, ordering the men to regroup in front of the cistern. And then Ravard's voice, yelling for the last of the unfed ziggers to be brought out. Hastily, she retreated to the store cave, but continued to peer around the corner. Anina was hiding behind the jars, begging her to do likewise.

Something crashed down on the ground, shearing the nose from a Reduner warrior on the way down. It was white and hard, but that was all Ryka could see. A heartbeat later, more white rock-like objects followed. Some shattered harmlessly on the ground, others felled men, even killing them. Pedes bolted for the waterhall, fighting men in their frantic fear to get under cover.

Blast, the place was going to get crowded. She dived for her hiding place behind the oil jars.

It was cramped sharing the space with Anina, and stuffy under the coverlet. And nerve-racking. They could not risk talking and had to sit still and in silence. There were soon men inside the alcove, helping themselves to water and food or resting while they spoke of the battle and how this one had died or that one had killed a rainlord. And all the time Ryka watched Khedrim for any sign he was going to choose to cry. He snuffled once or twice, a small sound drawing no attention, and slept on.

When you are older, I shall laugh about this with you, she thought, and tell you what a brave boy you were. She touched his cheek with her fingertip and added a moment later, Please let that be true.

They had no way to tell how much time had passed, but suddenly there was the sound of hurried movement, shouted orders from outside, followed by silence. She waited a while longer, then peeked over the top of the jars. The small cave was empty, and although she couldn't see anyone in the waterhall, she felt sure there were people there, crowding at the entrance. She could no longer feel the presence of the pedes, so she guessed they had pushed the beasts outside the better to accommodate themselves.

"I'm going out to see what's happening," she whispered to Anina.

The woman nodded, but her face was a portrait of a fear so deep-rooted, Ryka wondered if she could even speak. She patted her arm and left.

The waterhall was still crammed with warriors, but now they were only at the front, standing in rows, facing away from her. Preparing to advance, she assumed, as soon as they were given the order.

And then the picture splintered as though they had all entered the heart of the spindevil wind. A huge rope of water, twirling and howling, touched down in front of the cave to scatter men and zigger cages and pedes, shooting out slivers of white as it passed. One of these shot into the cavern and came to rest near Ryka's feet. She bent to touch it. It was ice. For a moment she crouched, unmoving, staggered by the thought anyone could do this. Outside, the sun, now low in the sky, was still hot; the land still burned with the heat of the day. How could it happen? She'd seen ice before; in the deep of the desert at night sometimes the dew froze, or the stopper in a dayjar iced up. But never in the heat of the day.

There was no time for thought. The wind and water entered the hall, blowing men before it like grass seeds in a gale. She turned and plunged back into their hiding place, drawing Anina and Khedrim into her arms, wrapping them all in the cloth and the coverlet. Khedrim started to wail in earnest, but that was the least of their worries. No one was in any condition to hear him or, if they did, to care.

Men crowded into the store cave again, screaming in terror and pain. Ice hit the walls over Ryka's head, shattering and sprinkling them with shards. The wind rocked the row of jars, and several of the empty ones smashed. Fortunately half of one of these broken vessels came flying through the air, only to wedge firmly between a full oil jar and the wall, forming a shelter protecting them from the worst of the other flying debris. Ryka dragged up some dregs of power and used it to ward off flying ice and water.

Anina sobbed endlessly, and Ryka could hardly blame her.

Jasper, she thought, if I ever get out of this alive, I will wring your neck for scaring me to death.

Just when she thought they might live through the stormlord's version of a spindevil wind, a ferocious gust made a man stagger into one of the oil jars, sending it reeling into another to create a chain reaction. Several jars smashed and suddenly there was bab oil everywhere.

Ryka leaped up, Khedrim clutched to her chest, to save him from being drenched in oil. She slipped almost immediately and sprawled, flinging herself onto her side to avoid crushing Khedrim. He woke in terror and immediately started bawling with surprising volume. And at that precise moment, the wind stopped. It didn't die away, it simply vanished. People began to pick themselves up off the floor. Into the sudden silence, Khedrim cried, the insistent squalling of an outraged newborn. Heads swung her way, disbelieving stares sought her out.

She scrambled up, horrified. The more she tried to quiet Khedrim, the louder he yelled. Someone came pushing through the crowd of armsmen, and Ryka found herself looking up at Ravard.

For a long moment he was speechless, with rage or surprise she couldn't tell. She stood, joggling Khedrim to quiet him, but he would not oblige. He was dripping with oil, and so was she.

"What the sandblasted withering shit are you doing here?" Ravard asked at last.

"Running away from the Red Quarter?" she suggested. "And having a baby."

He opened his mouth to say something else, but no words came out.

Outside, people were calling for him.

Finally he said through gritted teeth, "Stay here. I'll deal with you later." He turned and was gone.