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Torj dipped his head. ‘I have.’

‘And?’

‘And he’s… Malik.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Wilder growled.

‘It means he is unchanged, but he’s safe… In fact, a young alchemist we know has been his constant companion.’

‘Wren?’

‘You didn’t hear it from me.’

‘Course not.’ The relief was short-lived as Wilder steeled himself for what came next. ‘Anyone in particular send you to taunt me, then?’

‘Is that what I’m doing? Feels a little tame for that, don’t you think?’

‘You were always slow to warm up, Elderbrock.’

To his surprise, Torj didn’t continue the verbal sparring, but instead shook his head again, almost in disbelief.

‘What?’ Wilder demanded, jerking in his restraints.

‘I received a letter…’ Torj said slowly, taking in the ice walls around them, glancing towards the frost-covered stairs.

‘Oh?’ Wilder didn’t dare to hope, didn’t let the possibility even form in his mind. Torj was here out of morbid curiosity, nothing more.

But the Bear Slayer paced before the cell. ‘Marise is here, by the way…’

Wilder was thrown by the change of subject. Why were they talking of the wine merchant from Harenth? ‘Do I get to request my last meal and drink before my execution, then? Being a prisoner is thirsty work. It was thoughtful of him to come.’

Torj snorted. ‘He says you’ve got an unpaid tab.’

‘I’ve been a little busy,’ Wilder muttered.

‘Albert from the Fox sends his regards, too…’

‘How kind. All the traders of the midrealms paying tribute.’ Wilder tried to shift his weight again, the ache in his wrists closer to a burn now. ‘What are you really doing here, Elderbrock?’

‘Why? Got something better to do?’ Torj mused. ‘I told you, I got a letter.’

‘So you said. From who?’ In a moment of rashness, Wilder dared to say the names aloud. ‘Anya? Adrienne? Dratos?’

Torj’s gaze snapped back to his. ‘No,’ he said. ‘From Talemir Starling.’

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THEA

The grand room around Thea was no longer there. The small silver sphere opened up an entirely different world before her eyes. A world of warriors and monsters, and a glimpse of Great Rites long past. Through a vast projection of light, she saw them – past Warswords of Thezmarr, and the challenges they’d faced.

Whatever the silver ball was, it contained unimaginable power, magic that captured the pasts of Guardians that came before, magic that led her through each recollection as though she were following a thread through a maze.

It showed her a giant reef dweller, surging from the foaming sea towards a warrior of Thezmarr on the shore, poison seeping from its tentacles. The Guardian’s blade was drawn and he sliced at the first swipe of the monster, engaging in a deadly battle.

With a flare of light, the silver sphere revealed a lone figure, another Thezmarrian, trekking through a blizzard, the wind whipping snow and debris all around him, enough to draw blood from his exposed cheeks. His lips were black with frostbite, but his face was etched with determination.

The images shifted again, showing Thea a man standing before a vast spider’s web, someone trapped within its confines. With a roar, the warrior charged, cleaving through the sticky substance to get to the hostage inside…