The Traveler in Red: Warlords of the Withered Land

Part Eighteen

Arvenall Dampiko had risen to his feet shakily, having to quickly reach out and grasp the remnants of a warped and broken terrace railing to support himself, his breath coming painfully in great draughts, as he surveyed the wreckage around him.  The balcony on which he’d stood was barely hanging on to the side of the squat building’s expansive wall and the stone was scorched black and partially melted from the powerful explosion that had rocked the area only moments ago.  One of his lieutenants lay lifeless on the stone surface next to his feet, his clothing seared, his flesh burnt and blackened.  Smoke still rose from off his cooked flesh.  The man had been electrocuted.

 Down below, on the necropolis’ floor, Dampiko saw several other bodies bearing the sign of lightning strikes.

 Lightning.  Lightning had done this.  Lightning guided by the mind and hand of someone who commanded the electrical valences within atomic bonds.  Power like that had been outlawed ages ago.  No one was allowed knowledge of that side of the dark science known as The Discipline.  Such power had turned simple academicians and thoughtful scientists into conquerors and tyrants and it had nearly resulted in the destruction of Teshiwahur’s primary continent.  All those who had possessed such knowledge had been hunted down and imprisoned, or, when possible, killed.

 Except for one.

 He watched, his eyes focusing through the vapor, smog and gloom on a female figure that rose from the ground some three stories below to hover in the air in front of him, her long lightning-staff clutched tightly in her fist.  The woman couldn’t exist.  She shouldn’t exist.

 Nygeia.

 The Warlord doubled over, surrendering to a series of hacking coughs, and then, with an effort, drew himself erect.  When he spoke, his voice was a hoarse rasp.

 “Why in the name of sanity would you choose to intrude into my affairs, witch?”

 “I didn’t.  It was just an odd sequence of events.  One thing led to another.  I had no idea any of this involved you,” she said.

 “So now you know,” he said.  “I have no quarrel with you.  I am fairly certain I have nothing you want.  There’s no need for this.  So you could, if you chose, simply go away.”

 Nygeia regarded Dampiko inscrutably.  After a long moment, she asked, “How many people have you killed today?”

 “What?”

 “How many?”

 “Why would you care?  Of what importance is it to you, Chaos-witch?”

 Nygeia’s eyes were hard and glittered in the dull light suffusing the ruins.  “Our people, our kingdom, has suffered disaster after disaster for cycle after cycle, seemingly without end, since long before you were old enough to carry a sword or fire a weapon.  Tyranny, slavery, greed and murder have long since replaced the carefully constructed rules of civilization we once, as a culture, imposed on the Land.  You have reaped great power from those awful and violent inequities…”

 “As have you, Daughter of the Pahrayah,” he rasped, “as have you!”

 “I have tried to atone for my sins,” she said, “and for the sins of my parentage.  I have rejected the destiny they created for me and have done what I can to end the horrors they perpetrated on the citizens of our world.  It doesn’t make things right, but it is a start…  What have you done?”

 “Survive,” Dampiko said.  “I have fought to survive, woman, and to take control of my destiny on a dying world that would destroy me like an insignificant insect.”