CHAPTER 15 Wren
Wren
‘I am forevermore marked as a steward of this ancient art. And I will protect it and harness it, with all that I am and will be’
– Drevenor Academy Oath of Secrecy
‘HOW MANY TIMES has that happened?’ Wren whispered to Cal as they readied their horses. ‘Torj falling like that?’
‘That was the first time that I know of,’ Cal replied, voice low. ‘But he’s not himself, and I don’t think it’s just you and Darian—’
‘I know,’ Wren told him. What she didn’t tell her friend was that she had to marry the nobleman soon if she was to have any chance of saving Torj – that time was not on her side, if it ever had been.
‘So,’ Darian interrupted, striding towards them in his riding garb, ‘looks like my father was wrong about the force that was near Drevenor earlier . . .’ He offered Wren a leg-up onto her horse.
Now clad in her own riding leathers instead of a stupid silk ballgown, she accepted his help as Cal drifted into the background, his brows knitted together in concern.
‘They marched on Drevenor as soon as our attention was elsewhere,’ she observed.
‘So it seems,’ Darian agreed.
Wren had hoped to have more time in Braxton’s greenhouse with her work on Torj’s cure, but time was of the essence now.
She would have to hope that the rosarians she had written to responded; meanwhile, she had to get to Drevenor.
Thanks to the noblemen, their bannermen had rallied quickly and were now ready to ride to the academy’s aid.
What if it’s too late? Fear clenched her heart in an unforgiving fist, but she didn’t voice the words aloud. Instead, Wren guided her horse to the head of the company where Thea, Wilder, Torj and Cal were waiting impatiently.
‘You should ride ahead,’ Wren told them. ‘Your stallions are faster, and I can’t bear the thought of Dessa alone if Silas’s men reach the academy before us.’
‘She’s not alone,’ Thea replied. ‘Audra and a unit of Thezmarr’s Guardians are stationed there, plus Drevenor’s own security. It is not defenceless.’
‘All the same,’ Wren pressed. ‘Please, Thea. I can’t lose another friend. I can’t lose Dessa too—’
‘You won’t,’ her sister vowed, guiding her horse away from the company. ‘I’ll meet you there.’
Wren shot her a grateful look and watched as Thea urged her stallion into a hard gallop and rode through the estate gates, leaving the bannermen in her wake.
It wasn’t long before Darian had rallied the rest of their small force, but it felt like an age to Wren. With each moment, Silas drew closer and closer to Drevenor with who knew how many men at his disposal.
At last, they rode out, heading west, the crescent moon looming overhead.
The food Wren had eaten earlier curdled in her stomach as the hours passed and understanding washed over her.
Her work on the cure for dark alchemy, the crop of silvertide roses, the remaining shadow artefacts from the war – they were all ripe for Silas’s taking. He only needed to reach out his hand.
Wren glanced across to where Torj sat astride his stallion, looking as fierce as ever.
Only she knew differently. She had seen the tremors in his hands.
She had seen him fall in the sparring session against Cal.
The poison was taking hold of him, much sooner than Lucian had implied, and here they were, riding straight into more danger.
If the Bear Slayer could sense her gaze on him, he ignored it.
His focus was straight ahead, and soon Wren saw why.
A familiar cart lay upturned on the side of the road—
‘Roderick!’ Zavier shouted, his horse breaking into a canter beneath him as he surged towards the site.
Wren broke away from the group as well, her heart pounding.
She followed her friend to find the man who had taken them from the academy to Highguard clutching a wound in his abdomen.
Torchlight revealed the blood flowing between his fingers as he struggled to catch his breath.
Wren swung down from her saddle and crouched by Roderick’s side.
She had seen many wounds like his in her time, and she knew what it meant.
From Roderick’s tired expression, he knew it as well.
‘It’s alright,’ Zavier assured him, jumping down from his horse and gripping Roderick’s shoulder. ‘You’ll be fine, you’ll—’
‘Don’t start lying to me now, Prince,’ the man wheezed. ‘There was already fighting at the gates when I passed Drevenor. They came for me shortly after. You need to go.’
‘I’m not leaving you,’ Zavier argued.
‘No, you’re not.’ Roderick coughed blood down his shirt. ‘Looks like I’ll be leaving first.’
The poor man’s choking intensified, spraying blood across Zavier’s doublet, but Zavier didn’t release his hand.
‘Good luck, my friend,’ Roderick rasped.
They could only watch as the light faded from his eyes and he took his final breath, the rise and fall of his chest ceasing.
Torj rested a hand on Zavier’s shoulder. ‘There will be time to mourn your friend later, Prince. But right now, another friend of yours is somewhere in there.’
Wren’s gaze snapped to where Torj pointed, seeing now the smoke that billowed into the air from a distance.
With a cry of panic, she scrambled back onto her horse and squeezed its sides until she was flying into a gallop.
She heard the thunderous sound of hooves beside her, and knew it was Torj and the others.
Dust drifted from the road ahead, and soon Thea rode towards them. ‘They’ve breached the walls,’ she shouted, rounding her horse back into their formation. ‘All the guards around the perimeter are dead. The gates are no more, and the road to the main building is a bloodbath.’
Panic gripped Wren’s throat, but she didn’t slow her pace towards the academy. ‘What of Audra? Dessa?’
‘There’s still fighting going on inside,’ Thea told her as they rode, glancing behind at the bannermen. ‘Wren, if we fight now, you’ll lose half your men, maybe more. You’ll be sending them to their deaths, leaving you with no one to fight for you in Delmira.’
‘Dessa’s in there, Thee.’
‘I know. Leave Lord Pendelton’s archers on the perimeter. Take a small force of us inside to get Dessa; get your work and anything else that can’t fall into enemy hands. Then we live to fight another day.’
It was her decision, Wren knew that. But she had made decisions like this before, decisions that she couldn’t take back, and they festered within her now like an old wound.
Regret and guilt entwined in a harrowing onslaught of images: people she had loved and lost, people who’d been hurt because of her.
But they were running out of time. The smoke that plumed from the grounds was not the natural grey of ordinary fire, but tinted with a sickly green hue, twisting into serpentine shapes against the starless sky, a telltale sign of alchemy corrupted with shadow magic.
‘We need orders,’ came the captain’s gruff voice behind them.
A strangled noise escaped Wren as they reached the broken gates and she saw dozens of bodies scattered beneath the wrought iron. She could hear the clash of conflict from within the academy walls now – the distinct sound of steel against steel, the shouts of pain and fear from the people inside.
Bracing herself, Wren turned to Darian. ‘Leave your archers behind, as Thea said,’ she told him. ‘Take the rest of the bannermen to the port. We’ll meet you there.’
Darian startled. ‘Are you sure—?’
‘Go!’ Wren told him, already turning towards the Warswords and Zavier. ‘We get Dessa, we take whatever artefacts we can get our hands on, and we get out, understood?’
No one argued. Instead, they unsheathed their weapons and rode for the entrance, while the Pendelton archers readied their bows and guarded their backs.
The foyer had been taken. Ribbons of smoke and chemical vapour drifted up through the branches of the great tree that graced the centre of the academy, and screams echoed through the galleries.
That tree had stood there for hundreds of years, its roots delving deep into the academy’s foundations.
Its leaves curled inwards like burning parchment, blackening from the edges, while the bark blistered and wept amber sap that hissed when it hit the floor. Centuries of growth undone in moments.
Inside, the masters of Drevenor fought back to back with Audra and her remaining Thezmarrians.
Audra’s face was a map of determination carved in blood – a gash above her eye sent crimson rivulets down her temple and cheek.
She moved like water, her blade singing through the air before connecting with her opponent’s throat.
The steel bit deep, opening a second mouth that gushed dark red, the man’s scream becoming nothing but a wet wheeze as he clawed futilely at the wound before he stilled.
Farissa and the other masters were fighting with a combination of weapons and alchemy. Strange mists and vapours drifted from shattered glass vials, and several discarded bodies showed signs of violent poisoning.
‘Farissa!’ Wren shouted, charging forwards, her lightning kissing her fingertips before striking a man down. ‘Have you seen Dessa?’
‘Residences! She was in your quarters last!’ Farissa called back, not even glancing her way as she blew a handful of powder across a trio of men.
‘Warswords!’ Audra’s voice bellowed. ‘If we’re separated, you know where we meet.’
‘Go get Dessa.’ Wilder motioned to the bloodstained staircase. ‘I’ll help Audra here and will be right behind you.’