Page 133 of Silver & Smoke
Shouts from all over the battleground told Wren that other shadow-touched warriors were taking up positions as Talemir, Drue, Dratos and Adrienne launched themselves into the fighting. Wren recognized the golden explosions of sun orchid essence being used to combat the exposed shadow alchemy. Drue had brought Naarva’s remaining supplies, it seemed.
Alight with her own fury, Wren threw bolts of lightning at the enemy from the parapet while Talemir dual wielded back-to-back with Drue, whose cutlass was a blur of silver amid the violence. Wren had forgotten how well they fought together, just like Thea and Wilder. Dratos matched the bloodlust of the enemy, splittinghis opponents from navel to nose with his own blade, while Adrienne guarded his back with an axe and chain.
Wren looked to Silas, who had started to move through the bedlam, his mask still perfectly in place as he drank in the power around him. The momentum of the battle only seemed to escalate as he brought down warriors from both Aveum and Harenth as though they were nothing.
Heart pounding, Wren looked to Thea across the other side of the ruins. She fought with both lightning and sword as she and Wilder were swarmed by a unit of the People’s Vanguard.
Further down the parapet, Cal was still leading the archers, having torn off his bandages again and taken up his own bow. Flaming arrows shot into the fray, but where one man fell, another emerged from the passage.
From Wren’s vantage point, she could just make out Vernich and Graves advancing from the other side of the enemy entrance to the city, a force of Thezmarrians behind them, but their arrival had come too late. Thousands crowded the ruins, spilling savagery wherever they went.
The masters of Drevenor flung their fear potions into the throng, causing enemy soldiers to drop their weapons and flee invisible foes, but supplies were dwindling; Wren could see it in the lull between each attack.
Her gaze snapped back to the madman at the helm, as Silas’s attention was drawn to the heart of the conflict –
‘Torj!’ His name tore from Wren’s throat as, from a distance, she saw her soul-bonded tip a handful of pills into his mouth and charge for the Kingsbane.
And Silas fuckingsmiled.
Time slowed as Wren watched her hammer-wielding Bear Slayer carve through the ruins towards the enemy, his strength seemingly doubled since she’d last glimpsed him amid the mayhem. But Silas had potions raised, his mask strapped to his face, and Wren couldfeel the power in the air shift across the rubble, could see it shimmer as it was drawn to him.
Torj faltered, and Wren couldn’t breathe.
The storm swirling around her wasn’t enough. The potions at her belt were not enough. The dagger in her hand was not enough.Nothingwas enough.
A scream sounded from somewhere – herself, she realized distantly. Suddenly she was moving, running along the remains of the wall, following Torj as he hurled himself towards Silas, whose shields were drinking in his power, his life force at Silas’s summoning, and blasting him back with corrupted alchemy.
Each blow to her Warsword made their enemy stronger while leaving Torj weaker. But he was still there, still her shield against the world.
Closer now, Wren threw concoctions from above, wracking her brain for what else they could do.
Torj’s voice came to her.
Let’s finish this bastard, Embers. Together.
But before she could respond, she saw it.
The gold thread between them flickering in and out of view, laced with... silver. Power surged through it, power that felt like coming home.
Lightning burst from her entire being, and as her Bear Slayer had once done for her... she leapt from the parapet.
CHAPTER 70
Torj
‘Soldiers are taught to accept their fate as they would accept the weight of their armour’
– The Warsword’s Way
WREN WAS AIRBORNE, hurtling through the maelstrom of corrupted alchemy and storm magic, the wind whipping around her. With her hair coming unbound in the sudden leap, and her armour gleaming in the flashes of lightning, she looked like one of the Furies incarnate.
Her own power guided her leap into the chaos, and sparks flew as she landed in a crouch, forks of brilliant white crackling all over her body. Elwren Embervale stood, a vision of rage and retribution, a dark promise of justice to come.
Alchemist. Storm wielder. Queen.
She took a step towards the usurper, a tempest gathering at her silent call. She was growing stronger by the second; Torj could feel it through the bond, and in the charged air vibrating around him.
Silas had stolen his strength and power from his own people, but Wren... Her power was freely given by the land itself.
