Gil is thrown back from the blast, blinded and half-deaf, his hair sticking up and crackling with sparks.
With enormous effort, he pushes himself up to his knees. It takes his vision a few seconds to recover. Through the swimming spots of blurry light, he sees bodies lying sprawled on the bridge, their expressions locked in twisted agony.
Gil has never seen a dead body before. He leans over, still on his knees, and retches onto the cobblestones.
The surviving natives scream out in pain and horror, and stumble over the fallen as they flee. Behind him, the phalanx clanks closer, blocking the streets. He shakes his head, and dizzily staggers to his feet.
He can barely hear his own voice. The natives are in chaos now. Some of them have stayed behind to drag the still-spasming corpses away, creating bottlenecks for the others trying to flee. Others have taken to climbing over the bridge’s railing and throwing themselves in the canal below.
He falls to his knees again, too dizzy to stand.
He spots her. She’s following the natives’ lead, trying to climb up over the railing.
He waves at her with all his remaining strength, trying to get her to come back. It works—she pauses her climb—and then a second bolt of lightning hammers down from the Dividing Wall.
This one hits the canal. Gil can hear screaming from the natives below, dying in the lightning-laced water.
He tries to walk towards Kiddu, towards the railing.
Suddenly, rough hands seize him and throw him on the ground. A heavy foot pushes down on his back. An armored forearm presses against his face, pinning his cheek against the rough stone. More hands begin tying his hands in a tight knot behind him. He watches as row after row of sandled feet and greave-covered shins march past his face.