CHAPTER 51 Wren
CHAPTER 51
Wren
‘Liquor, the concoction that whispers sweet nothings in your ear, only to leave you with a spinning head and a tongue tied in knots’
– Elwren Embervale’s notes and observations
T HE MOOD SHIFTED instantly, and Wren, feeling brazen with liquid courage swirling in her stomach, leaned in to address the Warsword. ‘So now you’re drinking with us? I thought you were enjoying giving me the silent treatment.’
The bartender brought over Torj’s drink personally, lifting three fingers to his left shoulder in the midrealms’ salute to their protectors.
‘I assure you,’ Torj muttered, taking the tankard with a nod of thanks, ‘there’s been no enjoyment.’
Wren glanced around, making sure the others were occupied with their own conversations, at last letting her fury bubble over. ‘ You kissed me .’
‘That was a mistake.’
It didn’t sting any less hearing it a second time, but Wren narrowed her eyes. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘I’m glad we agree. Now you can get over yourself and start acting like a human being again.’
Torj huffed a pained laugh. ‘Simple as that, eh?’
‘Some of us prefer not to behave like children, Elderbrock. Some of us have more important things to worry about.’
Leaning back in the chair that was too small for him, he studied her thoughtfully and nodded. ‘The dead woman was meant to be you.’
‘Of course it was. Even you thought she was me from a distance.’
A shudder seemed to run through the Warsword before he spoke. ‘An easy mistake given the similarities. They know by now that they got the wrong woman, though. You’re still in danger. Which is why outings like this are a terrible idea.’
‘Am I meant to stay locked away like a prisoner for the duration of my time here? Am I meant to be punished for the actions of others?’
‘I never said it was fair.’
‘Well, look at that. We agree on something for once.’
The warrior chuckled. ‘Don’t get used to it.’
‘I wouldn’t dare.’
There was a sudden thud as someone placed a decanter of amber liquid in the centre of their table.
‘Kipp,’ Cal warned. ‘We’ve had enough—’
But Kipp was on a mission, pouring everyone a glass of what Wren realized was the horrific throat-burning liquor called fire extract.
‘Callahan, it’s high time we heard the story of how the Bear Slayer earned his name. I’ve waited years for this.’ He fell back into his seat, glass in hand, and looked to Torj expectantly.
Wren expected Torj to tell the strategist to fuck off, but instead, he downed the fiery liquid in a single shot and poured himself another with a grimace. He ran his hands through his hair, that rogue lock falling back into his eyes as he surveyed his audience with apprehension. But even Wren couldn’t help the curiosity burning within. She too wished to learn how the infamous Warsword had earned his name, and so she leaned in with the others, ready to hear the tale.
Torj shook his head, as though he couldn’t believe where he’d found himself. ‘I was sent to the mountains to the north-west of Tver,’ he began, reaching for the fire extract again. ‘It’s mostly dense forest up that way, small villages scattered throughout. There had been reports sent to Thezmarr about savage deaths at the hands of monsters, and the Guild Master sent me to investigate.’ Torj’s voice was deep and husky, and his eyes reflected the dancing flames in the nearby hearth. ‘When I arrived, I was taken on a tour by a local elder, shown the spots where entire villages had once stood, now completely destroyed. I saw the mass graves of those who had been attacked. And the empty faces of those who had been left behind...The elder told me it was bears, which at the time seemed ridiculous. Bears are vicious, but they couldn’t have done what I saw. Still, the elder was insistent. Told me to wait and see for myself if I didn’t believe him.’
Wren studied the lines of the Warsword’s face, and the shift of his body as he paused to take a breath.
‘I stayed in one of the outer villages for three nights, and nothing happened. It was fucking cold out there – nothing like Aveum, but enough that you never quite feel your toes. But bears or not, I couldn’t report back to Thezmarr with nothing. Something had ruined those villages and killed those people, and it was my duty to put an end to it.
‘On the fourth night, every hut within miles trembled as a creature roared in the distance. I told the elder to gather the men and have them form a wall of protection around the women and children. It didn’t take long for the creatures to sniff us out...They held the shape of bears, no doubt, but there was something far more sinister about them.’
‘Shadow magic,’ Wren heard herself whisper.
Torj bowed his head in confirmation. ‘The same sort of warped magic used in the war. The midrealms was festering, even all those years ago, though we didn’t realize it. The creatures might have been bears once, but were now something else entirely. They were so much larger, with misshapen jaws, enlarged fangs and claws...Monsters, in every respect of the word.’
‘What did you do?’ Kipp pressed.
‘What do you think? I took them on myself. Two cursed bears in the heart of the northern forests, with my hammer and my sword.’
‘You killed them?’ Dessa gaped. ‘Single-handedly?’
‘I’m a Warsword,’ Torj said, as though this explained the feat alone. ‘I carved out their hearts as I would any monster of darkness.’
‘Who did it? Who cursed the bears like that?’ Dessa asked, wide-eyed.
‘A mage from one of the villages,’ Torj replied. ‘Though we didn’t discover that until later. I heard whispers in the wind, tales from survivors. I tracked him across Tver easily enough. Like many power-hungry fools, he sought chaos, and he found it by twisting something natural into something monstrous with bottled darkness from beyond the Veil. He didn’t live to do so again. He met the same fate as those cursed bears, at the iron head of my hammer.’
Quiet fell.
Wren had seen Torj fight a million times, and she knew how much poetry was in the violence he inflicted when it was owed. But the image of him wielding his war hammer against two shadow-cursed bears was something else, and she understood now why the legend had followed him ever since.
‘A toast,’ Kipp declared, getting to his feet and tapping his fork on the side of his tankard so the entire tavern quietened.
‘Gods,’ Cal groaned, putting his head in his hands.
‘Tonight, my fellow drinkers and thinkers, we are in the presence of a legend of Thezmarr!’ He swayed slightly. ‘To Torj Elderbrock, lightning-blessed war hero, the Bear Slayer of Tver—’
He was silenced by Torj’s large hand clapping down on his shoulder, forcing him back into his seat. ‘I’m never telling you a story again,’ the Bear Slayer muttered.
Kipp simply offered a lopsided grin and tipped back the rest of his drink. ‘Perhaps we should play I have never again.’
‘Not a chance,’ Torj replied, though Wren saw the faint tug of a smile.
The drinks and conversations continued to flow, and laughter echoed through the Mortar and Pestle. Wren had no notion of the time, only the vague inclination that it was only a matter of hours until she was expected back in the poisons dungeon—
Her thoughts were interrupted by a beautiful woman approaching their table, making a beeline for Torj.
‘So you’re the lightning-kissed Bear Slayer,’ she murmured, trailing her fingers across his shoulder.
‘Obviously,’ Kipp snorted into his drink.
But Wren’s skin prickled, particularly as the woman brazenly seated herself in the Warsword’s lap.
‘I’ve always wanted to meet a Warsword,’ the woman purred. ‘I’m Soraya.’
Wren’s fingernails were digging into her palms.
‘Now you’ve met one, Soraya,’ Torj replied, moving to shift his admirer from his lap.
‘But I’d like to get better acquainted.’ Soraya was insistent; she draped her arms around his neck, practically pushing her breasts into his face.
Torj turned away. ‘I’m afraid we’re not staying.’
But she stroked her hand down the corded muscle of his arm. ‘Oh, don’t be like that. The fun’s only just getting started.’
Wren’s chest was burning. She watched as Torj tried to politely remove the woman from his lap. In the end, he lifted her bodily and placed her back on the ground.
‘We’re leaving,’ he muttered to Wren and Cal, starting towards the door.
Soraya blocked his path. ‘Come now...’ She lay a seductive hand on Torj’s chest. ‘I wanted to—’
‘He said no.’ Wren’s voice was sharp with venom, and she reached for her hairpin, releasing it from her locks and twirling it between her fingers.
Soraya blinked at her, as though she hadn’t even noticed Wren was there.
She’ll come to regret that , Wren thought, closing the small gap between them, her hairpin poised for damage, lightning singing in her veins. She could feel Torj’s eyes on her like a brand, but her gaze didn’t leave Soraya’s.
‘I didn’t realize the Bear Slayer was spoken for,’ the woman ventured.
‘He spoke for himself,’ Wren ground out. ‘You just didn’t listen.’
Soraya opened her mouth to reply—
‘I can’t believe you made us stay out so late,’ Kipp slurred, staggering into the group, slinging his arms around Cal and Wren’s necks. ‘Gods, we’re going to feel like death tomorrow.’ He gave Wren’s hairpin a pointed look. ‘And what did I tell you about poisoning people tonight?’