Ayesha tore off her veil and held it on high, flowing from her like
a pennon, and lo! upon her brow blazed that wide and mystic diadem of
light which once only I had seen before.
Denser and denser grew the rushing clouds above; brighter and brighter
gleamed the unearthly star of light beneath. Louder and louder beat the
sound of the falling hoofs of ten thousand horses. From the Mountain
peak behind us went up sudden sheets of flame; it spouted fire as a
whale spouts foam.
The scene was dreadful. In front, the towers of Kaloon lurid in a
monstrous sunset. Above, a gloom as of an eclipse. Around the darkling,
sunburnt plain. On it Atene's advancing army, and our rushing wedge of
horsemen destined, it would appear, to inevitable doom.
Ayesha let fall her rein. She tossed her arms, waving the torn, white
veil as though it were a signal cast to heaven.
Instantly from the churning jaws of the unholy night above belched a
blaze of answering flame, that also wavered like a rent and shaken veil
in the grasp of a black hand of cloud.
Then did Ayesha roll the thunder of her might upon the Children of
Kaloon. Then she called, and the Terror came, such as men had never seen
and perchance never more will see. Awful bursts of wind tore past us,
lifting the very stones and soil before them, and with the wind went
hail and level, hissing rain, made visible by the arrows of perpetual
lightnings that leapt downwards from the sky and upwards from the earth.
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