Page 1 of Thorns & Fire
CHAPTER 1
Torj
‘When the midrealms descended into the core conflict of the shadow war, there were only three Warswords in existence: Vernich Warner, Torj Elderbrock and Wilder Hawthorne.The Bloodletter, the Bear Slayer and the Hand of Death fought valiantly against tyranny and emerged triumphant from the harrowing final battle’
– A History of Thezmarr
THE AGONY OFit was blinding.The very fibres of Torj’s soul were fraying apart, his bones catching alight, the flames devouring him from within.On and on it went, like nothing he’d ever endured.
And it wasn’t his pain alone.
It wasWren’s.
A golden thread joined them, a bond that went deeper than love, and it was now the very thing that was killing her.
Wren was dying.
Torj could feel the life leaving her through the tether between them.
‘I love you,’ he whispered, before, with all his strength, he tore the soul bond in two—
The slice of a blade through his skin brought him back to the present.A skirmish with a band of rebels, where he savoured the familiar dance of combat and the way his body leaned into the violence like the embrace of an old friend.
There was nothing like ending a life with his war hammer.Nothing like the impact vibrating up his arm as he swung and swung again.
Three dozen traitors.
Two Warswords.
And the clash of steel to drown out Torj’s regrets.
‘I thought there were only supposed to be five of them,’ grunted his friend, Wilder, as he sliced the heel tendon of an opponent, blood spraying.
Torj brought his hammer down on another assailant.‘That’s what our source said.Apparently, they were wrong.’He didn’t care.Brushing a lock of silver hair from his eyes, he pivoted and struck out with his gore-streaked weapon again.
For two weeks, Torj and Wilder had tracked what they believed to be a small unit of the traitor organization, the People’s Vanguard, across the midrealms.They were in search of Queen Reyna, who had been taken hostage during the recent attack on Drevenor Academy.But now, in an abandoned underground temple in Tver, there was no sign of her.Instead, flickering torchlight cast writhing shadows on the moss-covered walls, revealing that the enemy numbers far exceeded the details the Warswords had been given.
‘On your left!’Torj shouted at his brother-in-arms as an assailant leapt from behind a statue.There was a flash of silver – steel gifted by the Furies – as the warrior known as the Hand of Death swung his swords.
The look of surprise was frozen on the enemy’s face as his severed head flew, landing with a thud in a pool of someone else’s blood.
‘You’re welcome,’ Torj muttered.
Wilder launched himself into another attack.‘I knew he was there.’
Torj relished the battle-calm that settled over him as time slowed.His hammer became an extension of him, a blur of iron connecting with a knee, the joint giving way beneath the blow.Torj’s momentum carried the weapon in an arc, catching another rebel in the side, ribs cracking beneath it.The thrill of the fight, the rhythm of combat – it was all he needed, all hewanted, or so he told himself as more bones and bodies broke around him.But it didn’t matter how much damage he inflicted, or how much enemy blood he spilled...
There was no forgetting what he’d done.
To her.
His hand drifted to the web of scars beneath his shirt and a part of him reached out into the dark nothing before him, searching for something it would never find.Something that he had destroyed.‘It’s the last piece of me you’ll ever have.’
He’d hurt her, hurt her to save her, and now...he’d never have her.
With each swing of his hammer, he banished a memory of her from his mind.Wren’s gaze softening as she showed him how to harvest lavender from Drevenor’s gardens.The gentle weight of her hand on his chest.The taste of her on his lips.
‘I’m yours as well.’
