Page 366 of Of Empires and Dust
The threads of Fire, Earth, and Spirit wound about the thread of Air and all four pushed together. The vortex of ash collapsed in on itself, compressing into a tiny shape no bigger than the tip of Rist’s pinky finger.
A low thrum sounded in Rist’s head as the Spark pulsed from Azrim, and the small shape glowed white hot, the heat causing Rist to lean away.
After a moment, Azrim reached down and wrapped the floating ball of ash in his palm, the heat still bristling at Rist’s skin. He squeezed his hand into a fist, and when he opened it, a small black diamond sat in the Chosen’s palm.
Without a word, Azrim extended his hand and offered the diamond to Rist.
Rist took it into his hand and stared at the gleaming glass-like stone. He had seen a diamond once before, when a merchant’s wife had passed through Milltown on the way to Skyfell. That one had been entirely transparent and reflected light in a multitude of colours. It had been fascinating.
The one Rist held in his palm was different. It was completely opaque and almost seemed to absorb the light instead of reflecting it.
Rist closed his fingers around the black diamond. “Thank you.”
Azrim stood, continuing to stare down at the ashes.
“Rist.” Rist turned at the sound of Garramon’s voice. The Healers that had survived the dragonfire had seen to the burns on the man’s face, but – despite many protestations – Garramon had insisted they leave the scars.
In general, Rist agreed with Garramon’s belief that scars were reminders of the pain a person endured, that they should be left to never forget the darkness that had been overcome. But in this case, Rist most certainly would have let the Healers do their work. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that it had been Calen who had caused that pain.
Despite calling his name, it wasn’t Rist that Garramon was looking at. He stared directly at Azrim, his body tense, his hand resting on his sword pommel.
“The Saviour’s light upon you, Brother Garramon.” Azrim smiled from ear to ear in a way that sent a chill down Rist’s spine, then strode away.
Garramon stared after him for a few moments. “Did you find him?”
Rist nodded, looking down at Trusil’s remains. He held out the black diamond in his palm.
Garramon smiled, nodding softly. “Come,” he said, gesturing to Neera as well. “We can’t fall behind the main body. Without the wagons, the march will be faster, but food will be more scarce. They’re not going to hold anything for us, not after a battle like that.”
“How’s Magnus?” Rist asked, slipping the black diamond into his pocket and keeping his hand there.
“Better, but still weak.” A silence held for a few moments as they walked, the main body of the army – or at least, what was left of it – marching ahead. “Was that what you saw in your Trial of Will?”
Rist squeezed the diamond. “Is the trial a vision of the future?”
“I already told you, Rist. I don’t know.”
“No, you told me that some believe it is a warning from Efialtír of what will happen if we fail.”
Garramon only grunted.
“Is that what you believe?”
“It is.” Garramon stared off into the distance, his jaw clenching.
“What did you see in the well?”
Garramon drew a long breath and let it out in a sigh. “I saw my son. I saw Malyn. I killed him.”
Before Rist could ask another question, Neera shuffled into the space on his left and gently squeezed his hand.
As they reached the tail of the army, Garramon dug his hand into his coat pocket and produced three carrots, each bearing scars and wounds of their own. “Most of the food got burned,” he said with a weak smile, handing a carrot each to Rist and Neera. “These were the best I could get.”
Rist opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t find words.
“To Trusil,” Garramon said, tapping the chopped end of his carrot against Rist’s and then Neera’s. He gave a soft mock neigh, which made Neera laugh, then he bit the end off and crunched.
Rist mimicked the gesture. “To Trusil.”
