Page 5 of Thorns & Fire (The Ashes of Thezmarr #2)

Torj scanned the men, noting that none had belts of potions and most were occupied with the task at hand. He nodded, gripping his hammer. ‘Fuck it.’

As one, they burst from the shadows, launching themselves at the nearest rebels, who barely had time to scream.

Torj’s hammer carved its arc, and once more he found himself relishing the song of violence, the keen blows of retribution.

He pivoted, avoiding the kiss of a rusted cutlass, bringing his hammer around in a powerful swing.

It connected with a rebel’s side, sending him flying backwards into his comrades.

The clash of steel rang out as, nearby, Wilder’s twin swords met incoming blades. Out of the corner of his eye, Torj saw the queen stir. And still no one went to her. No one tried to protect their prize.

He carved a line through a unit of rebels, closing the gap between him and their captive.

But a particularly brave – or foolish – rebel attempted to flank him.

Torj reversed his grip, driving the hammer’s spike into the man’s thigh.

As the rebel howled in agony, Torj wrenched the weapon free and brought it down on the man’s skull with a wet thud.

Beneath rune-marked iron and Furies-given strength, armour crumpled like parchment.

Before Torj could move on, a small vial flew through the air, shattering at his feet. Green smoke billowed up, forcing him back as he clutched the material of his mask to his face.

‘Torj!’

Wilder’s voice sounded distant. Through watering eyes, Torj saw his friend swaying. His mask had slipped in the fighting, and he was clearly being affected by whatever vapour now drifted in the air around them.

Disposing of another rebel, Torj reached for the pouch at his belt – for the antidote kit Wren had prepared a lifetime ago. ‘Hawthorne!’ he called. ‘Catch! There’s iruseed in there—’

He was cut off by a glancing blow to the shoulder, but he regained his footing and unleashed a whirlwind of devastating strikes, blood splattering in his wake.

‘Furies save us,’ he heard one rebel gasp.

‘Who do you think made us?’ Torj said, and snapped the man’s neck with his bare hands—

‘ Enough .’

The voice was calm, and it cut through the chaos like a hot blade, strange enough that the fighting paused.

Torj’s gaze snapped up. He recognized the mask instantly – it was different from all the rest. A monster rendered in blackened metal; eyeholes elongated in a menacing design. The mask of the man who’d stabbed him at Drevenor, who’d nearly killed Wren.

With a roar, Torj surged for him, ready to shed blood, ready to crush—

‘Not yet, Warsword.’ The enemy’s voice carried a gentle amusement as he raised a small vial, its contents catching the sunlight streaming in behind him. ‘One drop of this could strip you of all that Furies-given power you hold so dear...’

Torj faltered. There was something strangely familiar about that voice, a lilt he couldn’t quite place. Beside him, he heard Wilder curse under his breath.

‘Who are you?’ Torj demanded, keeping his eyes locked on the enemy leader even as his soldiers closed ranks around them. Many now held potions they hadn’t had before, their synchronized movements too practised to be spontaneous.

‘Lord Silas, leader of the people.’ That delicate hint of an accent slipped through again. ‘Liberator of the midrealms.’

Torj twirled his hammer with a dark laugh. ‘What kind of liberator poisons an innocent woman?’

Though the man’s face wasn’t visible, Torj heard the smile in his voice, noted the satisfaction radiating from his stance. ‘Innocent? Hardly, Warsword. And poison? What flows through her veins is far more... interesting than mere poison. You will see.’

Behind him, the queen’s laboured breathing suddenly seemed more ominous.

‘We won’t let you take her,’ Wilder said fiercely.

‘Take her?’ Silas’s laugh held genuine amusement. ‘Why would I want to do that? She’s exactly where she needs to be.’

Torj took a step forward, hammer raised. ‘If you think—’

‘I don’t think, Warsword. I know .’ Silas reached into his cloak. ‘Time will prove me right.’

Torj took another step forward. He had no intention of allowing the bastard to leave—

The masked alchemist laughed again, the sound chilling. ‘Consider this a parting gift.’

With a flick of his wrist, he threw a small box, which opened in mid-air.

An array of darts exploded from its confines.

Torj threw himself not at Silas but at Queen Reyna, using his body to shield her.

He felt the sting of tiny, sharp pinpricks at his back, but a strangled cry from the queen snatched his attention.

Scanning her quickly, he realized she wasn’t hurt, but was watching in terror as Silas’s men moved with practised efficiency, one smashing a vial beneath his boot. Blue-grey smoke billowed out, rapidly expanding to engulf the entire area. Through the haze, Torj heard the enemy’s voice again.

‘Healing is such a fascinating branch of alchemy.’ Silas’s words drifted back to them, the vapour parting to reveal him and his boats already moving out to sea.

Torj stared after the leader, mind racing.

Around him, the smoke dissipated too quickly to be natural, leaving him alive, armed and with a sinking realization: they weren’t just witnesses to an attack.

There was a much bigger game at play here, and they had all just become pawns in whatever came next.

‘Check the queen,’ Wilder coughed from nearby, kicking shattered glass away.

With a stiff nod, Torj turned back to the ruler still in his grasp. ‘Your Majesty, are you hurt?’ he asked softly, as he sliced through her bonds with a quick flick of his dagger.

Queen Reyna’s eyes were unfocused, her movements sluggish. ‘Bear Slayer?’

‘Yes, it’s me, Your Majesty,’ he soothed, checking her over for any wounds. Why would the rebels leave her – or any of them – alive? He forced down the worst of his thoughts and tried to help Reyna up.

The queen reached out, her fingers brushing Torj’s hair softly. ‘Gold...’ she muttered. ‘Gold will turn to silver.’

A knot of unease tightened in Torj’s stomach, and he exchanged a worried glance with Wilder. Whatever drug the rebels had given her was strong.

‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘My hair changed during the shadow war, Your Majesty. You’ve seen me like this before. It’s alright. You’re alright. We’ll get you cleaned up.’

‘Speaking of,’ Wilder said warily, sheathing his swords as he approached Torj and reached for his back. Three sharp stings followed.

‘What the fuck?’ Torj turned in time to see Wilder casting a handful of darts aside.

His friend’s brow furrowed. ‘You alright?’

‘I’m fine,’ Torj replied, the sting already gone.

Wilder looked like he wanted to say more, but he gave a stiff nod instead. ‘Let’s get out of here. There could be more forces on the way... Or we could be standing in some sort of trap...’

‘Agreed,’ Torj nodded, helping the queen to her feet. ‘And let’s flood the dock on the way out. Leave no trace of them here.’

Beside him, the queen swayed and blinked up at him, mesmerized. She reached for his hair again. ‘Gold will turn to silver in a blaze of iron and embers, giving rise to ancient power long forgotten...’

A breath shuddered out of Torj, his skin prickling. ‘What did you say?’

But the queen fainted in his arms.