CHAPTER 42 Torj
Torj
‘The wisest warriors know when to break formation’
– The Warsword’s Way
TORJ COULD FEEL her anguish through the soul bond, and it damn near destroyed him.
Guilt festered alongside the poison in his veins as he swept his beeswax-covered cloth over his armour.
He was failing Wren in every way imaginable.
He had promised her always, and yet he was dying.
He had said together with every fibre of his being, but he was leaving her on her own . . .
A tremor wracked his hand, and he dropped the cloth in the dirt, cursing under his breath—
‘Are you the Bear Slayer?’ a youthful voice asked from the flap of the armoury tent as he reached down to retrieve the scrap of fabric.
I was, he thought bitterly.
‘Who’s asking?’ He looked up to see three young shieldbearers standing before him, clutching their own armour.
The girl on the end elbowed the boy in the middle and pointed to the totem on his right arm, and the war hammer resting against the table a few feet away. ‘It is him!’
The boy on the end shot them a mortified look.
‘What can I do for you, Thezmarrians?’ Torj asked, realizing that the trio reminded him of Cal, Kipp and Thea when they were as green as the grass beyond the camp.
‘Can you show us how to . . .’ the girl motioned to his armour, ‘do what you’re doing?’
He stared at them for a moment, and suddenly they seemed impossibly young, too young to be marching off to war.
They were in their late teens or early twenties, but the gulf between them and his battle-worn self seemed endless.
Outside, he could hear the bustle of preparation, the shouts accompanying the training drills, the rattling wheels of the supply carts .
. . Wren was out there too, likely elbow-deep in potions and cursing his name.
Her calls through the bond had gone quiet, and he didn’t know if he was terrified or relieved by that.
‘Bear Slayer?’ one of the shieldbearers prompted, shifting nervously from foot to foot.
Yes, they reminded him of Cal, Kipp and Thea, alright, and it made his stomach drop.
Part of him couldn’t believe they were back here, on the brink of another colossal fight for survival.
The war would happen with or without him; the least he could do was show these poor shieldbearers how to tend to their armour.
He sighed and reached for a clean piece of material. ‘First, you need to wipe the leather thoroughly with a damp cloth to remove dirt, sweat and any mould,’ he began, amused by their rapt attention. ‘Do you know why you need to oil your armour?’
They shook their heads.
‘What the fuck is Esyllt teaching you back there?’ he muttered.
‘You need to oil your armour regularly to maintain its flexibility and stop it from cracking. You need to be able to move well in it – it shouldn’t restrict you in any way.
If it cracks, it might leave you vulnerable, and it’s much harder to repair. ’
‘What oil are you using?’ the girl asked. She was wearing her hair in a side braid, just like Thea, Torj noticed, and she was already mimicking his motions over the shoulder piece in her lap.
‘I’m using beeswax because it doesn’t have an odour, but you can use tallow, lanolin . . . I’d advise against fish oil,’ he told them.
As he demonstrated, more shieldbearers filled the tent, and he suddenly found himself giving the lesson Esyllt the weapons master had given him back at the fortress, decades ago.
‘Pay special attention to the creases where the leather flexes, and areas exposed to regular friction—’
‘What about the stitching and the buckles?’ someone called out.
‘Those too,’ he replied. ‘When you’re done, leave it to dry so the oil can fully penetrate. Somewhere out of direct sunlight.’
When he looked up next, he saw Dessa lingering by the entrance of the tent. The red-haired alchemist was pacing impatiently, and as soon as she noticed his attention, she motioned wildly for him to join her.
Leaving the shieldbearers to their own devices, he went to her. ‘What’s wrong, Dessa? Is it Wren? Is she alright?’
‘You’d know if you spoke to her,’ she said tersely.
It was like a punch to the gut. ‘I deserve that,’ he muttered, hanging his head.
‘Yes, you do,’ Dessa replied frankly. ‘But that’s not why I’m here.’
Torj realized he was grinding his teeth. ‘Why are you here?’
‘To give you time,’ Dessa told him.
In the privacy of Zavier’s tent, Torj stared at the dropper full of liquid while Dessa held the concoction out to him eagerly.
‘What is it, exactly?’ Torj asked her, glancing between the two alchemists suspiciously. ‘Wren already gave me something.’
‘This is a more powerful mixture than that . . . Significantly so. It’s actually a rather illegal strengthening draft,’ she replied in complete seriousness.
‘Illegal?’ Torj scoffed. ‘Surely we’re a bit beyond that these days . . .?’
Dessa gave a small shrug. ‘Well, it would have been banned at Drevenor, is what I mean.’
‘Why?’ Torj pressed.
‘Because it mixes a lot of potent ingredients that could be abused in order to surpass the competition in, say, a setting like the Gauntlet,’ Zavier answered. ‘It’s not something that should be taken lightly, or used long term, for that matter.’
At last, Torj took the dropper from Dessa and studied the seemingly innocent substance within. Though spending months on end at an academy for alchemists had told him that there was rarely such a thing as an innocent concoction. ‘And how is this going to give me more time?’
‘It will give you your strength and energy back, allowing your Furies-given power to fight the poison in your system, at least until Wren adapts her cure for you,’ Dessa told him. ‘It contains dry iruseed, which you’re familiar with.’
Torj dipped his head in confirmation. Back in the day, all Warswords had carried around a small supply in case they needed to stay conscious after being wounded. After the shadow war it became less common, chiefly due to the shortage of supplies and alchemists.
‘What else?’ he asked.
‘Peppered broadleaf,’ Zavier chimed in. ‘Usually used as a kind of smelling salt.’
Torj studied the two alchemists, rolling the dropper between his fingers. ‘Are you going to list every ingredient before you share the one you’re most concerned about?’
Dessa actually winced. ‘We didn’t know how you’d feel about it.’
‘As long as it lets me wield a hammer in this war and protect Wren, I have no feelings about it but gratitude.’
‘We know Wren certainly won’t like it,’ Dessa added.
That didn’t deter Torj, not after everything Wren had said to him. ‘If this gives me the chance to contribute anything to her fight, then just tell me how much to take and when to take it.’
‘You should know what you’re dealing with.’ Zavier paced the small space of his tent. ‘We took inspiration from the alchemy Silas used in the initial attack on Drevenor . . .’
Torj froze.
‘Remember how he seemed to get stronger at one point?’ Zavier forged on. ‘He ingested something, and you could actually see it work through his body?’
Torj wasn’t likely to forget. He could still see it now: the force of the tonic racing beneath the masked enemy’s skin, his stature seeming to grow, his stare glowing with an unnatural power . . .
Dessa was watching him. ‘We’ve only tested it on each other—’
‘You what?’ he blurted.
‘We—’
‘I heard you.’ He shook his head in disbelief and dragged a hand through his unkempt hair. ‘I just had no idea you were that foolish! Really, Dessa? Taking inspiration from dark alchemy and testing it on yourself, and the Prince of Naarva, no less?’
‘We’re not here to talk about us,’ Zavier snapped, his expression suddenly dark.
‘We’re here because of a mistake I made.
We are in this mess because of me. You were poisoned because of me.
Meanwhile, Wren is drowning. Dessa and I .
. . Our specialties aren’t poisons and cures.
We can’t do what Wren does. But as Dessa said: we can buy her some time.
That’s what this draft does, Bear Slayer.
It gives you back your strength so you can fight another day, and another, until she can save you. ’
Torj’s gaze fell to the dropper once more. ‘Alchemists . . .’ he muttered. ‘You’re all mad, the lot of you.’
‘True enough,’ Zavier huffed. ‘We’ve made a decent supply that should last for the next week. If you take it in small doses, you should be able to maintain your usual stamina and strength.’
‘I’ll be able to fight and ride? Everything as good as before?’ Torj pressed.
‘Yes, that’s the idea,’ Dessa replied.
‘Good.’ Torj was already moving, reaching for the map Kipp had brought him earlier. ‘Then I know what I have to do.’