Page 174 of Of Empires and Dust

“No… I just… I guess I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

“That’s part of the dichotomy of war – and before you say it, yes, that is a fancy word, and no, I didn’t read it in a book. Anila liked to use it. I always find I use fancier words when I’m drunk anyway. Where was I? Yes. That’s part of thedichotomyof war. While we’re out there dying, they’re in here drinking. Because that’s what we’re fighting for – their freedom to get drunk and smoke tabbac while fondling each other against the wall of a butcher shop.”

Rist snorted laughing, then choked as mead spurted from his nostrils. “I don’t think we’re fighting for that specifically.”

“I am,” Magnus said with yet another shrug.

Rist pulled Magnus to the side of the street as a cart rolled past, bouncing on the cobbles, drawn by a single black horse. Somewhere off in the city, a dog barked, answered by another, and then another, until it sounded as though all Berona was singing.

“Garramon’s been working you pretty hard then?”

Rist nodded, his shoulders and legs still aching from earlier that day, his body enduringly weary from the drain of drawing so heavily on the Spark. “We’ve been channelling.”

“Ah, that shit hurts. Pulling as much of the Spark into your body as you can without tearing yourself to pieces – all just for what? To see how much you can hold? To make yourself that little bit stronger? No. Seems impractical to me. I gather he’s testing to see if you could be an Arcarian?”

Rist stopped dead. “How did you know?”

“The Arcarians aren’t a secret, lad. Most of them are just dead, killed each other in the war – the Great War. Garramon went through the same training when he was preparing. I contemplated it but never bothered in the end. Risk killing myself or burning the Spark from my veins just so I have the right to get an obnoxiously large tattoo on my back and call myself an Arcarian like some twat? Sorry, you’re not a twat – much. And Garramon’s back and forth depending on the day. But no, thank you, I’m happy where I am. I’m an Exarch of the Imperial Battlemages. I defend my people, I drink what I want, I eat what I want, and there’s only a handful of people in this world who can tell me what to do. Honestly, I don’t know what they were thinking giving me so much freedom. Actually, hold on.” Magnus rooted through his satchel and produced a half loaf of bread, split in the middle and stuffed with thick cheese and chunks of ham. “Garramon asked me to give this to you. Told me to make sure you eat it. Makes sense why now.”

Rist’s stomach turned a little at the thought of more food. But then something occurred to him. “Did he give you half a loaf or a full loaf?”

“Full loaf.” Magnus gave a broad smile, teeth visible through his thick black beard. He knew full well what Rist was asking.

Rist narrowed his eyes.

“Taxes, lad, they’ll be death of us all.”

It wasn’t the joke that made Rist laugh, it was how straight Magnus kept his face while telling it. He took the bread from Magnus, shaking his head, then stuffed it into his mouth and took a bite worthy of a bear. “That’s not bad at all, actually,” he said, choking the mouthful down. “A bit dry but?—”

An enormous explosion cut Rist short, booming like a clap of thunder, and the night erupted in an orange blaze.

The light receded and was followed by shrieks and screams and the ringing of bells.

“What the fuck was that?” Magnus looked up at the sky, where a column of smoke billowed.

Before Rist could answer, a second explosion sounded, closer than the first. Rist could tell by the tremble in the ground beneath his feet and the shiver of the Spark that ran down his spine.

“Did you feel that?” Rist stared off in the direction of the second explosion, still feeling the lingering touch of the Spark.

“Feel what? The shaking?” Magnus turned and grabbed a sprinting soldier by the chest. “What’s happened?”

The man looked as though he were going to launch Magnus to the ground until his eyes fell on the silver trim of Magnus’s black cloak, widening in realisation. “Exarch,” he said, visibly standing straighter and trying to control his panting. “I don’t know. I was patrolling the plaza when I heard the explosion. The southeast wall is on fire. So too the southwest and?—”

A third explosion roared, further away, the sky now tinged with blazing oranges and reds.

“We’re under attack,” the soldier stammered.

“No fucking shit.” Magnus released him, shaking his head in disbelief. “Unless you’ve any further useless insights, get to the fucking wall.”

The man sprinted away, looking more than relieved to escape the situation.

“We need to get to the barracks.” Magnus stuffed the skin back into his satchel, then snatched the bread from Rist and stowed it. “We might be hungry later.”

“Who do you think it is?”

“Maybe the elves weren’t satisfied with just Catagan.”

A fourth explosion sounded, and Rist’s heart stopped. “That was the north wall.”

---