Page 4 of Thorns & Fire (The Ashes of Thezmarr #2)

Torj

‘Do you want our kingdoms to be a place of peace? Join us in our fight for a better world’

– The People’s Vanguard

W ITH THE TRAITOR ’ S words still ringing in their ears, Torj and Wilder travelled swiftly across the golden plains of Tver towards the south-west coast. Both Warswords hid the telltale symbols of rank on their arms. Torj wore a cloak and hood, concealing his silver hair.

His war hammer was wrapped in canvas and strapped to his saddle.

There was not much to be done about the impressive stallions they rode but to dull their gleaming black coats with dust from the road.

There could be no reports back to the People’s Vanguard about their approach, not if they meant to extract Queen Reyna safely.

Riding beside Torj, Wilder patted the twin swords he’d tied to his own bags rather than wearing them across his back as he usually did. ‘Just two average men taking in the sights, eh, Bear Slayer?’

‘Speak for yourself. Nothing average about me, Hawthorne.’

Around them, dusk had fallen, and Torj couldn’t stop his gaze from lingering on the gilded hillsides and sweeping valleys.

The last time he’d set foot in this kingdom had been in the war years, during the battle for the castle in the capital of Notos.

It had hurt to see the lands drenched in darkness and swarming with shadow wraiths; the conflict was bloody and brutal, leaving their victory bittersweet.

The time before that had been to continue his search for his missing grandmother, and before that, when he had faced the cursed bears that had earned him his moniker.

It hadn’t been all that long ago that he’d imagined bringing Wren here, just the two of them, showing her where the great teerah panthers roamed and where fields of wild thyme bloomed as far as the eye could see.

He’d always thought she’d like to see it.

He was hit with a wave of anguish at the thought that now she never would – not by his side, anyway.

They rode through the night and into the next morning.

The long grass was kissed with dew in the golden dawn rays.

A cool breeze carried the scent of salt from the distant coast, mingling with the earthy smell of damp soil and sending a shiver across the stretches of untamed fields.

The creaking of leather beneath Torj brought another flash of Wren to his mind – flush against him in this very saddle, her backside rubbing over the hard length of him, causing a burst of pleasure that was over all too soon.

A melodic laugh had followed . ‘Challenge me to a game, Bear Slayer, and you’d best prepare to lose.’

The longing hit him like a physical blow, leaving him breathless for a moment.

The delicate, infectious notes of her laugh, the softness of her skin, the storm in her eyes when she was irritated.

.. All of which made him want to fuck her senseless.

But those moments were now replaced by the sound of her scream as his own wound had seared itself into her flesh, her cries of agony as he’d severed the soul bond between them.

.. And then the sight of the confusion and hurt on her beautiful face when he’d ended things between them without so much as an explanation.

He’d done it for her.

To save her.

But it ached no less for that fact. He knew in his bones that, bond or no, it would never end.

He would be cursed to want the poisoner until the end of his days.

After another day’s ride, Torj found himself staking out the derelict Tverrian coastline. The Warswords had left their horses at a nearby village and now crouched on the outskirts of a strange place, scanning the site for any sign of the People’s Vanguard and the queen they had taken captive.

Dotted along the city waterfront were three abandoned dry docks – rectangular basins carved into the shore, the walls lined with rough-hewn stone.

In the one just below Torj and Wilder, a half-built ship rested on a cradle of enormous timber beams, its hull exposed to the air, covered in algae, slowly being reclaimed by nature.

Torj could smell decay. ‘Must have gone out of business after the war,’ he murmured, his gaze falling to the seaward end of the dock, where a massive wooden gate held back the lapping waves.

Pools of stagnant water had gathered in the dips of the uneven ground regardless, and from where the warriors hid up on the side wall, they could see remnants of old scaffolding leaning precariously, the timber bleached by sun and salt, while rusted chains and corroded equipment lay scattered about the dock floor.

‘Perfect place to hold someone hostage,’ Wilder observed. ‘I’ll wager no one can hear the screams for miles.’

‘All the better for us when we deal with them.’ Torj gripped his hammer as he spotted two guards patrolling below. ‘There must be a way into their headquarters there. Did you see where they came from?’

Wilder pointed. ‘There looks to be an entrance by those blocks over there. See the wall?’

‘I see it.’ Torj shouldered his hammer, taking the lead.

Together, the Warswords descended into the dry dock in silence, using the yard’s clutter and shadows to their advantage. They had to be fast and silent. Queen Reyna’s life would depend on it.

‘No blades,’ Torj instructed his friend in a low voice. ‘Don’t want to alert whoever’s inside that we’re coming.’

Wilder simply nodded.

They crouched behind the cover of a crumbling facade. Torj’s gaze fixed on the four visible guards walking the length of the wall in pairs. He held up three fingers, then two, then one. On his signal, the warriors sprang into action.

Torj darted towards the two guards on the left, his footfalls softened by the damp silt. The first guard barely had time to turn before Torj’s arm snaked around his throat, cutting off his air and, with a single jerk, snapping his neck.

To his right, Wilder had already taken down one guard and was silencing the next.

Torj’s second target reached for his sword, a shout of warning on his lips, but Torj was faster, lunging and clapping a hand over his opponent’s mouth.

The man’s eyes bulged, his fingers clawing uselessly at Torj’s iron grip before he went limp.

With all four guards taken care of swiftly, Torj and Wilder exchanged a look of grim satisfaction. Neither had broken a sweat. They dragged the bodies behind several stacked pallets, concealing them from view before turning to a rusted side door in the towering wall.

‘We take them out quickly and at a distance where possible. They might have those strength-muting manacles,’ Torj reminded Wilder.

‘And if the manacles are on the queen?’ Wilder asked.

‘We take her anyway. Someone at Drevenor will find a way to remove them.’

‘Someone?’ Wilder prodded with mock innocence.

‘Time and place, Hawthorne,’ Torj growled in warning.

‘Right.’

Torj rummaged through his pockets. ‘Masks,’ he said, thrusting a fresh piece of material at Wilder.

‘Thanks,’ his friend replied, placing the material over his nose and mouth and tying it at the back of his head.

With his own mask in place, Torj rose to his feet, hammer at the ready. ‘Let’s go.’

To his surprise, the rusted door made no sound as it swung inwards, revealing more of the vast dock beyond.

They met no resistance at the immediate entrance.

The only sound was the dripping water that ran down the walls.

Skeletal shadows of hanging tools danced in the weak afternoon sun and the air hung heavy with the stench of rot.

Peering around the corner, Torj loosed a breath. ‘It’s empty,’ he murmured.

‘Then why the guards outside?’ Wilder’s eyes narrowed as they followed Torj’s gaze across the neglected space. He pointed. ‘There’s a tunnel.’

‘Then that’s where we go.’

The Warswords followed the perimeter until they heard voices drifting towards them and the distant sound of waves crashing. Daylight filtered in from further down.

‘The dry dock was just a holding area,’ Torj guessed as he saw movement. ‘A place to store supplies, to hide hostages until they were ready...’

Sticking to the shadows of the walls, the two warriors crept closer, at last able to make out the scene before them.

Boats.

And a unit of traitors preparing them.

‘We can take them,’ Wilder said.

‘Not before we find the queen,’ Torj murmured, scanning the cavern.

A group of rebels bustled about, piling crates, coils of rope and sheets of canvas into vessels bobbing on the water just below.

Torj counted two dozen men, but his view of whatever platform sat beneath was obscured, and there was no telling how many could be down there.

Amid the clutter, he saw something that made his blood run cold. ‘Do you see that?’

Beside him, Wilder squinted. ‘Is that...’

A few yards away, a crate lay on its side, an array of what looked like bones spilling out across the wet ground.

‘It’s been a long time, but I’d never forget the sight of shadow wraith horns and talons,’ Torj murmured. ‘What the fuck are they doing here?’

Wilder’s answer was grim. ‘My guess? We don’t want to know...’

Torj nodded. ‘Something tells me they’re not being collected for fun. We need to take one back to the academy.’

‘Be my guest, Bear Slayer.’

Using the shifting shadows as cover, Torj approached the crate, snatching up a talon and a horn for good measure, pocketing them with a grimace.

When he returned to his brother-in-arms, Wilder nodded towards the far end of the tunnel. ‘She’s there,’ he whispered.

Queen Reyna was slumped against a broken beam of timber, her wrists and ankles bound, the same regal dress she’d worn to the novice graduation ceremony weeks ago now tattered and stained.

‘No one’s guarding her...’ Torj gauged the distance between the traitor unit and Aveum’s queen. ‘But there’s no way we won’t be seen.’

‘Then we go in swinging,’ Wilder replied, slowly unsheathing his swords.