Page 176 of Of Empires and Dust

Rist’s heart fluttered at the sound of Neera’s voice, and he turned to see her marching towards him through the flames, four soldiers at her back in red and black leathers. He pulled her into his arms. “You’re alive.”

“I was checking on a disturbance when the gatehouse exploded,” she said, pulling away, her hands lingering on his shoulders. “Came back to find it like this. We’ve been trying to pull the bodies from the rubble. There are just so many… They were Alamants, Rist.”

“What do you mean? Who were Alamants?” Magnus moved closer.

“The explosion. It was Alamants who caused it. I was close enough to feel the Spark. It was weak, but there was a group of them, a hundred at least, linked together. We caught some of them and other rebels trying to escape.”

“Alive?”

“Not anymore.”

“Bastards.” The muscles in Magnus’s face twitched, his fingers clenching into a fist. “Fane grants them amnesty, lets them roam unchecked, and this is what they do? They burn their own people? Set fire to the walls that keep their city safe? Void take the lot of them.”

Footfalls sounded as more soldiers flooded into the streets, mages with them. Healers scrambled to the injured, Craftsmages rushing to the crumbling sections of wall, the thrum of the Spark crackling in the air. The Battlemages sprinted to Magnus, who sent them scouring the streets for the rebels and Alamants.

“Kill them on sight,” he said, staring into the eyes of the Battlemage closest to him. “If you see them in a group, don’t think, act. Alone they are weak as children, but if they link…” He gestured towards the blazing walls. “Don’t let that happen again. The people of this city are ours to protect. Do you understand?”

“Yeh… yes, Exarch.”

“Supreme Commander Tambrel, have you seen her?”

“She took a contingent to the southeast wall, Exarch Offa.”

Magnus nodded, dismissing the man. As more soldiers arrived, he sent them to the walls to help pull the injured free and clear the bodies.

“What is the point of this?” Magnus muttered to himself, taking in the chaos.

“Does there need to be a point?” Neera asked. “These rebels just kill and burn. There’s nothing noble in what they do.”

“There’s always a point, Sister.” Magnus squinted through the flames, watching. “Always. I’ve seen enough rebellions to know. Their resources are limited. They won’t waste them for no reason. There is a ‘why’ here somewhere, we’ve just not seen it yet.”

The thrum of the Spark intensified, rippling in the air, power building. Rist looked about, searching for whatever had caused that surge. The Healers and Craftsmages were weaving threads over threads, pulling on each elemental strand, but they were not the source. Their power was steady and constant; this was shifting and building, clouded by the threads of the other mages.

“What is it?” Magnus grasped Rist’s shoulder, looking into his eyes. “Rist. You feel something. What is it?”

It was then Rist realised what was happening. He could see the threads of Fire, Spirit, and Air swirling about each other, growing dense, thick, welling into a sphere near the base of the gatehouse – where the mages worked and people were still pulling the injured from the rubble.

“No!” He leapt forwards, dragging threads of Spirit through him and launching them. But he was too late. A ripple of power swept through the air, followed by the crackle of lightning and then an explosion of Fire and Air.

The sound consumed everything, flames sweeping outwards like a tidal wave, debris crashing down everywhere.

Rist ignored it all and opened his mind as Garramon had been teaching him, feeling the power of the elemental strands. He grasped the strands of Fire, Air, and Spirit, unravelling them, channelling them through his body and into the world. He pulled so deep his own blood felt like fire in his veins, his skin like ice. He pushed the pain down and swirled the threads around himself, Neera, Magnus, and anyone within reach.

The sweeping flames poured over the shield – over the Sparkward – like waves crashing over a glass dome. Rist slammed his eyes shut as the fire turned the world to nothing but a bright burning light. The drain pulled at him the moment the flames hit, dragging the power from his bones to hold the ward in place. He could feel chunks of stone slamming against the barrier, shattering to a thousand pieces, sending tremors through his body.

As the flames faded and the pressure bearing down on Rist’s soul ebbed, the roar of the fire was replaced with an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of crackling and agonising groans.

Rist opened his eyes and drew weighted breaths, his brow slick with sweat. His arms hung heavy, shoulders slumped, but he still felt strong, far stronger than he would have if he’d tried that a few months ago.

The first thing Rist looked for was Neera. He found her at his right side, staring back at him, one hand resting on the pommel of her sword, the other on his shoulder. The briefest of smiles graced her lips before vanishing at the sight of what stood before them.

Everything was on fire. Corpses littered the ground, blazing, flesh and cloth crackling as it burned. The injured and the people who were pulling them free, the Healers, the Craftsmages, and everyone else who had come to aid: all dead. Here and there a survivor crawled beneath blocks of shattered stone that hadshielded them from the flames. But those were few and far between. They’d never stood a chance.

“That would have been us,” Magnus said, nodding to Rist. “I wasn’t quick enough. There’s an Arcarian in there somewhere, lad.”

Shouts sounded from all directions as people rushed from nearby buildings, sharp steel in their fists. The Spark pulsed from several of them, weak but still there.

“Aaagh. Come to clean up the stragglers.” A wicked smile stretched Magnus’s lips. The Spark surging from him as strands of red light ignited into life in his hand and took the form of a glowing blade. “Come to Magnus, you fucking rats.”

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