Page 175 of Of Empires and Dust

Magnus looked into Rist’s eyes with a raised eyebrow, signalling for him to elaborate.

“Neera is on watch tonight. She’s stationed on the north wall.”

By the timeRist and Magnus were anywhere near the north wall, the city was in absolute pandemonium, bells and horns sounding endlessly. Screams rang out all about the city, and the harsh ring of colliding steel drifted down the occasional alley.

They didn’t stop.

A man vaulted from a side street, almost knocking Rist to the ground.

“Sorry,” he said, holding his palms up for a moment, frantic, a wrap of dark cloth covering his face. “I didn’t mean to…” His expression shifted, and he must have realised who Rist and Magnus were because a flicker of steel flashed low, and it was only by luck that Rist caught the man’s forearm before the blade was firmly lodged in his side.

Rist lifted his gaze from the knife to the man’s eyes that stared back at him, more fear than hatred or anger. He held that gaze for a fraction of a second before Magnus slammed his fist into the side of the man’s head with acrunch.

The man dropped to the ground, motionless.

Rist stood there, still a bit in shock, the mead slowing his mind, while Magnus dropped on top of the limp man.

Magnus pulled the cloth from around the man’s face, grabbing his cheeks and turning his head left and right.

“Not elves, lad. Rebels,” he growled, rooting through the man’s pockets for anything that might be of use. The man grunted and twisted beneath Magnus. The Exarch grabbed the knife that now lay on the ground and rammed it into the man’s neck without a second’s hesitation, pulling it free in the same motion and getting to his feet.

Rist stared down at the body.

“What?” Magnus gave Rist a pointed look. “He was literally about to do the same thing to you. Come on, we don’t know how many of these bastards are out tonight or what else they’ve got planned.”

Rist could see the flames through the buildings, bright and raging. But it was only when they drew closer and emerged into the open street that fronted the base of the walls that he realised the full extent of the attack.

The northern gatehouse was entirely consumed by a raging inferno. The flames spread for at least a hundred feet across the walls in both directions, devouring two watch towers that lay in their path. Sections of the stone had been completely broken free from the gatehouse and towers, jutting into the ground through the cobbled stone and cultivated patches of grass.

Everywhere Rist looked, people were dragging bodies from the rubble and flames, soldiers and citizens alike; it mattered little.

Even more bodies were scattered across the street, broken and twisted in unnatural ways, bones protruding from torn flesh, blood and gore splattered across the stone. Some had died from the impact after being blown from the walls, others had been crushed beneath debris. Quite a number still burned, black and crackling in the flames.

“She’s all right, lad. Women are like cats, nine lives the lot of them.”

Magnus’s reassurance had little effect on Rist. Neera had been stationed here. He had no way of knowing whether she’d been in the gatehouse, on the walls, or on the towers. Logic dictated that she was likely dead. Rist cared little for logic at that specific moment in time.

Without much thought, he rushed forwards, leaving Magnus to chase after him. Rist turned over every body he could find, flames burning around him. His heart beat like a charging bull,stopping for a brief moment just before he turned over each body, relief flooding him when he saw a face he didn’t recognise. Some were burned or mangled beyond all realms of recognition. But none wore Neera’s armour.

Rist glanced over his shoulder to see Magnus following suit without question, dropping to one knee and holding the stump of his left hand to his chest while he flipped over bodies.

A woman screamed as Rist turned her over, her hair incinerated down to her scalp, the right side of her face bloody and smoking, flesh slopping. She wore no armour, only a tunic and a pair of charred trousers. Not a soldier, just someone walking the wrong street at the wrong time.

“It’s all right,” he said, swallowing, his breaths quick and sharp. He rubbed at her unburnt shoulder, trying to calm her – failing. She shrieked and groaned, turning to convulsions. Rist cried out. “Healer! We need a Healer!”

The only answers were more cries of the same. People screaming, others calling for help.

“Is it her?” Magnus dropped to the ground beside Rist, manoeuvring to get a look at the woman.

Rist shook his head. “No… but she needs help. She’s?—”

“She’s dead, Rist. She’s gone. We need to keep looking.”

Rist hadn’t noticed the woman go still in his arms. He laid her back down gently, closing her too-still eyes. With screams, shouts, and crackling fire still sounding all around him, he whispered, “Heraya watch over you.”

“And The Saviour take you into his light,” Magnus added, his voice softer than Rist had ever heard. That softness dissipated as he got to his feet, the light of the fires burning in his eyes. “This isn’t rebellion. This is butchery. Most of these people were just trying to get home.”

“Rist!”

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