Glenda Larke - Stormlord rising

Ahead a wounded packpede with a spear thrust into one of its eyes thrashed around in a frenzy of pain, attacking anything in sight. She took one look and retreated again. She knew she had built up a little more power after eating, but she was loath to use it on a pede. She wanted something in reserve for emergencies.

Just then, the nature of the fight changed. At first she wasn't sure what had happened. Someone shouted, but she didn't catch the words. A cry went up, a mix of victorious elation and wails of despair. It was followed by the rhythmic thump of a bullroarer. A heartbeat later, every Reduner seemed to be moving.

She paused, trying to make sense of it, hesitating about which way she should run. The Reduners were congregating in front of the cavern, cutting off her retreat in that direction; in front of her the maddened packpede had just impaled a Reduner with a mandible and now, crazed with pain, it was tossing him into the air. When it flung the body aside and lumbered in her direction, she turned to flee.

And came up against the body of a myriapede, deliberately pulled in front of her.

The driver was Ravard. Quietly he gave the order for the other six or seven Reduners on the rear to kill the wounded pede. One of them stood and launched a spear into the beast's other eye. It reared, lashing its feelers through the air.

Ryka backed up against the cliff side. Carefully she sent her power to tease water out of the cistern. A single ball of water might be enough to confuse Ravard at a crucial moment…

"Get up on the pede," he told her. "We're leaving."

She cursed silently, every foul word she could remember. If she'd stayed in the cavern, she would have been safe. You withering sand-brain, Ryka. You should have had more faith in Jasper.

"You may be, but I'm not," she told him levelly. "I'm staying here, with my own people."

"Get up, or I'll haul you up."

"Ravard, go away. You don't want a reluctant woman in your bed, or another man's child. You are young yet, and there are other women out there. Just leave me be."

"I am the sandmaster now," he said. "You'll be my wife, and your sons will rule if they are water sensitive, I swear it. You're worthy of being a sandmaster's consort."

"I haven't the faintest wish to be a sandmaster's anything! And you, sure as the sands are hot, don't want me in your encampment. You wilted idiot-I'd kill your warriors given half the chance, and dance on their bleeding graves!" The ball of water was in the air above him now; she resisted the temptation to look up. Instead, she glanced around to assess the surroundings.

And stared, appalled. The man sent to kill the packpede had only made things worse. The now blind animal took a flying leap and hit the cliff beside her head on. The force of its charge, the weight behind that leap, broke its head open, spraying liquids and chitinous pieces into the air. And its great body, towering over her, began to topple in her direction. She released her hold on the water and turned to run, knowing she was too late to escape. It was huge, several times larger than any myriapede. It would crush her, and Khedrim as well, as if they were made of paper.

Ravard was showered with water. He didn't appear to notice. With one fluid movement, he leaned down and grabbed her arm. He swung her upward, her upper arm clamped tight in his grip, yanking her away from danger. The Reduner behind him on the myriapede reached out to help him take her weight and drag her onto the back of their mount. Terrified for Khedrim, she clutched him to her breast with one hand and let it happen, even as her shoulder was wrenched and her body bruised.

Their pede was already moving, itself panicked. The falling packpede crashed into it. The myriapede keened its distress and bolted, but not before several more Reduners had leaped to take hold of mounting slots on the other side.

Ravard yelled for one of them to take the reins and drive. He himself pulled Ryka up into his arms and placed her in front of him on the second segment, his arms wrapped around her and the baby to stop her from falling. Khedrim screamed and screamed, his little body tense with instinctive terror. Ryka sobbed, ripped through with pain, her shoulder shrieking, her stomach cramping.

Oh, pedeshit, she thought, aware of the blood between her legs. This is not good. She bent her head over the baby and tried to soothe him, but he would not stop. Ravard was yelling, ordering his men to put as much distance between them and the Scarpen forces as they could before nightfall.

The pede was already in fast mode, feet whirring as it churned through sand and over rocks on its way down the gully. All around them there were other pedes, each packed with warriors. They plunged down the drywash in bucking lines, as frantic as a stampeding wild meddle. It wasn't yet dark, but the light was fading. Neither the beasts nor their drivers hesitated or curbed the headlong rush to escape. The animals jostled one another, feelers swinging, mandibles clicking, segments brushing the boulders. Wounded men fell and were left behind.

Ryka, thrown from side to side, lurching backward and forward, was in constant pain. She couldn't believe this was happening. After all she had gone through to escape, and now she was retracing the ride that had cost her so much to make. She was being returned to slavery.

And she could not stop Khedrim crying. She touched his face in concern. Two days old, and what had he known but war and confusion? I am so sorry, little one. You chose one sandblasted awful time to be born. And when I meet Kaneth again, I'll kill him, I swear. And this great hulking lout Ravard as well, I promise.

Then she thought of a world where Kaneth was dead, and her heart sank within her. Why had she seen no sign of him in the fighting? Nor of Elmar? In fact, none of the other escaped slaves. Where did they go?

Kaneth had to be alive. Somewhere. Later, much later, she was aware of being lifted down from the pede. Every bone, every joint, every muscle screamed with pain. At least Khedrim had finally fallen asleep, more from exhaustion than anything else.

Someone folded a blanket several times and placed it on the ground for her to lie down. It was dark and bitterly cold, and when she shivered, several cloaks were thrown over her. Under their cover she drew out the cloths between her legs and discarded them. They were saturated. She tore some pieces off the blanket and used them instead. Khedrim whimpered unhappily, so she fed him. Someone handed her some water and she drank deeply.

At least there was plenty of water; they were following the Qanatend tunnel and the men had broken into it through a maintenance shaft. What would once have assailed her rainlord's soul, she now regarded with gratitude. She knew if she was dehydrated, she would have no milk for Khedrim. A little later Ravard appeared and gave her a handful of dried bab fruit. She took them wordlessly, ate every one and asked him, coldly, for more. He gave her his share. She took them without a word of thanks. Afterward she slept.

They had left sentries behind, and when no one came after them, they stayed where they were until the sky started to lighten in the morning. Ryka felt a little better when she awoke, glad to find her bleeding had lessened. She rose, wondering if she should escape now or later. When she reached for her powers, though, she realized her weakness. She could move water, but doubted she could kill in the rainlord fashion. Now was not the time to rebel.

Listening to the conversation of those around her, she gathered they intended to stay in Qanatend for a few days to rest the pedes and give the wounded a chance to recover. If the Scarpermen came, well, they would fight there. And win.

She had to eat well and rest herself so her powers would return. Soon, she told Khedrim in a whisper into his ear, soon they will learn what it is to cross a rainlord. She was fed up with being constrained by circumstances. Her rage was growing by the moment and it was all she could do to stay quiescent when Ravard approached her with his peace offerings-a water skin, something to eat scrounged from the little they had.