Page 81 of Of Empires and Dust

“Interesting.” The Primarch shifted forwards, swirling his wine in his cup. “You’ve read my works then?”

“I have, three times each.”

“Your thoughts?”

“Page one hundred and twelve ofA Study of Controlsaved my life at Ilnaen.”

Beside Rist, Garramon leaned back, smiling.

“May I ask why I’m here?” Rist pursed his lips as the words left his mouth. Here he was sitting with the Primarch, the emperor, and the Arbiter. Each one of them could have torn him to shreds before he’d even have the time to react. He was not supposed to be the one asking the questions, and that was something he was very aware of. But he’d never been good at not asking questions.

“As I said before, I can appreciate someone who speaks their mind. I had asked Garramon not to tell you until you were here.” The emperor nodded slowly, gesturing towards Andelar Touran.

The old Primarch sipped at his cup, then set it on the low table. “Have you heard of the Arcarians, Brother Havel?”

Rist scanned through his memories, flipping pages, reading lines. He stopped on page two hundred and seventy-nine of…Druids, a Magic Lost– surprisingly. “The Arcarians were a sect of elite Battlemages formed in the year three hundred and seven After Doom. Each possessed power far beyond that of their peers, and their abilities often spread throughout all affinities of The Order’s magii. By key historical accounts, there were nine founding members. They…”

Rist stopped when he realised Andelar Touran was staring at him open-mouthed. He glanced right to see Garramon smiling ear-to-ear.

Emperor Mortem just laughed, finishing the last of his wine. He laid the cup on the table and refilled it from a decanter. “You consume information like you do air. How many books have you read since being granted access to the library?”

“One hundred and twenty-seven.”

“Pages?”

“Forty-nine thousand and fifty-one.”

“How many statues are in the yard at the base of this tower?”

“Thirteen.”

“How many steps did you climb on the way here?”

“In total? Or divided by staircase?”

“Enough of this nonsense.” Andelar shook his head. “You have an impressive memory. But that won’t keep your head on your shoulders. On the field of battle, it is power that triumphs. It will do you no good to remember every place steel has pierced your hide.” He sat straight. “The Arcarians are legend. They are the most powerful mages to have ever walked the known world. Before the liberation, they numbered twelve. Now, only three still draw breath. A woman by the name of Verma Tallissair, may Efialtír burn her soul. Emperor Fane Mortem, the youngest to have ever been inducted. And lastly, Arbiter Garramon Kalinim.”

Now it was Rist’s turn to stare open-mouthed. Garramon looked back at him without expression.

“To be an Arcarian, Rist, is to control the very nature of the Spark, to be one with it, to understand how it flows and shifts. Arcarians are not forged, they are born. Just as a man can build his strength for a lifetime and never be capable of shifting a mountain, a mage born without the raw power necessary can never become an Arcarian.” Fane leaned forwards. “In the library in Al’Nasla, I told you that Garramon was insistent that you had the power to become a hero of legend, a mage who is written about for centuries to come – an Arcarian. Now, with theelves pushing deeper into our land and the rebels causing chaos across Epheria, it is time to find the truth in that claim. It is time to find out who you are.”

Rist opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He moved his gaze from Fane to Garramon and over to Andelar.

“If you choose to walk this path,” Fane continued, “I will have you know that it will be the most difficult thing you have ever done in your short life. You will feel pain the likes of which you could never have dreamt. You will work day and night. You will push yourself to the limits of your soul and then past them. Your bones will ache, and your very soul will feel as though it has been set on fire. This is not a decision to be made lightly. You must know that very few who walk this path become Arcarians. I can feel the strength within you, but in all cases this kind of power is like the roots of a tree. We do not know how deep it runs until we uncover it.”

“What happens to those who don’t succeed?”

“Many burn themselves out, some die… painfully.” Garramon sat straight. His expression darkened, his gaze cold and hard. “Listen to me. You do not need to do this, Rist. You have nothing to prove.”

Much like with Neera, Rist had grown to understand Garramon’s mannerisms and tone. Genuine fear saturated the man’s voice.

“If it is worth anything,” Andelar Touran said, languidly running his finger along the rim of his wine cup, “I do not believe you will survive. The testing alone kills the vast majority of candidates. That is why so few are selected…”

“What happens when I succeed?” Rist turned his gaze to Fane Mortem.

The man gave Rist a broad smile. “You will become one of the most powerful Spark wielders to have ever existed.”

Chapter 19

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