Page 44 of Silver & Smoke
Torj stared at his friend. ‘Who told you about that?’
‘Wren did. She wrote to Drue about obtaining sun orchid essence – what we used in the war against the wraiths... She told us what happened and that she needed to experiment with different cures.’
‘Then you have my thanks,’ Torj replied. ‘You and Drue both.’
Talemir nodded. ‘For what it’s worth, you have my support in any upcoming conflict. But the shadow-touched... As I told Wren and Thea, I can make no promises. I can only ask.’
‘Do you still see Dratos?’ Torj asked, remembering the other shadow-touched warrior who had fought in the war alongside them.
‘Not often,’ Talemir replied. ‘He doesn’t stay in one place too long these days. He took Anya’s death hard, blamed himself...’
‘He wasn’t the only one who blamed themselves,’ Torj muttered.
‘Blame always goes hand in hand with death,’ Talemir said thoughtfully before his gaze fell to the raft floating in the distance. ‘It’s been a long time since I attended a death rite for a Warsword...’
‘I know,’ Torj managed. ‘I never thought it would be Vernich next. Even though he was the oldest, the bastard seemed like he was built to live forever.’
‘Can’t disagree with you there,’ Talemir chuckled before calling out to Cal, who stood in the crow’s nest. ‘Shall we give him a proper send-off, then?’
Above them, Cal nocked a flaming arrow to his bow and shot it into the sky.
CHAPTER 23
Torj
‘Traditionally, upon his death, the life of a Warsword is honoured upon the Plains of Orax at Thezmarr’
– The Warsword’s Way
CALLAHAN THE FLAMINGArrow did not miss, and the Warswords, alchemists, bannermen and crew gathered to watch Vernich and Graves’s raft catch alight. The fire burned bright on the horizon, the plume of smoke catching in the briny wind as they bid the Bloodletter a final farewell.
Torj found himself with Wilder and Talemir as night gathered and the last of the rite’s flames flickered out. ‘Where are Thea and Cal?’ he asked, glancing around for his fellow Warswords.
Wilder gestured vaguely below deck. ‘We asked them to stay, but Thea said if we were going to toast the end of our kind, she wanted no part in it. I told her it was simply the end of another era, but she wasn’t interested. I don’t think she’s accepted his death yet. She was oddly fond of him, after the war.’
‘Understandable.’ Torj remembered the Bloodletter in all his gruesome glory, the most vicious of them all. ‘I can’t believe the mean old bastard is gone.’
‘Nor I.’ Talemir raised a flask. ‘To Vernich, the grumpiest prickwho ever lived.’ He took a generous swig and poured a splash overboard.
Wilder reached for the liquor next. ‘To Vernich... I’ll never forgive you for that stunt you pulled when Thea was a shieldbearer. But you took every hit from me like a legend.’
Torj accepted the flask last and raised it to the sky. ‘To the Bloodletter. For being there when it counted most, in the end.’
The burn of the fire extract down his throat was a welcome momentary distraction. Afterwards, Torj pressed the flask back into Talemir’s waiting hand and made his excuses. Leaving his brothers in arms behind, he tried not to rush as he made his way below deck to the hold, praying to the Furies that besides the horses and cargo, it would be empty. A tremor that had started in his fingers and toyed with his knees was taking hold in a much bigger way, and he needed to be out of sight, needed to face it without the concerned stares of his friends. The weight of his war hammer across his back was suddenly almost too much to bear, as though it wanted to drag him through the keel of the ship and into the depths of the sea below.
Heart pounding, Torj staggered towards the narrow stairs past the cabins that still felt so far away. He had always been strong, even before his Furies-given power. This weakness was not who he was – he wouldn’t allow it.
But as he stumbled into the first stall in the hold and his vision swam with black spots, the armour he wore against his regrets cracked.
‘Embers,’ he heard himself mutter. How could they have been given such a gift, only to lose it so soon? There was not enough time. But then, he supposed there would never be enough time, not when it came to her.
A blurred but familiar face came into view.
‘Don’t tell Wren,’ Torj managed, before he lost consciousness.
The air was crisper when Torj awoke in the same stall, and the guttering light from the lanterns told him he’d been out for a while. Hay straws poked into him at sharp angles, and his mouth felt dry.
With a groan, he sat up, distantly wondering if he’d hit his head.
