Kallian - Storm's Approach

[Kilaana]

~ Year unknown, Athkatla


She awoke with a start.

Rain.

It was raining. Water from the sky that beat down mercilessly on the rooftops, gutters overflowing to tip miniscule rivers onto the cobblestone streets. The stink from the drainpipe was overwhelming, and the vomit that had piled in the corner - hers, she vaguely surmised, from the lingering taste of bile on her tongue.

All sense of time had faded. The last memory was of the pain in her arm. Probably a broken bone, for it was all she could focus on through the haze. It was only later that the realization came back to her during an attempt at reverie; the puddle of blood she had lain in was hers too. There was a wet spot in the leathers that covered her abdomen, but why and how, the reasons escaped her.

Hooves clopped past, throwing flickering shadows under the coachman's lantern. She pressed back further into the darkened crawlspace, the limpid eyes narrowed to slits. She released a sigh of relief when there was only the midnight rain again, but that peace was short lived.

There was a shout from somewhere to the south. A small regiment perhaps, judging by the number of voices and the commotion of booted feet on the wet stone. One on horseback, who was doing the shouting again. There was a sudden silence that made her freeze, and then with a heart-stopping crash, the destrier reared and stamped the wooden partitions that divided this space from the next to oblivion.

She had a moment to register the brilliant white light that shone like a lighthouse at sea from the knight's amulet, just before a new pain that surpassed the one in her arm blossomed from within the deep wound. Her instinct was to hiss a warning, much like a cornered cat does, but when the veil of shadows she reached for with bruised fingers snapped uselessly, it was all she could do to remain on her feet.

She drew her dagger from its poisoned sheath and aimed with her good arm for the steed's underbelly as its rider poised to strike.