Page 60 of Thorns & Fire (The Ashes of Thezmarr #2)

Torj

‘When fate draws its blade, time offers a single, perfect dance’

– The Warsword’s Way

‘T HIS IS IT ?’ Torj asked dubiously as they stood in front of what appeared to be an empty cobbler’s shop. He cupped his hands around his eyes to shield them from the sun’s glare and peered through the grimy window. ‘There’s nothing in there...’

Wilder frowned, checking a scrap of parchment. ‘This is the location our source cited.’

They were in the heart of Old Town, where the buildings were peeling away from their foundations and the scent of ale and smoke was thick in the air. Only a few doors down was the pleasure house that Torj had followed Wren into in her early days at Drevenor.

‘Sorry, Bear Slayer,’ Wilder said, looking down the alley. ‘We must have got some bad information.’

But Torj’s nape prickled. He went to the door and rattled the handle. It was locked.

Wilder clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Come on, I’ll buy you a breakfast pastry.’

‘Wait.’ Torj stood back, surveying the weathered facade of the door, then the polished silver of its handle. ‘The lock’s new.’ He went back to the window, peering inside more intently this time.

Along the walls, the shelves were empty. The cobbler’s workbench was bare, no tools in sight. But the rug that lay in the centre of the room... There was a clear path worn through its weave, and one of its corners was turned up.

‘It’s here,’ Torj said, suddenly certain. He gripped the door handle once more, this time using his Furies-given strength to break it. The lock gave way, and the door swung inwards.

Inside, Torj could see more telltale signs of frequent use: bootprints of varying sizes in the layer of dust on the floor, a lack of cobwebs above the door when there were plenty in the other corners of the shop. And then there were the scuff marks... right in front of a large cabinet.

‘Wilder,’ he hissed, pointing to the black scrapes in the timber floorboards and unstrapping his hammer from his back. ‘It’s a hidden entrance.’

Wilder unsheathed his swords and nodded.

Torj pulled the cabinet aside, revealing stone steps descending to a lower level. A soft, eerie glow emanated from below, the greenish light casting long shadows across the worn stairs.

‘What’s the plan, Bear Slayer?’ Wilder asked, peering over his shoulder.

‘Get in, get samples for Wren, get out.’

‘Sophisticated,’ Wilder quipped. ‘I like it.’

Torj adjusted his grip on his war hammer and started the descent. The faint light from below did little to illuminate the steep, uneven steps that spiralled down, and similarly to the towers at Drevenor, he and Wilder had to move in single file down the narrow path.

As they moved further towards the bottom of the stairs, the air grew cooler and damper around them. Torj could hear the occasional scurry of unseen rodents, but nothing more.

When they reached the bottom of the steps, they found themselves in an antechamber, where shelves and hooks housed aprons, gloves, and other protective wear, as well as a basin.

‘Shouldn’t there be guards?’ Wilder murmured, brow furrowing.

‘Depends if they’ve got the manpower or not. This is a well-hidden space...’ But Torj felt uneasy all the same. If this was the chief location for the enemy’s alchemy work, he would have thought no expense would be spared when it came to security. ‘You think it’s a trap?’

‘Could be... Do we care?’ Wilder challenged.

‘Wouldn’t mind an excuse to hit something,’ Torj muttered.

‘Then let’s go.’

There were two doors. The first they tried led to a storage room, where floor-to-ceiling shelves were brimming with jars of powders, liquids and parts of dead creatures. But there was no one inside.

The second door creaked loudly as Torj opened it with a wince.

Inside was a circular workshop with several smaller adjacent rooms. A stone table stood in the middle, covered in an array of glass alembics, retorts, and copper stills.

He recognized several tools that Wren had on her workbench in her quarters.

There was also a complex network of glass tubing connecting various vessels, and the faint hiss of escaping vapour.

There was no sign of the People’s Vanguard, or anyone at all, for that matter.

‘Do you think they got all this equipment from Drevenor?’ Torj asked, stepping further into the workroom and noting a large furnace at the back with multiple layers for different heat intensities.

The air shimmered around it, and the glow of the coals illuminated tongs, crucibles and moulds on the nearby workspace.

‘They couldn’t have taken all this without it going unnoticed,’ Wilder replied, examining an herb rack where several types of plants and mushrooms were hanging to dry.

Torj stopped in his tracks. ‘Shit...’ he muttered.

Wilder was at his side a second later. ‘What?’

Torj pointed to the tiny, unassuming vial sitting in a wooden rack. Its contents drifted within the confines of the glass.

‘Fuck,’ Wilder hissed, staring at the black ribbons swirling within. ‘I haven’t seen it in years... And I’d hoped I never would again.’

Torj grunted in agreement. ‘You and me both, brother. But here it is. Shadow magic, in the flesh.’

‘We knew they were using it in some form... but it’s different, seeing it for yourself,’ Wilder said slowly.

‘Should we take it with us?’ Torj considered the bottle. He didn’t want to touch the damn thing. He’d dealt with enough darkness to last a lifetime. ‘We don’t know how volatile it is...’

Wilder seemed transfixed by the substance. ‘It’s too dangerous to leave here. I’ll take it to Audra as soon as we’re back.’ He wrapped the glass in a discarded rag and pocketed it, before turning to survey the rest of the laboratory. ‘What are we looking for, exactly? Let’s get it and go.’

Torj rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I’ve never seen it in a vessel,’ he admitted. ‘Only what it looks like when it’s been used on weapons. But it’s got a strange shimmer to it, and it smells like oranges.’

Wilder stared at him for a moment. ‘Smells like oranges? Got it.’

Torj continued his exploration of the workroom, rifling through piles of parchment for clues, noticing that one of the crucibles was still warm to the touch. ‘They can’t have left here too long ago,’ he said to Wilder.

‘I’d come to the same conclusion,’ his friend replied, passing his hand over a stove. ‘The furnace is still hot.’

Carefully, they navigated the landscape of ongoing experiments, careful not to trigger any reactions. Scouring the clutter, Torj wondered if working in chaos was an alchemist trait in general. He was picturing Wren hunched over her bench when he detected the faintest hint of citrus in the air.

Following his nose like a hound, he reached the back of the workroom, where a greying sheet covered something. He reached for the fabric—

‘Elderbrock?’ Wilder called, a note of alarm in his voice.

Torj whirled around. ‘What is it?’

Wilder was pointing to the ceiling, where vapour was billowing from the vents. ‘Time to go, I think.’

Torj ripped the sheet away from what turned out to be a crate of vials. He recognized the substance instantly. ‘This is it—’

‘We gotta go,’ Wilder called, not taking his eyes off the increasing clouds of vapour pouring from the vents.

Torj wrenched the lid from the crate and, shouldering his hammer, grabbed as many vials as he could, stuffing them in his pockets.

‘Torj! Now!’

Torj launched into action, sprinting towards the door with his friend. They wove through the various stations, not caring about disturbing the equipment this time, knocking over several cauldrons in the process.

‘Fuck,’ Wilder shouted. ‘I can feel that stuff on my skin. I—’

A thunderous sound shook the whole room.

And Torj looked up in time to see the solid iron door to the antechamber crash closed.