Page 13 of Thorns & Fire (The Ashes of Thezmarr #2)

Torj

‘A true bodyguard is not merely one who protects – they become the shield itself, flesh and bone becoming rampart when battle demands’

– Vigilance and Valour: Tactical Training for Professional Bodyguards

‘T HERE ’ S NO VILLAGE mapped here,’ Wren said as they halted on the other side of the forest. ‘Nor was this here the last time I came through...’

Torj followed her gaze to a towering wooden palisade, the likes of which he hadn’t seen since the shadow war. It surrounded an encampment; a timber sign had been hammered into the ground before its gates. Elmridge , it read.

‘It’s new,’ Torj offered, noting the mud surrounding the fence. ‘They use paling like this to protect a site until a more permanent stone wall can be built.’

‘Do you think they’re responsible for the hangings?’ Dessa asked, glancing over her shoulder.

‘There’s a good chance,’ Torj replied, surveying the settlement. They’d been there long enough to erect walls around it. ‘We need to steer clear of this place regardless. There are posters all over the midrealms calling for information on outsiders... That’s exactly what we’d be here.’

Wren shook her head. ‘We need to stock up on supplies,’ she said reluctantly, her eyes fixed on the gates ahead. ‘I assure you, Delmira has nothing to offer in the way of living off the land.’

‘No,’ Torj told her.

Only then did she look at him, her expression cold and hard, so far removed from the woman he’d declared his love to only a fortnight ago. ‘You are here in a guard capacity only,’ she said. ‘You are not the commander of this trip.’

‘I am when it comes to your safety,’ he countered, voice low. ‘You’re my responsibility—’

‘I’m not your anything, Warsword.’

They had had this fight before, but this time it was like a lance to the heart.

‘Dessa and I will go,’ Kipp blurted. ‘We’re less recognizable than you or the Bear Slayer. And I can charm the pants off just about anyone.’

Wren started to protest. ‘But—’

‘He’s right,’ Torj told her. ‘As much as you loathe my company, there’s no way I’m letting you go into a camp likely full of traitors to the kingdoms. If you want supplies, Kipp and Dessa will get them for us.’

Wren’s glare could have melted skin off bones. ‘I can handle myself.’

‘Not the point,’ he argued, reaching across for her reins.

‘Don’t you dare—’

‘Too late, Embervale.’ Torj started to guide their horses away from the settlement. ‘We’ll water the horses and wait for Kipp and Dessa.’

A stream of curses followed as Wren jumped down from her saddle. She turned to Kipp. ‘Be quick,’ she warned.

‘If you’re not back in thirty minutes, we’ll meet you at the turn-off for the Mourner’s Trail,’ Torj added.

As Kipp and Dessa approached the gates, Torj guided an unhappy Wren around the fringes of the forest, looking for water.

‘We could get all sorts of information if we went inside,’ she muttered.

‘We could also get ourselves killed,’ Torj replied through clenched teeth.

‘That’s true no matter where in the midrealms we are,’ she bit back, twisting around to keep the gates in view. ‘Look!’

Torj followed her pointed finger back to the entrance, where the larger gates had swung inwards. He tugged Wren close, behind the cover of a thick oak tree, her back flush against him as they watched a band of men emerge from the camp on horseback.

‘How many?’ Wren asked, unmoving in his arms.

‘Twenty, maybe thirty...’ Torj muttered, hoping that she couldn’t feel the hammering of his heart against her spine.

‘So basically, their entire defence force is leaving?’ Wren guessed as the unit rode out through the forest without fanfare.

‘We can’t know that.’

Torj’s skin crawled as his gaze fell to something else: a long piece of parchment nailed to the outer wall. Spotting it, Wren darted from where they were hidden, tearing it free.

‘Embervale,’ Torj hissed, at her side again in a matter of strides. ‘What the fuck are you thinking?’

But Wren’s eyes were transfixed on the text. Torj peered over her shoulder.

On the fourteenth day of the month, Lord Silas invites you to a gathering of like minds at noon.

Learn how you can assist the People’s Vanguard with its noble cause.

It’s time for liberation.

‘That’s today,’ Wren murmured. ‘We have to see it. We have to know what they’re planning.’

‘No.’

‘Torj, put all our bullshit aside and think . Whatever is going on, we’ll need to report back to Audra when we return. We need as much information as possible to have a chance of stopping an all-out war.’

Torj wanted to shake her by the shoulders. Didn’t she know what she was asking of him? What she wanted him to risk? He could feel the phantom echo of the bond between them, humming in her presence. But there was no bond. Not any more.

That hardly mattered in their current predicament. He started his protest anew. ‘There’s no way—’

‘If you were with Thea or Wilder, you wouldn’t hesitate,’ she said, unflinching.

‘They’re Warswords .’

‘Warswords aren’t as infallible as they once were,’ Wren argued. ‘Whereas I am an alchemist , a storm wielder—’

‘I know what you are,’ Torj countered.

‘I think you’ve forgotten, Bear Slayer,’ she challenged.

‘I don’t forget.’

Her eyes were green flames. ‘ Nor do I .’

Torj speared his fingers through his hair, a noise of frustration escaping him. He hated that she had a point. He would infiltrate the camp if it were anyone else with him. Any information from the inside was vital given the current state of the midrealms.

‘We stake out the perimeter, see if there’s a smaller, unguarded entrance. We look, that’s all ,’ he said at last, already wishing he hadn’t. He unsheathed his dagger and pushed the grip into Wren’s hands. ‘Take this.’

‘I have a knife—’

She fell silent as his hands closed over hers. ‘It’s not weighted or sized right for you,’ he told her. ‘But along with your throwing poisons, it will serve you better than that needle you have in your boot, or the hairpin you’re so fond of. It’s Naarvian steel.’

She glanced back to where his hammer was strapped to his saddle, hidden beneath a sheet of canvas. ‘What about you?’

‘It’s too recognizable,’ he explained. ‘My fists are weapon enough.’

Wren scoffed. ‘Warsword arrogance never ceases to amaze me.’

Torj almost smiled at that. ‘Stay close.’

After ensuring there were no lookouts atop the wall, they followed the line of the palisade, searching for a side entrance.

They were in luck. A smaller gate was open, a cart of supplies abandoned beneath its arch, its owner clearly called away to whatever was happening further inside the encampment.

Torj could hear the rallying cries already.

Dozens of tents had been erected beyond the paling, while work had started on more lasting stone structures – a town in progress, by the looks of things, clearly unsanctioned by any ruler of the midrealms. They crept deeper into the stronghold, where permanent buildings stood and the voices grew louder.

Torj memorized as many details as he could.

Audra would demand specifics upon his return.

They pressed themselves into a recess between two towering walls, the stones rough at their backs, but keeping them hidden. From there, they could see a sliver of the makeshift town square beyond, where a crowd had indeed gathered.

But Wren wasn’t looking at the scene before them. She was looking at her feet, where a small, furry creature was weaving itself between her boots, purring so loudly that Torj was convinced it would give their position away.

Wren did not, as he expected, shoo the feral cat away. Instead, she reached down and scratched behind its ears, a sad smile on her face.

‘I never took you for an animal lover,’ Torj said, wrinkling his nose at the stray. The thing was probably riddled with fleas.

Wren didn’t look up from where she was stroking the creature’s long ginger fur. ‘I’ve actually always wanted a cat... Someone to keep me company during the late hours in the workshop.’

‘Ever thought of a person instead?’

‘You might have noticed this, but most people annoy me.’

Torj snorted. ‘I prefer dogs,’ he told her flatly.

‘Then I suppose you were right,’ Wren quipped, not missing a beat. ‘It would never have worked between us, Warsword.’

He blinked at her for a moment, not knowing whether to laugh or be offended. He nudged the cat away and returned his attention to the assembly.

Torj didn’t like what he saw. The rally’s fervour seemed to grow with each passing moment. A speaker’s voice rose above the crowd, words indistinct but tone clear – passionate, angry.

‘Did you see much of this during your travels?’ Wren asked quietly, not taking her eyes off the eager mob.

‘Beyond the work of tracking the traitors? We saw traces of it.’ Torj tried to ignore the heat radiating from her body, tried not to breathe in her heady scent. ‘Posters on noticeboards, conversations in taverns, reports of missing people... but not a full-blown gathering. Not like this.’

Wren tensed beside him. ‘It’s an age-old tactic, though, isn’t it? Target the poorer populations on the outskirts and work your way in, amassing followers as you go with promises of a better world...’

‘Something like that,’ Torj muttered, still scanning the square.

As they waited, the anticipation only grew thicker.

Something was building, a powder keg ready for a spark.

The heightened tension only made Torj more aware of his thigh brushing against Wren’s, of her breath dancing along his heated skin.

The energy of the crowd shifted, like a storm gathering strength. The speaker’s voice grew louder, his words clearer now: ‘The good common folk of the midrealms have been collateral in the rulers’ wars for centuries. But no more! Lord Silas has liberated us!’