Bane of a Nation

by A J Burns

  “All this time we’ve known each other, and I had never once realized you were such a food connoisseur.” Selath sat beside him. “When we were in Grofven, I tried the fish—as it was supposed to be spectacular—but I didn’t care for it. I think it tasted like feet.”

  “All Raurian meat taste like feet. What you need to do is go to Parven. Right next door to the bakery I got this at, there’s this Mesallian place that serves horse-meat. It sounds disgusting, but trust me on this. You loved the cashew butter; you’ll love this.”

  “Did you bring any with you?”

  “With me? It’d be spoiled by now.” Antin sighed. “I did bring some of their jerky with me, though. Would you like to try some of that?”

  “If you don’t mind.” Selath licked his lips.

  “Not at all. I’ll go check and be right back.”

  Epilogue

  A Dragoon

  Kron spun his horse around and addressed his men. “We’re almost there, my boys! I have never served with finer. I know what awaits us is horrifying, but we must push forward, boys, and break through the Mesallian fortifications. We will impale these scum and push on to the west!”

  Ardon cheered him on with the rest of the crowd. Kron spun back around, and his horse cantered to the edge of the ridge. The gunshots had ceased. Kron raised his hand, and Ardon knew it was only a matter of seconds before they sprung forward and over the ridge.

  We can do this, he thought, and he continued to think it, even as they were over the ridge and pounding their way to the Mesallian frontline, a thousand bullets being sent through at once. Projectiles struck them from above. Ardon was riding beside his chief. Fallen men were being trampled by the approaching horde.

  The Raurs were almost there, almost within an arm’s reach of the enemy, when the grapeshot began to be fired upon them. Men and horses plunged into the ground, ripped to pieces. The chief’s horse fell to a cluster of bullets, and Ardon’s fell a moment later. The chief grabbed a banner from a fallen comrade and charged at the enemy; he was only a mere yard away when a bullet separated an eye from its socket.

  Ardon saw the cannons being rotated, their trajectories aimed in his direction. He picked up a knife and hurled it at a Mesallian soldier. He turned his neck to see who was still behind him.