Page 73 of Iron & Embers (The Ashes of Thezmarr #1)

CHAPTER 73

Torj

‘Never underestimate the power of intention’

– Bear Slayer, Warsword of Thezmarr

A RESTLESS CURRENT stalked beneath Torj’s skin. Every instinct within him had roared at the High Chancellor for separating him from Wren, and every moment since had stretched out endlessly.

Even now, as he trained with Cal in the gymnasium, his thoughts were of her. The way her voice softened when she said his name. Her scent on his clothes, and how he could still feel the brush of her lips on his skin—

Cal’s fist collided with his jaw.

Torj reeled back, more startled than hurt, rubbing the dully throbbing spot in a daze.

‘Shit! Look alive, Torj,’ Cal said. ‘I didn’t actually think I’d land it—’

‘About time you did,’ he retorted. ‘This sparring’s been one-sided.’

‘Like you’d know. You’re a million miles away.’ Cal raised his fists in invitation. ‘Another round?’

Nodding, Torj took a breath, digging deep for the focus he needed. He tried to push Wren from his mind, using the scent of sweat and polished wood to ground him. His muscles tensed with anticipation as Cal gave him a confident grin from across the sparring mat.

‘Ready to get your arse handed to you again?’ Cal quipped, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Torj chuckled, rolling his shoulders to loosen up. ‘Don’t get too cocky, Flaming Arrow. I might have to remind you who taught you everything you know.’

‘Everything? That’s a bit of a stretch...’

‘We’ll see about that,’ Torj muttered, assuming his stance and clenching his fists, ready. They circled each other, as they had done many times before, gauging one another’s movements.

Cal lunged forwards first – he always did, like he had something to prove – aiming a flurry of strikes at Torj’s midsection. Huffing a laugh, Torj deftly dodged and weaved, his motions fluid and precise. He countered with a swift kick to Cal’s thigh, causing the younger warrior to stagger back.

‘Not bad,’ he remarked. ‘But you’ll have to do better than that, won’t you?’

Cal’s brow furrowed in determination as he launched another assault, his attacks coming faster and more aggressive. Torj parried each blow with ease. It was probably unfair, given that he’d been the one to train Cal. He knew all the Flaming Arrow’s moves, for they were his own, only less practised.

‘You should train with Wilder or Thea on occasion. Learn different fighting styles,’ he advised.

Cal nodded, blocking one of Torj’s blows. ‘Fighting with Zavier during the attack was interesting. He’s got a very—’

He grunted as Torj struck his side.

‘A very what?’ Torj asked, circling his former apprentice again.

‘Refined style,’ Cal replied, wheezing. ‘There’s an elegance to his swordplay.’

‘That so?’

‘You were too busy getting speared to notice.’

‘Don’t remind me.’ Torj’s side was still tender.

The door to the gymnasium swung open with a loud creak. Kipp strode in, several scrolls tucked under his arm. He gave Cal a grin. ‘Glad to see my protector is staying in shape.’

‘You can fuck right off, Kristopher.’

‘That’s Professor Vulpine to you.’ Kipp took up a place on one of the benches and unfurled a piece of parchment, but glanced up again, seeming surprised. ‘Still haven’t forgiven me? Honestly, I assumed it was an obvious reference, but perhaps you Warswords are a tad dimmer than I thought.’

Cal merely grunted and turned back to Torj, poised to start again.

Torj felt for the young Warsword. He knew how seriously Cal took his duties – most of the time – and he’d been humiliated. Often it seemed as though life was one big joke to Kipp, and though he brought a lot of fun with him, the more Torj thought about it, the angrier at the strategist he became, at his audacity and treatment of his closest friend. Kipp was still grinning, but the spark in Cal’s eyes had dimmed.

‘Fancy a round, Son of the Fox?’ Torj challenged.

Kipp raised a brow in apprehension. ‘Not fucking likely.’

‘Then shut up and let us train.’

Kipp blinked at them, clearly taken aback. ‘I—’

But Torj turned his back on him and returned his focus to Cal. ‘Ready?’

A small smile tugged at Cal’s mouth, and he nodded.

Their sparring continued, a dance of fists and feet across the mat. With every blow and block, the tension in Torj’s body ebbed away, as did the thoughts at the forefront of his mind. His worry for Wren, his impending madness...For a moment, his training took over. It was a rhythm Torj could lose himself in, a song he knew by heart after decades of fighting. He didn’t have to think, only move.

They forgot that Kipp was watching from the sidelines and pummelled each other relentlessly, Warsword to Warsword, Furies-given strength evenly matched. It reminded Torj of training the shieldbearers with Wilder back at Thezmarr, and oddly, he found himself missing the fortress – or what it had once been.

As the minutes stretched into hours, Torj couldn’t help the swell of nostalgia that washed over him as he observed his protégé. There was still a gap between their experience that Cal was yet to bridge; Torj had years of battles and fighting monsters on him, and it showed, but the potential was there. Cal had come a long way since their first meeting, and Torj himself had helped get him there.

With a final flurry of strikes, Torj caught Cal off guard, sending him sprawling to the ground with a satisfied grunt.

‘Looks like this old dog still has a few tricks up his sleeve,’ he remarked, offering Cal a hand up.

Cal accepted the gesture with a grin, his eyes alight with challenge. ‘Just you wait, Bear Slayer. One of these days I’ll have you beat.’

Torj laughed, clapping Cal on the shoulder as they made their way off the mat. ‘Not today, apprentice. Not today.’

Cal mopped the perspiration from his face with a towel, his smile fading as his gaze fell to Kipp. ‘Where do you need to go?’

‘I’m supposed to have a meeting with the Master of Warfare in half an hour, but we could meet for a pint at the Mortar and Pestle afterwards?’ Kipp replied hopefully.

‘Can’t,’ Cal said. ‘On duty.’

The strategist’s face fell. ‘Oh, come on, Callahan—’

Torj raised a brow in Cal’s direction. ‘Doesn’t sound like an apology to me.’

Cal’s mouth twitched. ‘No, it doesn’t.’

‘You’re right.’ Kipp leapt to his feet and picked up something cylindrical from the floor. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean for it to go so far. It was stupid, even for me.’

Eyes narrowing, Cal took the offering and turned it over in his hands. ‘A new quiver?’

‘New and improved,’ Kipp told him. ‘And new arrows, too.’ He pulled one from the leather. ‘Wren actually gave me the idea when she was going on about the sap of bluebells...It’s perfect for binding the fletching to the arrow, see? The arrows travel further, they’re less affected by crosswind...You could shoot the wings off a fly with these.’

Cal thumbed the feathering experimentally. ‘You made them?’

‘The Flaming Arrow deserves the best,’ Kipp replied.

‘That’s true,’ Cal allowed.

‘Forgiven?’ Kipp pressed.

Cal considered him, glancing across at Torj before he punched Kipp on the arm and shouldered his new quiver of arrows. ‘Thin ice, Professor Vulpine. Thin fucking ice.’

A wide, familiar grin broke out across the strategist’s face and he winked. ‘It’s the only way to skate, my friend. So, Mortar and Pestle later?’

Dabbing the sweat from his neck, Torj shook his head. ‘You’re a pair of idiots.’

As they left the gymnasium, he realized he’d lost track of time. The hour was late. There was no commotion from the dining hall, barely anyone crossing the grounds.

Frowning, he glanced at Cal and Kipp. ‘The novices aren’t back yet...’

‘Doesn’t look like it,’ Cal agreed.

Unease rolled through Torj’s gut. ‘Shouldn’t they be?’

Kipp shrugged. ‘Any idea what this task was?’

‘No,’ Torj said, his body coiling with tension. He rubbed at his sternum, his scars prickling. ‘But whatever it was...it didn’t feel right to me.’

‘How do you mean?’ Cal asked.

Torj swept the loose hair from his brow. ‘I just...I don’t like what this place asks of its students.’

Cal made a noise of disbelief. ‘It’s no worse than what Thezmarr asks of its shieldbearers.’

Torj balked. ‘Isn’t it?’

But Cal eyed him with keen interest. ‘You’re being...’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Don’t hold back now,’ Torj goaded. ‘What am I?’

Kipp chimed in. ‘Paranoid? Overprotective?’

‘It’s my job to be those things,’ Torj argued, suppressing the urge to throttle the strategist. He had some fucking nerve.

But Cal gave him a knowing look. ‘Just your job, is it?’

‘Spit it out, Callahan,’ Torj muttered.

Cal’s expression turned surprisingly sharp. ‘You think we haven’t noticed what’s going on with you and Wren?’

‘There’s nothing—’

‘Save it, Bear Slayer.’

Torj had never heard his protégé use that tone, especially not with him.

Cal didn’t break eye contact. ‘Don’t hurt her.’

‘I would never.’

But Cal looked sceptical. ‘She’s been through a lot. Her sister died. Her best friends died. We know she’s changed, but she’s still our friend. She’s ours to protect, too.’

The humour had vanished from Kipp’s expression as he nodded in agreement.

‘I know that,’ Torj said quietly.

Kipp made a derisive noise. ‘Do you?’

‘Yes,’ Torj ground out. ‘I won’t hurt her.’

‘And why’s that?’ Cal pressed.

Torj swallowed the rock that had formed in his throat, and tried to speak aloud what he’d known in his heart for a long time. ‘Because I...I...’

His throat closed on the words, but Cal and Kipp both seemed to understand. Kipp smiled, and Cal simply nodded.

And that was that.

The hours bled into one another, and Torj felt Wren’s absence like a piece of himself was missing. Nothing would quell his unease or take the edge off his restlessness. He tried to turn his attention to his research, trawling through the seemingly endless piles of books that had been recommended to him. Had he known of the damn task Wren was attending to, he could have made better use of his time.

He stared at the list of Hardim’s contacts, of which only one remained. He had half a mind not to visit them at all; he doubted he’d learn anything new. All of the Lifelore Master’s associates had shared the same experience – a descent into madness, the ultimate destruction of the self. Sifting through his notes offered no reprieve from the despair, either. Every line spelled the same conclusion: his demise.

How was he meant to tell Wren? He had promised he wouldn’t hurt her. Knowing this would destroy her, he couldn’t bear the thought of her pain.

As if in answer to his thoughts, a sharp pang speared through the lines of his scar, and a crackle of lightning shot across his heart.

Torj could feel her, somewhere out there.