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‘Furies save us,’ Cal groaned.

Laughter on their lips, they raced through the Bloodwoods to the northern end of the fortress. Thankfully, Kipp knew where the training ground was, but that was where the joy ended.

The training ground was at the base of the black mountains, not just a clearing, but an arena where all could watch bloody victories and defeats unfold from a vantage point. Bloody, because Thea could actually see dark patches of crimson on the ground.

And at the centre, stood the Warswords of Thezmarr.

Hawthorne at their heart.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Thea almost stopped in her tracks. She hadn’t seen Hawthorne since their tense exchange in the alcove nearly a week ago, her heart lodging in her throat as it echoed in her mind:

‘I won’t nominate you as my mentor, happy?’

‘Not even close, Alchemist…’

The bitterness remained on her tongue even now, but the sight of him… It undid her. He stood straight-backed with his feet apart, the promise of violence in his eyes. He was brutal and terrifying, yes, but something else simmered beneath the surface there. Something she wanted to learn for herself, something that continued to slip through her fingers, each of their stolen moments unfinished.

Cal nudged her to keep moving towards the platform.

Vernich the Bloodletter and Torj the Bear Slayer were shirtless, their enormous frames corded with muscle, while the Hand of Death had simply rolled his sleeves up to the elbow, as though he didn’t expect to break a sweat.

Vernich addressed them first. ‘You are here to learn hand-to-hand combat,’ his voice was gravelly, but it projected to the far reaches of the training ground. ‘We’ll spar first, so you can seetechnique at its finest, then you’ll pair up and beat each other to a pulp.’ There was a note of satisfaction in his words that made Thea flinch.

Hand-to-hand combat was the skill she had the least familiarity with. She hadn’t even known this training arena existed before now. To think that in all her years of spying, she’d never managed to see a fighting lesson here. And now… Now she was to be thrown in the deep end, expected tobeat someone to a pulp. All the while, the Warswords would be watching, considering each of them for the open apprentice positions.

She wasn’t the only tense shieldbearer in the crowd, though she took little comfort from that.

‘I’ll take the Bear Slayer first,’ Vernich said, nodding to the golden-haired warrior.

Torj merely grinned. ‘As you wish, brother.’

There was a hint of mania to the exchange, and Thea wondered how much blood they’d spilt between them. The men sized each other up in a primal way, taking their places.

Hawthorne gave a subtle shake of his head before striding to the edge of the arena to watch.

Thea swallowed and turned her sole focus to Torj – the Warsword who would hopefully become her mentor, her key to becoming a legend in her own right.

There was no official start, no ceremony. The Warswords simply lifted their fists to protect their faces and circled one another. There was a unified intake of breath as they began. Their Furies-given gifts became apparent in moments – the unnatural speed, strength and agility rolling off them in waves. They stalked each other like prey.

Thea shifted on her toes nervously.

Vernich threw the first punch, which Torj blocked easily enough, taking the chance to make his own swing at his fellowwarrior. The sheer power in each blow was enough to make Thea wince – even when one was deflected, it looked painful.

But the Warswords were grinning savagely. Their expressions were wild enough that, not for the first time, Thea imagined how the Great Rite turned men into Warswords, and what exactly they faced in order to be gifted those extraordinary abilities. And then there were the other legends… That some were granted even more, that some were granted… immortality.

The Bear Slayer and the Bloodletter were a blur of fists and kicks, breaking apart only to circle each other once more.

‘This makes for poor entertainment,’ Hawthorne said drily from the sidelines.

His words seemed to spur Vernich on, for the older Warsword launched into a flurry of jabs, his fists blurring as he moved. Thea tried to focus not only on the punches, but on their footwork as well. It was just as much a dance as swordplay was, and as someone who didn’t have the same weight behind her, she knew she had to take advantage of the finesse and precision involved.

The two Warswords fought across the width of the arena, the audience of shieldbearers utterly transfixed on their every move. Jabs, vicious hooks and uppercuts all failing to land. The intensity increased as each warrior fought to gain an advantage. Vernich swept a leg beneath Torj’s feet, but the Bear Slayer leapt above it, then delivered a teeth-rattling blow to the side of the Bloodletter’s face. It landed, only riling the older fighter up. He lunged, raining blow upon blow down on Torj, who blocked each one. They sparred back and forth, back and forth.

‘I think they get the idea…’ Hawthorne called from the edge of the ring.

Torj looked surprised to find him there, as though he’d lost himself to the rhythm of combat.