Warsinger by James Baldwin (most inspirational books TXT) 📗

fleeing toward the distant exit. At the end of the tunnel, we passed through a broken iron-barred gate and burst out into an underground loading station-turned-Battle Royale. Prisoners and guards brawled in violent knots, swords clashing against broken bottles, lead pipes, wooden clubs and shivs. Cutthroat screeched and shied back as a prisoner lurched out of the semi-darkness with a stolen scimitar, then screeched again, louder, as the ground bucked underneath our feet and sent our attacker and many others sprawling. Injured and desperate people broke away, running for the exit.

“Yah!” Karalti kicked Cutthroat in the ribs, spurring the hookwing forward.

“She does NOT like whatever's going on under here.” I held on as Cutthroat trampled the prisoner and lurched toward the entry gate at the other end of the unloading area.

“Nope. Me either.” Karalti shuddered beneath my hand. “This place is gonna collapse. I just hope we can get Suri out in time.”

It got darker and danker the closer we got to the Administration Wing. The rough tunnels made it hard to pinpoint where sounds were coming from. Cutthroat turned a corner, splashing into a flooding corridor, and then pulled up with a sharp squawk before colliding with a pack of guards battling prisoners. Over the clang and clash of swords, the ground began to rumble again. Three [Royal Prison Guards] whirled on us, scimitars flashing in the dim light.

“Yah!” Karalti urged the big hookwing on as I levelled my weapon like a lance from behind her. But before Cutthroat could even take a step, the wall in front of us exploded inward. A massive armored worm plunged through the hole and engulfed the brawlers with a mouth big enough to drive a jeep into.

“Jesus titty-fucking Christ!” I clamped an arm around Karalti’s waist, tensing to leap back, but the worm didn't even seem to notice us as it snaked on through, raining rock, sand, and wooden beams down over its semi-truck-sized body. There was a purple skull next to its health ring, meaning it was an extreme challenge versus my current level. Its tag read: [Sandworm Juvenile - Level 45].

The worm seemed to go on and on, until finally it vanished into its new burrow in a rain of dirt and stone shrapnel. The tunnel collapsed behind it, the wall sloughing off onto the floor in a pile of rubble.

“Woah.” Karalti pressed back against my chest. “That’s not good.”

I was gaping like a slack-jawed idiot. “Level 45? The Queen of the Sands is Level Forty-fucking-Five?!”

“I don't think that was the Queen of the Sands,” Karalti replied nervously. “It was a Juvenile. I think that was one of her kids.”

The guard station was abandoned, and it looked like there had been heavy fighting at the door. We had to dismount and lead Cutthroat through the scattered corpses and broken furniture. A twisting shaft led to a set of iron doors that looked like someone had used explosives to blow them open. Water poured from overhead, running across the ground in filthy streams.

“Cuh-CAW!” Cutthroat muscled past me, ducking through the sheet of water into the dimly lit hallway beyond. “Cuh-CAW!”

Dead guards and prisoners choked the corridor. Cutthroat began to drool from excitement, foaming at the corners of her mouth as we rounded a corner and almost ran right into a manned barricade made of broken stones, furniture, broken cell bars, and spears. The men and women defending it yelled and aimed a battery of makeshift weapons at us, from bricks to crossbows and matchlock rifles.

“Thambava!” a woman shouted at us.

I reined Cutthroat in hard. “Hold your fire! We’re-”

Before I could even attempt diplomacy, Cutthroat let out a raspy screech of joy and barreled forward at speed. “CU-CAW! CU-CAW”

“Cutthroat, you rotten piece of- ARRRGH!” Rifles and crossbows discharged, thwipping past. Karalti ducked. A quarrel struck my pauldron, denting it, while others hit Cutthroat and buried in her flesh. She didn’t seem to notice. Instead, the hookwing charged through the narrow entryway at a sprint, demolishing the rubble to either side and nearly tearing our legs off in the process.

“Eeeeek! Cutthroat! Stop!” Karalti hauled back until I was sure the rings would tear through the dinosaur’s tough hide, but Cutthroat was in full juggernaut mode. No matter how hard we pulled, she knocked people to either side, roaring at anyone who dared to get in her way, and careened around the corner of the tunnel into a guard station that had been converted into a field hospital. Injured people were spread out on blankets and cloaks on the ground in rows, some senseless, some moaning in agony. Stronger people were gathering them up in preparation to evacuate. And coordinating them all was the woman we had come here to find. Suri - tall, athletic, her red fly-away hair plastered to her dark face with sweat and dust - stood up in alarm as the biggest blackest hookwing bounded into the room and ran at her with her arms held wide.

I wrapped an arm around Karalti’s waist and braced. “Watch out watch out WATCH OUT-!”

The dinosaur collided with her with a ‘whump’ of feathers and flesh hitting armor. The impact rattled my teeth, but Suri had just enough time to brace before the short ton of squealing hookwing connected - and was strong enough that she actually kept her feet.

“Holy shit! Cutthroat!” Suri laughed as the dinosaur began to slobber all over her face, pushing her muzzle away and leaning her head back. “Hector! Karalti!”

“Suri!” Karalti let out a wordless cry of joy and vaulted to the ground. Suri laughed and caught her around the waist, and smooched the top of her head before looking up to see me. Her face relaxed, relief plain in her eyes and parted lips. Then she looked past me and scowled. I turned to see a wall of weapons bristling in the doorway, and the faces of terrified, uncertain people staring at the scene in mingled confusion and despair.

“Kaa’ji karu neka achha! Te sang’le lo’oka hey?” Suri called