Chapter Twenty-two
The undercurrent of resentment lingered among the shadow-touched, and Wilder could hardly blame them. They knew they wouldn’t be so easily accepted by the midrealms’ forces, if they allied with them at all, and yet here they were, training to come to their aid at the eleventh hour.
Wilder kept himself busy with drills for his unit, keeping them as simple as possible: how to form the lines, how to hold them, how to break the enemy’s. Simple was best, for if they did unite with other midrealms forces, simple would be all they could manage to learn en route to the battle itself.
It had been a week and they had received no word from Thea about the queen’s decision, no word from Kipp about Esyllt’s rescue, which meant they were strategising blindfolded. All the meetings in the world wouldn’t save them if they had no allies.
Exhausted to the bone, Wilder trudged back to the main university building to find Talemir; his mother’s sapphire was still burning a hole in Wilder’s pocket. He quietly hoped he’d be able to hand it back and then take advantage of the bar in the Scholar’s Lounge in front of the fire, just for an hour or two before duty called again.
Talemir was doing exactly that, already reclining in an armchair, his boots on the low table before him, a glass in hand. ‘Had the same idea?’ he asked as Wilder shut the door behind him.
‘Seems so.’ Wilder went to the cart in the corner and poured himself a generous glass of garnet wine. ‘Might be the last chance we get.’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ Talemir replied, draining his drink.
Rolling his aching shoulders, Wilder brought him a bottle and then sank into the chair beside his former mentor, his friend.
Tal took the bottle gratefully and topped up his glass with amber liquid. ‘Don’t let me have any more after this one.’
Wilder huffed a laugh. ‘Like I’ve been able to stop you before.’ He produced the sea-blue jewel from his pocket and held it out, watching the light of the fire dance across its facets.
Talemir stared. ‘You still have it? I thought you’d have given it away by now.’
‘Thea never needed to learn that lesson… And she told me point blank it wasn’t exactly her style.’
Talemir laughed, taking the sapphire between his fingers thoughtfully. ‘Guess she’s like Drue in that respect. They’d prefer swords and monster hearts as gifts.’
‘Without a doubt.’
‘Sometimes, to love someone, we have to let them go…’ Talemir repeated his mother’s words and tossed the gem onto the table. ‘I don’t think either of us needs that anymore.’
Wilder made a noise of agreement. ‘Never letting Thea go again, not for the world.’
His mentor offered a knowing smile. ‘Glad to hear it. Lesson learnt —’
The doors swung inward and Torj stormed in, raking his fingers through his golden hair, a curse of frustration on his lips. ‘Tal, I swear, these soldiers —’ He paused, reading the room with a frown. ‘What are you two talking about?’
‘Oh, you know,’ Talemir replied casually. ‘Life and love.’
Torj swiped the liquor from him and threw himself down on one of the lounges, drinking straight from the bottle. ‘If you’ve got any advice, I’m all fucking ears.’
Wilder bit back a laugh. ‘It wasn’t all that long ago that you were the one shoving your wisdom down my throat.’
‘You were in dire need of it,’ Torj replied.
‘I believe you once said to me: “Your bullshit is your bullshit, Hawthorne”.’
‘You were being particularly thick-headed at the time. More than usual.’ Torj sighed. ‘I also said you had to let someone in. And if I recall correctly, you told me to fuck off.’
Wilder’s mouth tugged into a smile, remembering the moment well before another sprang to mind. ‘Some other words of wisdom you shared with me when I learnt of Thea’s heritage seem incredibly fitting now… “You’re fucked, aren’t you?” That one’s gotta hurt.’
‘Fuck off,’ Torj muttered. ‘I gave you plenty of useful advice.’
‘But it’s more fun this way,’ Wilder teased.
‘You’re no fucking help.’
‘We might be more helpful if we knew what was going on,’ Wilder told him.
The Bear Slayer sighed. ‘If I knew, I’d tell you.’
Talemir was grinning. ‘You’re telling me that Torj Elderbrock, the Bear Slayer, whose charms are endless, is having trouble —’
‘Don’t even start, Prince of Hearts. I would have thought you’d be more supportive given your obsession with love stories.’
‘My library is at your disposal,’ Talemir quipped, leaning over to snatch the bottle back from Torj.
Wilder surveyed the anguish in Torj’s blue gaze and felt a stab of pity for the Warsword. ‘Someone wise once told me: “If there’s one thing that transcends time and distance and all else, it’s love”.’
Torj made a disgruntled noise. ‘Try telling her that,’ he muttered.
Wilder’s gaze slid to Talemir, who was watching on, a twinkle of amusement in his hazel eyes. He gave the sapphire on the table a pointed glance, and Wilder bit back a chuckle. Perhaps they’d just found its next owner after all.
What felt like only moments later, Wilder was standing in the training camp with his fellow Warswords, double-checking their numbers, when a young shadow-touched boy sprinted towards them, a scroll of parchment clutched in his hand. He came skidding to a stop by Biscuit’s flank and stared up at Wilder with wide eyes.
‘Warsword Hawthorne,’ he panted, holding out the scroll. ‘News from Aveum, sir. Queen Reyna —’ He struggled to catch his breath. ‘Queen Reyna has agreed to ally with us. We’re to march against King Artos. We’re going to fight!’
The camp fell silent.
Heart pounding, Wilder took the scroll and scanned its contents, anticipation building with every word. The message wasn’t in Thea’s hand, but in the bottom corner of the page was something drawn just for him.
A lightning bolt.
‘Is it true?’ someone called. ‘Are we going to war?’
Wilder lowered the parchment to find his entire unit of shadow-touched watching him. Their expressions were mixed. Some seemed eager, eyes bright, fists clenched; others’ faces were lined with fear and disbelief.
He addressed them all. ‘It’s true. We’re going to war. Pack up your tents, your weapons and your supplies. We await orders from Talemir, but we need to be ready.’
No one argued.
Wilder met Tal, Drue, Adrienne, Cal, Audra, Farissa, Torj and Dratos back at the main university building. There, in the Scholar’s Lounge, they let the news sink in. Queen Reyna had agreed. According to Anya’s message, they would join forces in the foothills of the mountains bordering Vios, where they would set up camp and prepare for Artos’ attack. They would transport the majority of their forces and supplies by shadow magic, and hope that there was enough time to regain their strength between then and the battle. It wasn’t perfect, but no battle plan ever was. It was always about finding the best option among the bad.
The door to the lounge opened with a creak, revealing Fendran, Drue’s father and the head Naarvian blacksmith, Ryland perched on his hip.
‘Shouldn’t you be asleep, Trouble?’ Talemir got to his feet and took his son in his arms.
‘I thought you might want to say goodbye,’ Fendran said, tousling the boy’s hair.
Drue went to her husband and child, dropping a gentle kiss on the latter’s cheek. ‘We’ll put him to bed.’
Fendran hesitated.
‘Something to say, Father?’ Drue arched a brow.
Wilder recognised that tone – he’d heard it from Thea a thousand times before, not to mention Drue herself when they’d first met. It said, Challenge me if you dare, but you’ll leave this conversation in pieces, if you’re lucky.
But with a tender look at his grandson, Fendran squared his shoulders and faced his daughter. ‘Are you sure you want to leave him?’
‘Want has nothing to do with it,’ Drue replied tersely.
Fendran faltered. ‘I know. Poor choice of words —’
‘It was.’
‘But I can’t say nothing —’
‘I wish that you would, Fendran.’ Drue stared him down.
The tension in the room grew taut, everyone wishing that they weren’t witnessing this private family discussion.
His eyes taking an empathetic sweep of the lounge, the older man sighed. ‘I just want what’s best for my family. For you all.’
Drue reached out and rested her hands on her father’s shoulders. ‘I know you do. But what point is there in us being here with him when the world is on fire? What is the point when there is nothing left? Ryland needs a world to grow up in. We’re going to give that to him. We have to.’
Fendran’s expression caved with defeat and Drue squeezed his shoulders before taking Ryland from Talemir.
‘Don’t be long,’ she told the winged Warsword, pulling him in for a kiss.
There was no missing the way Talemir dragged her body to his, deepening the kiss despite their son on Drue’s hip, despite the audience around them, including her father.
Dratos cleared his throat pointedly. ‘Alright, alright. Gods, you’re as bad as you were when you met. Get a fucking room.’
Drue laughed. ‘If the brink of war is no time for a kiss, I don’t know when is.’ With that, she left, taking a yawning Ryland with her.
Talemir stared after her for a moment, and Wilder recognised that expression. Disbelief at his own luck. Wilder had felt it many times himself.
‘When do we leave?’ Adrienne’s voice cut through the silence.
Talemir rubbed the back of his neck and faced the group. ‘Are all the units packed?’
There was a unified murmur of accord.
‘Then we leave in two hours.’
Wilder went to find his brother. Malik was in the stables, Dax curled up in the hay by his feet as the gentle giant braided Biscuit’s mane, the stallion already saddled.
‘You didn’t have to do that,’ Wilder said by way of greeting.
Malik didn’t turn around, but his fingers stilled mid-motion and Wilder knew his brother had heard him.
Leaning against the stall wall, Wilder raked his hair back from his face and sighed. ‘I miss fighting with you,’ he admitted. ‘Sometimes it felt like it was just you and me against the entire world…’
Malik continued braiding.
‘But right now,’ Wilder continued, ‘I’m grateful that you’ll be here, not in the thick of the battle… I’ve got enough to worry about with Thea out there in the madness.’
At that, Malik turned to him and gave him a hard look as if to say, She can handle herself just fine.
‘I know, I know,’ Wilder said, shaking his head before surveying his brother. Malik hadn’t changed in a long time. He was still the huge figure he’d always been, still that stoic, sturdy presence that put Wilder at ease.
Swallowing the lump forming in his throat, Wilder straightened. ‘I just came to say…’ Goodbye didn’t sound right; it was too final, too heavy. ‘I love you, brother,’ he said instead.
Mal’s face broke into a broad smile, and he offered Wilder Biscuit’s reins.
Wilder smiled back, blinking back stinging tears. ‘I’ll be seeing you.’
As he led his stallion from the stables, Dax followed, as if instructed by the gentle giant within. I guess part of Malik is coming with me, he mused. And he found that the thought gave him a small sense of comfort.
Wilder swore that when the war was done, he’d never travel by shadow magic again. Nothing could quell the queasiness in his gut as wind and darkness swept in around him and lifted him from solid ground.
He never thought he’d be glad for the biting cold of Aveum, but when he landed in the snow, he could have kissed the icy flakes in relief. Dratos left him there, shadows blooming in his wake as he spread his wings and headed back to Naarva to bring Torj next.
All around Wilder, shadow-touched folk were emerging from the darkness, hauling supplies, weaponry or other people with them. Others were meeting them via the network of tunnels beneath the midrealms, finding their way to the foothills by other means.
A crescent moon and starry night illuminated the wintry landscape, the dark forests at their back, and the seemingly endless plain stretching before them. They had positioned themselves on the north-western side of Vios, placing the mountains between them and the capital, and themselves between Artos’ incoming forces and the kingdom of Aveum.
Wilder barked orders at his unit as soon as their boots hit the snow. They needed to pitch their tents and establish secure supply lines. There was no way of knowing how long they’d be camped there, and ensuring a steady flow of food, water, weapons and medical supplies for their troops was paramount. A starving army was as dangerous as an unskilled one. They would all be on rations, but Wilder realised that the shadow-touched folk were used to eating lean.
Before long, the campsite was bustling with activity, and even as the snow set in Wilder could see it taking shape far more quickly than he’d anticipated. Rows of tents were pitched, including their command centre; wood was chopped down for fires; the horses were tended to beneath the sparse shelter of the trees.
Wilder consulted his own instructions. Kipp had left them with a list of traders to negotiate with, and the positions of several local villages that would help them secure routes through the treacherous terrain, so he set about ensuring that everything was in place, sending messengers to their contacts so they knew the battle would soon be underway.
There was still no word from Kipp, no whisper of what had happened to Esyllt, whom they needed to rally the Thezmarrian Guardians. But they couldn’t afford to wait any longer. This war was going to start with or without the strategists.
In the weak torchlight of his tent, Wilder penned several copies of the same letter, pleading for aid, and sent them in every direction to any Guardians stationed within a few days’ ride of the foothills. They needed all the fucking help they could get.
He had no notion of the hour as clouds crept across the face of the moon and the campsite grew quiet. But he made no move to take shelter in his tent. Instead, he stood watch on the perimeter, willing Thea to hurry.