Page 126 of Thorns & Fire
They dismounted Thea’s stallion and the Warsword tied his reins to a tethering post outside the Happy Harpy.
‘You’re not worried he’ll get stolen?’Wren asked.
Thea simply scoffed.‘I’d like to see someone try.’
As they moved down the street, the taverns’ noise seemed to fade, replaced by a strange, hollow ringing in Wren’s ears.The pulling sensation grew stronger with each step, urging her to move faster.
‘Wren,’ Thea murmured, a note of worry escaping.‘Is Wilder with him?’
‘I don’t know,’ Wren replied, following that strange tug to the left, past several storefronts.‘Stay close.’
‘I always do,’ Thea replied, gripping the pommel of the sword at her belt.
As they hurried down the winding street, the glow on Wren’s skin intensified, and she felt her connection to Torj growing stronger.
This was it – the thing he had supposedly destroyed, guiding her to him.Soul to soul.It didn’t matter how it had survived or returned.All that mattered was that it helped her save him.
Flashes of his surroundings flooded her mind as she followed.Crucibles and moulds; a furnace and a drying rack for herbs.It was analchemyworkshop...buthere?
She drew to a stop outside a rundown cobbler’s shop – the door was open, and it was empty.
‘Wren?’Thea asked from the doorway.
Wren found herself standing at the top of a stone staircase that spiralled deep underground.A cabinet had been pushed aside to reveal the secret entrance, and she knew in her bones that Torj was somewhere beyond.
Thea made to take the lead, but Wren thrust out a hand.‘Wait.’She rummaged through her satchel and pulled out two masks, handing one to her sister.‘Wear this.’
Both women tied the fabric around the lower half of their faces, and Wren checked the supplies in her belt.
‘Ready?’Thea asked.
Wren nodded.The invisible force was insistent, drawing her closer, guiding her to Torj.‘Downstairs.’
Heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and dread, Wren allowed Thea to lead.She wasn’t so proud that she didn’t recognize the value of having a Warsword in her arsenal.
As they descended the stone steps, the acrid smell of chemicals grew stronger, mingling with the damp, musty air.Shouting echoed from below, and there was a distant sound of shattering glass.Wren unsheathed her poison-tipped dagger and clutched a bottle of wild draketail in her other hand.
The clang of steel rang out, reverberating up the stairwell.When Thea and Wren burst into the antechamber below, they were met with chaos.
An iron door lay twisted on the floor, torn from its hinges by either a Warsword or an alchemical explosion.There was too much smoke and madness to know for sure.Fighting had spilled out from a laboratory.Plumes of vapour evaporated as they touched the fresh air of the antechamber.
Thea threw herself into the fray at once, her blade a blur of motion, but Wren saw it instantly: though it should have been an easy fight, the alchemists’ knowledge of the space gave them a deadly advantage.Vats of acid were flying in the direction of Wilder, Thea and Torj – the latter cursing as liquid splashed across his boot and ate through the leather with a hiss.
The smell of burnt hair threatened to drag Wren back into the past, to a different battle.Her throat closed up, her stomach churning as that familiar panic set in—
‘Embers!’
That name was her anchor to him, and she followed it up to the surface.
Wren darted out from her cover, her mind racing through thecontents of her belt.She threw her own concoctions with practised precision.A vial of widow’s ash smashed against the wall, releasing a cloud of concentrated spores that had a masked man screaming and scratching at his exposed arms, raw and red with an instant rash.Parcels of soot root powder flew from her hand, a dark mass blooming, temporarily blocking the Warswords from sight so they could advance.
When she got close enough, Wren unleashed a dusting of brugmansia powder, reduced to its hallucinogenic properties.An enemy alchemist inhaled it and staggered, his eyes going wide as he began swatting at invisible assailants.
Where the Warswords couldn’t swing their blades for fear of knocking the lethal potions and experiments, Wren wielded weapons of her own making.And she wielded themwell.The coughing and shrieks around her were all the confirmation she needed that she was hitting her marks, that she was a worthy player in this fight.
Another band of masked alchemists swarmed in, alerted by their comrades.A glass sphere went hurtling towards Torj from across the room.
Wren didn’t think.She flung her hand out, lightning shooting from her fingertips, knocking the projectile from Torj’s path.Something shattered in the distance—
