CHAPTER 59 Torj
CHAPTER 59
Torj
‘A bodyguard stands as a steadfast shield against chaos. He must remain resolute. Distraction is the death of duty’
– Mastering the Craft of Close Protection
T ORJ KNEW HE had royally fucked things up with Wren, because she hadn’t spoken to him for three days. Three excruciatingly long days. It was a feat, considering how much time they spent together. He’d escorted her to every class, every novice errand to the city and back, and she hadn’t so much as told him to piss off.
It was his own fault, he knew. He kept letting her get close, get under his skin until his resolve was on the verge of shattering, and then he’d reel back as though burned. And he’d done it one too many times. The only comfort he found was that Wilder wasn’t here to give him shit about it – the knowing glances from Cal and Kipp were more than enough, and Torj had half a mind to throw them both on a ship back to Thezmarr.
Now, he sat beside Wren in a packed supply cart full of barrels and ceramic jugs as it rattled back down the road from the city. The cart, its timber weathered and its wheels worn, trundled along the winding dirt road with a rhythmic cadence while the road cut through tranquil forests and dew-kissed meadows, but Wren’s silence was louder than any crack of thunder she might inflict upon him – especially now, as she was pressed so tightly against him. After collecting specimens and ingredients from several apothecaries at Master Norlander’s instruction, Zavier had insisted that riding in someone called Roderick’s cart would be faster than resaddling six horses at the stables. They had left them in Highguard to be re-shoed, which was how the Warsword found himself beside Wren, Dessa, Zavier, Cal and Kipp, with hardly any room to hold his hammer.
Oblivious to any tension, Dessa was chatting with Zavier. ‘Going to the city and back seems a bit excessive,’ she was saying. ‘I thought we weren’t supposed to leave the grounds?’
‘For official lessons, no,’ Zavier replied dryly. ‘But to pick up supplies for the masters? Apparently, that’s worth the risk.’
Cal made a disgruntled noise. ‘Believe me, you’re not the only one unhappy about it.’
‘I still can’t believe it’s taken until now for you to tell us about Roderick and his cart route,’ Wren muttered. ‘Decided to be a team player after all, have you?’
Annoyance laced her words, and Torj was keenly aware it was less to do with Zavier’s actions and more with his own presence beside her.
But Zavier snorted. ‘If I want to be the best, I have to compete against the best. Unfortunately, that means getting your sorry arse through the Gauntlet alongside me first.’
‘I suppose I should be flattered.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘You’re lucky I told you at all,’ Zavier quipped.
The man driving the cart piped up. ‘I told him to introduce me to his friends weeks ago.’
‘If I had any, I would have, Rod.’
As the alchemists chatted, Torj tried to focus on the road, on the icy breeze whispering through the trees, increasingly bare as winter well and truly set in. But the warmth of Wren’s side against his was enough to drive him to distraction, and not for the first time, he cursed himself and all the stupid decisions he’d made leading up to this moment. All he wanted to do was drag her away from the others and press his lips to hers, eliciting those breathless whimpers from her, and all she clearly wanted to do was kill him.
He lost track of the conversations. Instead, he breathed in the scent of pine, watching the sun cast dancing shadows before them.
I’m sorry , he wanted to tell Wren. But Audra’s words came back to him.
Fraternizing with the wards is strictly forbidden.
He’d fraternized, alright. Now it was purely a matter of degree, and willpower – which faltered every time he caught the poisoner’s eye.
He opened his mouth to say something to her – what, he didn’t know. He just couldn’t stand the silence, the rage rolling off her in waves—
All at once, the quiet of the road shattered like glass.
Around two dozen men, their masks obscured by dark hoods, emerged from the dense undergrowth on all sides, brandishing swords and spears, arrows nocked and ready. Roderick’s horses reared in panic, and the older man struggled to get them under control. Torj made a grab for the reins, to wrangle the poor beasts back into submission, but they were terrified, and as the ambushers closed in, a masked man sliced through the lead ropes and reins, freeing the horses.
The creatures bolted, leaving the cart and their master behind, dust billowing in their wake.
The enemy moved with trained precision, quickly encircling the group and cutting off any easy escape routes. Torj had his war hammer in his hand, scanning the blur of movement around them for an opening to get Wren through.
Also on his feet, Cal had his arrows nocked and ready to fly. ‘Torj?’ he asked.
‘Loose,’ Torj shouted, leaping from the cart and ploughing into the unit of attackers with a powerful swing of his hammer.
Cal’s arrows went flying. Dessa screamed. It was not a scream of fear, but of rage as she snatched up Roderick’s riding crop and unleashed a series of blows on a man grabbing at her ankles.
Beside her, Wren’s hands were at her belt, distributing potions between her fellow alchemists. They sent them hurtling into the attacking force; cries of agony followed. But enemy arrows fired back, whistling through the air. One grazed Torj’s arm, slicing through leather and flesh. He barely registered the burn of it, already swinging his hammer to cave in the archer’s skull with a sickening crunch.
Another scream sounded. Torj whipped around in time to see Dessa reaching for Roderick, who was being dragged from the cart.
Wren flung a small knife in his direction. There was a startled cry as the blade found its mark in the assailant’s neck. But a wave of attackers tipped the cart, sending Wren and her friends airborne before they hit the ground hard, skidding across the road. Without the advantage of the high ground, they clambered to their feet amid the ambush, reaching for whatever weapons they had or could steal.
From there, the conflict descended into utter chaos. Torj lost sight of Wren as three attackers converged on him at once. He took a glancing blow to the ribs before his hammer smashed through a jaw and then an exposed throat, arterial blood spraying.
He pummelled his hammer into the next attacker who dared to charge him. The impact ricocheted up his arm as the sickening crack of bone breaking beneath iron sounded. He cut his way toward Wren, whose bronze hair glinted in the sun amid the swarm of bodies. Desperation clawed at him, roaring at him to reach her side, to protect her—
An arrow punched into his shoulder. He barely felt it, wild with bloodlust and single-minded purpose.
He reached Wren just as a trio of black-garbed figures did, blades flashing. Torj roared and launched himself bodily at them, hammer crushing flesh and bone. He positioned himself in front of Wren, shielding her, an immovable wall of bloodied iron. She was his to protect, his to guard.
‘Torj, get down!’ Wren’s voice was pure command.
He ducked without hesitation, lightning spearing over his head to blast a lunging swordsman into oblivion. Wren stepped up beside him, hands alive with crackling energy, thunder booming overhead as storm clouds swirled into being at her call. She was magnificent, a queen of chaos, wreathed in lightning and fury.
He swung his hammer again, while Cal and Zavier continued to meet the onslaught head-on. Zavier brandished an elegant sword that Torj hadn’t seen before. Out of arrows, Cal unsheathed his own Naarvian steel blade, and together, the pair’s shouts punctuated the flash of steel. Dessa and Kipp used the upturned cart as a wall against the onslaught, throwing more of Wren’s potions from behind it, while beside them, Roderick hurled a series of empty glass jars at the attackers.
Heat blasted alongside Torj as a bolt of brilliant white light carved through the air. Whatever lingered in his scar recognized its likeness, a strange sensation rising in his chest.
The enemy was closing in like a pack of hungry wolves who had scented blood in the wind, none of them deterred by the powerful storm whipping up around them.
‘Wren, take cover with the others,’ Torj shouted, eyeing up a duo who were making straight for her.
‘You take cover,’ Wren bit back, directing a bolt of magic to an attacker on his left. Out of practice, she missed, but struck again, determined as ever, hitting her target this time.
Torj whirled his hammer, carving a path through the main group of assailants, his movements a practised symphony of wrath and iron.
Wren fought alongside him, refusing to hide.
‘Gods, woman. Do you ever listen?’ he muttered, dodging another blow and delivering a bone-shattering strike of his own.
‘Do you ?’ Wren replied, tipping her head to the gathering clouds. Wind tore through the trees, thunder rumbling around them, and at her call, the sky opened up.
Attackers fell before them like stalks of wheat beneath a scythe. Torj couldn’t look away, not even as he kept swinging his hammer, not even as a word formed on Wren’s lips, her eyes widening in horror—
Three men attempted to take him down at once, leaping upon his right side and wrangling his arm away from his body. Something cold and hard closed around his wrist.
Despite the men latched to his arm, he lifted it, realizing what they’d done.
A manacle had been clamped in place there.
All at once, it was as if he’d been plunged underwater, half his strength and senses muffled, nausea twisting his gut. He staggered, struggling to breathe past the vice crushing his chest.
The Furies-given strength in his whole right side had been snuffed out like a candle.
It was a good thing his dominant hand was the left.
With a furious shout, he tore the first man off him, pulling his arm from its socket in the process. The scream that followed was near deafening. A moment later, he sent the second attacker hurtling through the trees, and had the third by the throat, squeezing the life out of him—
‘Torj!’
His name sounded distant, muted beneath the roaring in his ears. He surged back towards her, half of his strength still dulled. A bellow of primal rage escaped him and he lashed out as he saw a streak of silver slice through the air. A spear, heading for Wren.
It whistled as it flew straight for her heart.
There was no time.
All Torj could do was throw himself in front of it.
He dived into its path, blocking Wren with his body. White-hot agony punched through his side, a gleaming point piercing through armour and flesh to grate against bone. He felt his blood gushing out, but still he fought, running on pure adrenaline and desperation.
He would not let them take her. Wren was his to protect, his to shield, his .
He fought. And fought. And fought.
Until darkness crashed over him like a wave, dragging him down into its cold embrace. He couldn’t see, could barely hear, and all he could smell was thick smoke.
For a brief moment, he tasted the end, felt the underworld yawn open in greeting beneath him. He had faced death many times before, but this...this was the first time he wasn’t ready. There was something – someone – he didn’t want to leave behind.
Torj clawed to stay in the heart of the battle, shouting as the clash of metal echoed in the distance.
The last thing he saw was a blinding flash of lightning. The last thing he heard was Wren screaming his name.