Page 105 of Silver & Smoke
In the distance, she heard Kipp shout something as well.
‘Go!’ she yelled, before she brought a bolt of lightning down. It hit the earth so hard that even in the rain it sparked, lighting the grass aflame. A wall of fire roared between them.
Cal brandished his sword beyond the flames. ‘We’re not leaving you!’
‘You have to,’ Wren insisted, feeding the fire with a gust of wind, ensuring her friends remained separated from her and the enemy as they closed in. ‘We need this. Remember, the roses come first – they’re the key to everything. Don’t worry about me! The pieces are in place. All they need to do is take the bait. And I’ll make sure they do. Now go!’ she shouted again. ‘Stick to the rest of the plan!’
The fire illuminated the panic-stricken expressions on Cal and Kipp’s faces, but all Wren felt was relief. She heard the protest of their horses so close to the flames, and the hoofbeats as they were guided away, disappearing into the smoke beyond.
With her friends safe, she turned to face the enemy.
The front line of cavalry emerged from the rain and smoke, squinting at her – the lone rider waiting for them.
‘It’s her! It’s the storm girl herself!’ someone shouted. ‘She’s trapped!’
At those words, their front line surged forwards, and the commander was upon her in seconds, his meaty hand grabbing her arm and hauling her roughly from her saddle, the rain still hammering them.
Irons were clamped over her wrists. Her magic snuffed out like a candle. The roar of the storm ceased, and the rain eased.
Wren expected a tonic to be forced down her throat, or a damp cloth to clap across her mouth. Instead, she gasped as sharp pain bloomed across the back of her skull, and her vision went black.
CHAPTER 53
Torj
‘A Warsword guards the midrealms with a vigilance that knows no bounds’
– A History of Thezmarr
TORJ WATCHED ASWren’s lightning tore apart the sky on the horizon, and something within him both soared and sank. Pride at her power, terror for her safety. Through their bond, he could feel Wren’s determination, her focus. But then, suddenly, a spike of fear that wasn’t his own shot through his chest and he started.
‘Something’s wrong,’ he muttered, gripping the pommel of his saddle until his knuckles whitened.
Thea reached across and slapped his arm. ‘Wren can take care of herself. She’s trusting us to do this part for her. Look there.’ She pointed to where riders were emerging from the perimeter of Dorinth. ‘It’s working. They’re sending out a force. And the guards are abandoning their posts – just as Kipp predicted.’
Torj could see them now, like ants spilling from a nest. The enemy was emerging from its stronghold among the ruins, revealing not only their numbers, but their defence formations as well. A war camp had been built around the broken pillars and rubble. Inthe moonlight, the flag that Silas had hoisted above the remaining walls for all to see danced in the wind, taunting them.
‘We need to attack now, while their numbers are lowered and the less experienced guards are likely on the watch posts,’ Thea said. ‘Wren created this opening for us, and we need to take it.’
‘But not all our allies have arrived,’ Zavier argued quietly. ‘Our numbers aren’t at their strongest.’
‘Nor are Silas’s,’ Torj countered. ‘If we sit here waiting for Leiko and Reyna to arrive, we’ll lose the element of surprise. Silas’s scouts will spot us and call for reinforcements. We need to ride while the capital is missing the bulk of its army.’ He addressed his fellow Warswords and commanders, ignoring the tug of worry in his heart. ‘Rally the forces from Harenth, the Devereux bannermen and the Thezmarrians. We lay siege to Dorinthnow.’
Astride his stallion at the head of their army, Torj tipped back a double dose of Dessa and Zavier’s strengthening potion. It coursed through him in a rush of ice, visible as it moved beneath his skin, his veins briefly filling with white light as his strength came back to him.
He strapped his gauntlets over his forearms, covering up the evidence. When Wren stood in the makings of the Delmirian throne room, he would tell her, but until then...
Dawn had not yet broken, but before them the ruins of Dorinth were silhouettes against the gradually lightening sky. Morning mist curled low on the ground between the fragmented pillars and walls, while dew gleamed across broken stone.
When their forces were in position, Torj turned to address his fellow Warswords and the commanders of their joint army. ‘We need to split our efforts into four specialized groups,’ he told them. ‘One for the main assault on the capital, one to protect the field of silvertide and another two to infiltrate from the flanks.’
‘This isn’t my first battle,’ Vernich bit out, gripping his mace eagerly.
‘Maybe not, Bloodletter, but it is for some,’ Torj countered witha glare before turning to the Master of Warfare. ‘What can we expect from the alchemists of Drevenor?’
Master Crawford looked as at home in the saddle as he did in the poisons dungeon of the academy, and there was a gleam in his eye that made him appear quite unhinged. But he spoke in the same calm, calculated way he always had, as though the army before him were merely a classroom full of students.
‘My colleagues and I have come up with several concoctions to help incapacitate the enemy, including compounds that will amplify their fear responses and powders that will cause them to hallucinate. We treated the water back at the camp with a subtle draft that neutralizes the harmful effects in our own forces. You will be immune, but if you see the enemy screaming for no reason, leave them to their nightmares. I assure you, they’re far worse than whatever you could inflict with a blade. All paths lead to the underworld, my friends.’
