Page 100 of Silver & Smoke
‘And except for this field at the foot of his stronghold,’ Thea ventured dryly.
‘Except for that,’ Torj agreed, his words quiet with disbelief as he shared a glance with Wren. In her eyes he saw the same wild hope that had seized his own chest. ‘This wasn’t marked on the map...’
‘I didn’t want you venturing this close to Silas on your own,’ Wren replied quietly, tears brimming. ‘And after you returned with the news of the ruined fields... I didn’t dare to dream that this would have survived Silas’s claiming of the capital.’
‘But this is it, Wren,’ he said, unable to stop the note of relief in his voice. ‘We have enough for a whole army. This is our chance. To stop Silas, to... to cure me.’
But Wren’s expression was unreadable, and though he reached for her through the bond, she was keeping her emotions guarded.‘We can’t harvest it now. Dorinth, along with a good portion of Silas’s armed forces, sits right behind it – we’d be slaughtered before we gathered enough.’
‘And if we attempt take the capital first...’ Zavier trailed off.
‘Then this miraculous field might be destroyed in the battle to come,’ Torj finished for him with a nod. ‘We need to rejoin our company. Then we’ll figure out how to do both – take the capital and secure the silvertide.’ He looked at each of their faces in turn before his gaze settled back on Wren. ‘This changes everything.’
At last, they crested the final ridge to behold Lord Lucian’s encampment sprawled across the valley floor. Hope flared in Torj’s chest – the banners of Harenth snapped in the wind alongside their own, and he thanked the Furies for their mercy. The royal force had arrived and set up camp right alongside the shieldbearers of Thezmarr, as well as the Devereux, Briar and Pendelton bannermen. Now their numbers resembled that of an actual army, with Regent Liora’s company of one thousand bolstering not only their size, but their morale as well – though he could see no sign of the armies from Aveum or Tver, and that realization curdled uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.
‘What took you so long?’ Lord Lucian demanded, stepping out of his command tent and pinning them with a scrutinizing stare.
Torj was a second away from snapping when Vernich’s voice rumbled behind him.
‘What’s this? Another rich prick trying to tell us how to do our jobs?’ the Bloodletter grunted, swinging down from his saddle. ‘Brought you reinforcements. You’d be wise to welcome us graciously.’
Torj had to stifle a snort of amusement when Lucian actuallyblanchedas the older Warsword towered over him.
‘I was told you had died,’ Lucian managed delicately.
‘Do I look fucking dead to you?’ Vernich all but snarled.
Lucian’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do you know who I am, Bloodletter?’
‘Your name doesn’t matter,’ Vernich scoffed. ‘I’ve known plenty of men like you, and you’re all the fucking same. Damn waste of space if you ask me—’
‘Who are we expecting?’ Wilder interjected suddenly, turning to the south, where a cloud of dust rose in the distance.
Lucian tensed as the horses closed in. ‘We haven’t received word from King Leiko, and Aveum’s army isn’t due to arrive until—’
‘It’s not a whole force,’ Torj observed. ‘Four, maybe five riders?’
Wilder was already unsheathing his swords. ‘Let’s go.’
Gripping his hammer, Torj jogged with Wilder to the outer perimeter of their company, to see five hooded figures on horseback cantering towards them.
‘Archers,’ Cal bellowed from their ranks.
The telltale creak of a dozen bows sounded at his command.
‘Hold!’ Torj ordered as the riders slowed upon approach.
‘Bear Slayer,’ called a familiar voice. Farissa lowered her hood. ‘I bring the Master Alchemists of Drevenor,’ she announced. ‘We’ve come to join the fight.’
One by one, the masters dismounted and lowered their hoods: the Master of Lifelore, Hardim Norlander; the Master of Warfare, Landis Crawford; the Master of Design, Nyella Mercer; and the High Chancellor of Drevenor himself, Remington Belcourt.
Behind them, Torj now noticed a smaller group of riders – a handful of determined-looking students in travel-worn cloaks, their faces set with the same grim resolve as their masters’. Part of Drevenor’s surviving cohort, come to fight alongside their teachers and their peers.
‘We’ve come to assist,’ the High Chancellor said. ‘In any way that we can.’
Torj would never like the man after everything his leadership at Drevenor had put Wren through, but they weren’t exactly in a position to be turning away help – the help of Master Alchemists, no less. ‘How did you find us?’
‘A man in Harenth,’ Farissa answered. ‘He had been a spy for the People’s Vanguard for a time, but apparently Elwren helped him on her previous trip to Delmira... His daughter was ill and she gave him the means to cure her.’
