To say that her skin was flush would be an understatement. With each bolt that she had called down from the sky, Airka had felt the surge of power and subsequent heat rush out from the spear, through her hands, and into her body. Charred blisters were forming on the upper haft of the spear.  She’d cast aside the closed helm, seeking the cool relief of the rain.

Steam rose from her skin.

It was only growing harder though as she drew down yet another sapphire bolt.  It fell amongst the heavy infantry of the Silvers.  Back from the front line.  Her attempt to avoid hurting her own soldiers, but despite the impressive sight the lines of the Aus Argentum continued to fight.  Such had been their response against each bolt Airka had called down.  They had advanced under the barrage of the storm, the lines simply closing and readjusting even as Airka called down one bolt of lightning after another on them.  When the Silver line had finally neared they’d surged forward and entered the implacable hand to hand fighting they were most known for.  Some part of her knew that she shouldn’t have been overly surprise.  These were soldiers trained to hold up to attacks but dragons.

As Airka took another shaky breath her mind turned to her troops.  She looked up and down the line of her fellow soldiers.  They were holding.  Standing firm and holding out as they waited for her to continue to batter the line of their enemy.  Even so, Airka could see the straining in the lines.  The growing pile of wounded, their line being pushed further up the hill as they gave up ground.

Straightening, she strained again and with another whip cracking lightning slammed into the Silver line.  For a moment her vision dimmed and Airka blinked, fighting the darkness of her fatigue and the fire burning inside of her.  Dimly she knew that the storm was was passing, could feel the power of the spear fading as easily as she could see the sky lightening.  Exhaling a hot breath she gasped in more of the cold air and drew down another bolt.  As it struck her vision faded again, and as it slowly returned Airka realized she had fallen to her knees.  A hand had reached out to her, was steadying her from falling all the way down.

The dint of the battle around her changed, Airka thought for a moment that her efforts was creating a rush in her ears but as she looked up and about her heart sank.  What remained of the irregulars had rallied.  She could see the mounted form of Odelipen shouting them on, riding at their rear like a rancher pushing cattle.  That renewed force slammed into the left flank of her army.  Where Wignot, Kara, and the others fought.  Even as she watched, even as she sought out her friends, Airka could see the weight of the irregular’s attack begin to roll back her line.

“No,” she uttered the hoarse whisper to herself and pushed to her feet.  She stumbled a step, but the hands nearby helped her and then moved as she pointed to the failing line, tried to speak around the fire in her throat.  The gesture was enough and their limited reserves began to move, several of them helping to carry her along.  She drew in another breath, called the lightning down to try and blunt the renewed charge but even the irregulars seemed emboldened by the unwavering commitment of the trained soldiers of the heavy infantry.  Even those that did break turned to see Odelipen, their General’s presence in his black armor enough to send them back to fighting the Provincials.

The line was coming apart when Airka arrived, unable to shout she did they only thing her mind could think of to rally her fellow soldiers.  She pushed forwarded.  In the captain’s armor, steam pillowing off her, the shard within the spearhead blinding in its grow.  It was enough.  Airka led the line back forward, and once more the Spear of Brokel tasted blood, this time giving a burning hiss as it punched easily through shield and armor of a Silver infantry and into the man beyond.

Just as her presence had rally her fellows, Airka’s presence, like a figure out of an old story, gave pause to the forces of Aus Argentum.  She felt the line reform around her, was aware for the moment that Wignot was beside her, standard of their regiment somehow in his hand as his other lashed out with his spear.  They fought and pushed, Airka side by side with Wig just as they had for the years before.  Nothing but the foes before them and their fellows beside them.

They were regaining ground, the blunting of the Silver’s momentum breaking something in their enemy.  Airka registered for a moment that the rain had stopped.  However then there came a shout and some searing heat lashed out at her before Airka was thrown to the ground.  Staring up at the light gray sky, hearing the cries around her, Airka tried to get her bearings.  First thing was to get back to her feet.  As tired as she was, she knew that on the ground in a battle was certain death.

She made to bury the spear in the ground, to push up on it.  Which was when she realized that the spear had been severed, its end smoldering, and nothing but its lower half remained in her hands.  She fought through dimming vision, looking for the relic of her ancestor.  More screams brought her gaze up and she saw the General.  Upon his horse he towered over her.  His dark armor stood in contrast against the light gray sky, but it was the blade in her hand that caught her attention.  Flames licked along its length, burning orange and reflecting in the Anesi’s polished armor like a parting the storm.

Briefly, Airka’s mind turned to wonder how the General had obtained such a blade.  The waste to give it to a man who no doubt often sat at the back of his army.  However, the blade was leveled at her and Airka’s mind realized her only hope now was to find Brokel’s spearhead.  She glanced about at the bodies and still struggling soldiers, looked up to see Odelipen angler his horse back towards her, readying to run her down.  The animal reared in the chaos but then begin to tear at the dirt and grass of the hill as it barred down on her.

Her form struggling to stay upright even with the adrenaline, bile rising in the throat as she saw the flaming blade move towards her, Airka glanced about again for the Brokel’s spear.

There she saw it.  It’s glow having dimmed as the the storm moved on.  Regardless, Odelipen was near and in her mind she knew she could not reach the relic before he would find her.  As she looked back to the Aenesi General, her mind fighting at her anger for the Silver Kingdom, at her sadness as not returning home, she thought she heard her name.

“Airka,” the shout of her name broke through the din just as the spear arched through the air and collided with Odelipen.  The hit threw the general off balance.  His horse bucked in the sudden confusion, and already an awkward sight mounted the General held no grace as his long-limb form fell to one side as the horse bolted in the other.  Airka looked to the spear’s thrower and found Wignot, only the standard now clutched in his hands, fighting through the swirling lines of battle to reach her.  A flash brought Airka’s gaze back, Odelipen had held onto his flaming sword and swung the brand now as the armored Aenesi fought to regain his footing and fend off those who tried to kill him while he was vulnerable.  

Airka turned about, desperate to reclaim Brokel’s spear as their weapon against the Aenesi’s sword.  She found its glow and forced his leaden legs to move towards it.  Someone charged towards her, one of the irregulars, and Airka swatted aside his overhand chop with her remaining half of the spear’s handle before cracking it over the man’s head.  It cleared the way to the spear and she scrambled the last few steps to reach it.  Her hand wrapped around the burning heat of the wood, felt it char her own skin but she refused to let go, reveled in even the dim power of the passing storm that flowed into her veins.

The rush faded as she turned though and took in the sight before her.

During her final struggle to reclaim Brokel’s spear, Wignot had pushed on towards the fallen Odelipen.  The Aenesi had fought his way to his knees in his heavy armor and Wignot had sprung on him.  The old corporal dented the black armor as he slammed the metal butt of the standard into the General’s chest.  Wig had landed a second blow, had knocked Odelipen back onto his back and was raising for a third when the General struck back.  His sword had sheared through the wooden shaft of the standard as easily as it had Airka’s spear haft but in the same move it had cut through Wignot’s legs.  The Provincial corporal had fallen and as Airka had turned with Brokel’s spear in hand she had watched as the Aenesi General, greatest representative of the oppression of Aus Argentum on the battlefield, had buried his sword in Wignot’s chest, and into the ground beyond.  Odelipen leveraged the blow to push back to his feet just as Airka had neared.

Rage and anguish burned inside her, far stronger than even at the height of the storm.  Her scream echoed like a whirlwind in her mind.  Odelipen tried to raise his sword but it had bit deep in its last kill, and could not be brought to bear by the General.  Thrusting out before her, Brokel’s spear punched into the Aenesi’s armor, drove itself home in the very dent Wig had made and then pushed beyond.  The spear bit into the Aenesi’s flesh and beyond her own scream Airka noted the General’s shout and then scream of pain.  When she looked up into his helm, at the dark face hidden, it wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t enough that Odelipen died in faceless glory.

It wasn’t enough that he could brought back for burial for what he had done here.

It wasn’t enough that there was yet more killing.

No, she would get enough this day.

In her hand the spear grew hot once more, rising to her fury.  The arcs of lightning began to run along the armor, burning away the black coat to reveal dull steel underneath.  She pushed harder, fed the spear more of the storm inside her, saw the helmet begin to glow red and rend, she stared as light flashed behind the helm even as it began to glow, consuming the flesh within as the metal of the armor melted away.

Even that was not enough.

Her scream became a roar, the center of a storm as lightning exploded outward.  There would not only be no Odelipen to find on the battlefield, there would no one here to remember his actions.  The lightning grew like a web, lashing out from Airka.  It arced around warring Provincials, shot through and cut down Silver irregular and heavy infantry.  Exploding the former, cooking the later in their armor.  It arced across the whole of the battlefield, lashing out down the entire line.  Even those who had moments to realize was what happening, those that broke and tried to flee the battlefield, were struck down.  A thousand burnt out bodies to make a story that the Dawn Queen and Dusk King would lose sleep over.

It stopped, passing with a cascade of thunder that rumbled to silence deeper than any calm after a storm.  Airka took a burning breath, felt the stillness of the battlefield, and then fell into darkness.