Page 335 of Of Empires and Dust

The man looked back at Rist with a raised eyebrow.

“The soldiers who led the assault.”

“What of them?” Magnus asked.

“Did they know their only purpose was to die?”

“Fuck, lad. Do you ever ask a simple question?” Magnus frowned, then let out a long sigh. “Is this what bounces around in that head of yours when your lips aren’t moving?”

Rist looked down at the ground, then back at the soldiers who walked behind him, careful to keep his voice low. “They’re dead now. The assault would have begun a few hours ago. Surely, they had known their fate before they marched?”

Magnus puffed out his cheeks then ran his hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Aye. They are, The Saviour’s light upon them.”

“But… why?” It was something Rist couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

“A sense of honour,” he suggested, though his eyes betrayed him. “Or more likely wilful ignorance. War is death. There is no escaping it.”

“But why not wait? If we cut them off, eventually they will need food and supplies. We could take the outpost without any losses.” Even as Rist spoke, his mind travelled back to what he had seen in the camps outside Berona, of the sick and the injured and the hungry, and of how cruel and hopeless it had all felt. And there he was, suggesting they do the same, or worse, to the souls within that mountain.

“Time,” Magnus answered. “We have no idea what kind of stores they have in there, and we don’t have weeks or months to wait. The emperor wants this place dealt with so we can focus on the Uraks and the elves. So, we do what must be done.”

“But what?—”

“Quiet,” Garramon snapped in a hushed whisper.

“What is it?” As Magnus spoke, Rist heard something: the sound of dirt grinding beneath feet, of gently rustling leaves.

He barely had the time to take a breath before an arrow punched into Yoric’s eye and the man went tumbling down the cliffside. Shouts erupted behind him, more bodies falling.

Neera threw herself across Rist and shrouded them both in threads of Air, creating a physical ward around them.

Rist glanced to the side, only to see an arrow ricochet off her ward and lodge itself into Samala’s neck. The woman already had two in her leg and one in her chest, but her eyes rolled with the last one, and she collapsed, blood spilling from her open mouth. His heart raced as he stared into her dead, white eyes.

One of the other mages, Dremaine, was huddled behind a rock, an arrow jutting from just below his kneecap, soldiers both dead and alive all around him. And Rist thought he could see Yanda’s body, along with a few others, tangled in the gnarled roots of a tree that grew from the mountainside over the cliff edge. The rest of the mages had raised their shields of Air in time to avoid injury. But they had lost scores of soldiers.

“Bastards,” Magnus growled, threads of Air swirling around him. “Well, they know we’re here now, and it looks like this path definitely leads somewhere. Find cover and engage!”

The man spun on his heels and launched streaks of lightning towards a cliff edge that twisted about the one upon which they stood. The rocks exploded in a cloud of dust, and three rebels fell from the ledge, the path they had stood on collapsing with them.

Rist pulled Neera down to the closest patch of boulders and opened himself to the Spark.

“Where are they?” Kalder, a mage who had been with the army since Rist had first met Magnus, shouted from some fifty feet down the path, back pressed to a tree.

“A score on the higher ledge to the right,” Magnus answered. “More to the left, hiding in that bush. And a few more too, I’d guess. Rist, Neera, dragon’s maw on the upper ledge. Keep them down. Hopefully cook them for dinner. Kalder, Lakrin. You do the same to those in the bush. Garramon and I will pick off whoever escapes. The rest of you, keep your heads down!”

“What about me?” Dremaine called out from behind his rock, his fingers pressing down around the arrow in his knee.

“Oh, Dremaine, you’re alive? Great. Keep us from being killed, would you? On my mark. Three, two, one. Mark!”

Rist pulled threads of Fire and Air into his body, weaving them together as he rose from behind the rock. Neera followed him, her threads intertwining with his. He unleashed the threads, and a pillar of fire roared upwards to the ledge. Screams sounded, and blazing bodies plummeted into the open chasm below, bouncing off the cliffside as they fell. One body was impaled on a jagged peak, the rock bursting through his spine.

Rist stared down at the body, watching as the muscles and tendons snapped from the pressure and it ripped in half, both pieces tumbling out of sight. He did that. He killed that man, just as he had those people in Berona. And how many more would he kill before this day was over… in the name of what?

“Rist!” Neera grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I need you.”

Rist snapped his focus back, realising his threads of Fire and Air had all but faded and the surviving rebel soldiers were nocking arrows and loosing.

He plucked another thread of Air from his mind just in time to redirect a hail of arrows meant for Neera and himself. This time he made certain to send them down the mountainside, unable to stop himself glancing at Samala’s lifeless body, the arrow jutting from her neck.

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