Page 109 of Silver & Smoke
Their calls were cut short as the man fell to his knees, and then face-first into one of the fires.
The men launched themselves into action, running for their friend, shouting wildly. And at last, Wren met Donovan’s widening stare.
She let the corners of her mouth turn upwards in an unhinged grin. Donovan’s face drained of all colour, and his hands shot to his head, rubbing his temples hard, a vein bulging in his forehead. He coughed. He cleared his throat. Coughed again, spitting on the ground.
And Wren smiled. She smiled as all around her, the enemy bled from their eyes and noses, as they screamed until they could scream no more.
When at last silence fell across the camp, Wren slid her hairpin from her messy bun and fitted it to the lock of the manaclesshe’ddesigned, with a failsafe for Thea. The irons fell away from her wrists after a few flicks of her pin.
Next, she unlocked the livestock cage – the cage she had left behind on purpose. The door swung open, and she climbed out, stretching out the aches and pains from being hunched over for the past few hours, her joints stiff.
There were corpses everywhere, and Wren surveyed the damage with laughter on her lips. Dark satisfaction washed over her as she stepped over Donovan’s body.
She looked down at his swollen face, frozen in pain and fear, blood lining his eyes and nostrils.
‘You were right,’ she said. ‘I did smile for you after all.’
CHAPTER 55
Torj
‘If there is one truth a Warsword learns above all others, it is that blood flows the same from friend and foe alike. This knowledge becomes both their power and their burden’
– The Warsword’s Way
THE IMPACT OFhooves against ancient cobblestone reverberated through the city of broken white stone and rotting timber. Torj felt the uneven ground shift beneath his stallion’s weight as they cantered under a massive archway, only half-intact, one side crumpled in a rough diagonal. They were greeted by the skeletal frames of what were once proud towers, now jagged against the brightening sky, while dark climbing vines and earthy-scented heather wove through the gaps between fallen blocks of masonry.
‘Ride on!’ he shouted back to his men, the wind stinging his exposed skin as he charged through the outer circle of the city and into its heart. Broken pillars lay like fallen giants across what used to be the main thoroughfare, leading to the town square, where a giant bell tower still stood. Beyond were the ruins of a once great castle. The ancient white stonework was blackened in patches fromold fires, cracked and weathered from seasons of neglect, and here and there canvas tents were staked between ruins, surrounded by hastily established barricades.
A sentry’s warning cry cut through the dawn stillness.
Torj kicked his stallion forwards, the strengthening potion surging through his veins like liquid ice. ‘Take down the barricades!’ he commanded, voice thundering as he raised his hammer and bore down on a guard who emerged, frantically attempting to raise the alarm.
Men spilled from tents and ruins, half-dressed and disorientated. Some reached for weapons while others stood frozen in shock. Torj’s hammer met the shoulder of the first defender who stood in his path, the impact jarring up his arm as iron pierced through flesh and bone. Blood arced through the air like crimson rain.
‘Form up!’ came a desperate shout from within the enemy ranks. A commander in partial armour emerged from a large tent near the square, trying to organize the chaos. ‘To the bell tower! Rally to me!’
Torj signalled to Wilder, pointing towards the emerging threat. ‘Cut them off from the tower!’
His stallion reared as an arrow flew past, embedding itself in a wooden beam. The battle was condensing now, tightening around them as more defenders emerged from the encampment. The sharp clang of steel against steel echoed between stone walls, creating an all-too-familiar symphony. Torj dismounted, sending his horse back with a sharp slap to its flank – the narrowing paths between rubble would favour those on foot.
A guard rushed him, eyes wild with fear and desperation. Torj blocked the clumsy thrust, feeling the strength potion amplify his movements. He countered with brutal efficiency, his hammer finding the gap beneath the man’s raised arm. Another defender appeared at his side, but Thea materialized like a shadow, her throwing star finding the man’s throat before he could strike.
‘They’re trying to regroup at the gates,’ she called, blood spatteredacross her face as she moved to Torj’s side. ‘Wilder says they have archers positioning on the western side.’
‘Take them down,’ Torj grunted as a glancing enemy blow hit his thigh. He swung his hammer straight into the soldier’s chest, his sternum crunching beneath the iron.
Thea decapitated a man to her left, the head soaring through the air before it landed in the rubble with a sick thud. ‘There are more of them than we thought.’
‘We can take them,’ Torj replied, watching as the Master Alchem-ists made their way through the opening he and his company had created.
The screaming began as Crawford’s alchemical compounds took effect. Defenders stumbled, clawing at invisible terrors, while others fought with desperate, unhinged strength. Torj pushed forwards, each step measured, each strike calculated. The battle was spreading through the ruins like wildfire, men dying, people pleading for mercy, the wet shuck of a blade through flesh and bone cutting through all else—
‘Wilder!’
The name tore from Thea’s throat, and Torj whirled around to see the Hand of Death staggering forwards, surrounded by a cloud of strange vapour.
Torj was instantly on Thea’s heels as she carved her way through the bedlam towards her husband, Torj finishing what she started as he followed.
