CHAPTER 52 Wren
Wren
‘The perfect strategy exists only in the mind; the necessary one exists only in the moment. Wisdom lies in building the bridge between the two’
– Kristopher Snowden, Drevenor Guest Lecturer
KIPP HAD CHOSEN the location well. It was below a crest in the land that made it impossible to see from the guard posts of Dorinth, but still within short riding range from the capital.
A vital strategic position that, once secured, would give them a direct path to the silvertide fields – and possibly Torj’s salvation.
‘The key is to eliminate as much of Silas’s army as we can.
That will create an opening for us,’ Kipp explained, pointing south.
‘The silvertide fields lie beyond that ridge. Once we’ve reduced his numbers from here, our forces can attack Dorinth while Silas scrambles to reorganize his defences.
Depending on where his other bases are, it will be a matter of days.
When we’re done here, we’ll need to move quickly. ’
‘It’s not just about taking Dorinth,’ Wren added, meeting Cal’s eyes.
‘It’s about reaching those roses before Torj’s condition worsens.
And before Silas can harvest them for his shadow alchemy.
He knows what they are to us now. He’ll go to any length to stop us obtaining them.
This is the first domino that needs to fall.
If we succeed here, we gain access to both the capital and the fields. If we fail . . .’
She didn’t need to finish. They all knew what rode on this mission – not just her crown, but Torj’s life, and possibly the fate of all five kingdoms if Silas gained complete control of the silvertide roses.
Wren checked the sight lines as Kipp had shown her, determining how visible their position was from different approaches. ‘It looks good from here,’ she called.
‘Good,’ Kipp replied, pointing down below. ‘You can see the path Silas’s army will take – the terrain is easiest there.’
‘And the signal?’ Cal asked, trudging across the rocky ground, spyglass in hand.
‘One with dual purpose,’ Wren said with a smile, her lightning sparking at her fingertips. ‘Something that announces to the enemy I’m here, and that Torj can see from afar.’
‘Someone could have told me to bring my oilskin cloak,’ Cal muttered.
The trio made their way down the ridge. At Wren’s instruction, their main force had visited the site and left their supply wagons and tents set up, and the ground was covered in the tracks of five hundred horses.
‘We’ll set up camp as though the entire host was here,’ she reminded Cal and Kipp. ‘I’m talking tents, bedrolls, campfires, the wagons unloaded, including the wine.’ Her voice didn’t waver. She couldn’t let it, not when so much depended on the next few hours.
The time passed in a blur of tasks.
‘I think we need more horse tracks in and around the camp, and then some leading away,’ she called out to the others. ‘This is supposed to be a hive of activity, and we need every piece to feel authentic if we’re going to pull this off.’
Cal nodded and gathered their horses, riding all around the decoy settlement, adding to the old tracks there. He made it look like an entire unit had gathered at that very point before riding off.
As Wren finished up staging half-drunk goblets of wine and mead, Kipp watched her with a mournful expression. ‘Such a waste . . .’
‘If we survive, I’ll buy you a barrel of sour mead,’ she told him.
Kipp raised a brow. ‘Just one?’
‘Two,’ she amended. ‘If we pull this off.’
Cal cleared his throat. ‘As thirsty as I am, knowing the plan would be helpful.’
‘Right!’ Kipp declared. ‘The plan is to let them capture you, Callahan.’
‘What?’
‘Well, we have to make it look convincing – the rest of us fled, and you bought us time, being the courageous Warsword that you are . . .’
‘Sounds counterproductive at best,’ Cal muttered. ‘Suicidal at worst.’
‘And that’s why you’re not a strategist, my friend,’ Kipp replied cheerfully.
‘I argued against it,’ Wren told him.
‘Of course she did,’ Kipp interjected. ‘But only a Warsword would be daft enough to stay behind and think he could take on an entire army – am I right, Flaming Arrow?’
‘Cheers.’ Cal huffed a laugh. ‘I suppose there’s some truth in that . . .’
Kipp shot Wren a smug expression. ‘What did I tell you?’
‘Doesn’t mean I have to like it,’ she countered.
But Kipp simply shrugged. ‘Torj and the others should have eyes on the capital by now. It’s time to give the signal.’
Wren nodded and closed her eyes.
Bear Slayer . . . I’m lighting up the darkness just for you, she whispered through their bond.
And then she reached for her magic.
The first stirring of power felt like a breath of winter air in her lungs – sharp, clean, energizing. Slowly, it intensified, both within her and beyond, as though the sky itself were answering her call with something vast and ancient.
The hairs on her arms rose as the power built within her, a pressure forming behind her eyes. She felt a surreal weightlessness as the wind picked up around her, bringing with it the first whispers of what was to come.
Magical energy hummed through her bones and a deep resonance bloomed in her chest as the first clap of thunder sounded – the first strike of a war drum.
When Wren opened her eyes, the world had changed.
Tendrils of dark cloud swept in, stark against the face of the moon beaming down upon them, the air heavy with the scent of imminent rain.
She could feel Cal and Kipp watching her, but she focused on the silence around her, the way nature held its breath before the storm broke.
And break it did.
The first bolt came not from the clouds, but from her, as though her body were the channel between sky and earth. Violet-tinged lightning flashed across the dark expanse overhead in brilliant, jagged forks, and each lash sang in her blood.
The clouds opened up, and sheets of vicious rain pelted down, but Wren didn’t register the sting across her skin.
Instead, she felt the lightning in her veins as she brought it down upon the earth, strike after strike.
She turned the violent tempest into a beacon for the enemy, and a signal of hope for Torj and her friends.
Through the downpour, she could see the approaching force.
Let them come, she thought. Let them see whose kingdom they’re trying to take.
It was hard to hear the thunder of hooves over the thunder of her storm, but she felt the vibration of the approaching force beneath her boots.
‘Here we go . . .’ Kipp lowered his spyglass. ‘That’s nearly five hundred men.’
‘So not a third of his army as we’d hoped?’ Cal asked.
Storm magic was still pouring from Wren as she answered through gritted teeth, ‘Not quite, but it’s not insignificant, either. Silas took the bait. He’s risking his men to make a grab for my power.’
‘Speaking of which . . .’ Kipp’s shout cut through the torrent of rain. ‘Time to go!’
Wren snapped out of her magical trance and reached for the reins Cal was holding out for her. Swinging herself up into her saddle, she urged her mare onward after her two friends, Cal falling back as planned.
The earth turned to mud beneath their horses’ hooves as they galloped away from the site, from the enemy force that was fast approaching. Wren could barely see through the downpour.
There was a cry from just behind her—
Cal’s face was tight with pain as he reached for an arrow that had found his shoulder with nearly enough force to unseat him. Blood immediately began soaking through his tunic.
‘Cal!’ she shrieked.
No, no, no.
‘Keep riding!’ he told her through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll hold them off!’
In that moment, Wren saw everything with startling clarity. Cal was injured but could still ride. Kipp was their best strategist and needed to coordinate with Torj. And Wren – Wren was what Silas wanted most.
One of them needed to be captured to make the trap convincing, to give the enemy a false sense of victory. And the poison needed time to work. Most importantly, she could communicate with Torj through their bond, no matter where they took her.
Wren wouldn’t stand for it. She didn’t know why she had agreed to leave Cal behind in the first place, and now his blood was soaking the lands of her kingdom.
She yanked her horse around, placing herself between her friends and the approaching enemy.
‘Wren, no!’ Cal shouted.
In the distance, she heard Kipp shout something as well.
‘Go!’ she yelled, before she brought a bolt of lightning down. It hit the earth so hard that even in the rain it sparked, lighting the grass aflame. A wall of fire roared between them.
Cal brandished his sword beyond the flames. ‘We’re not leaving you!’
‘You have to,’ Wren insisted, feeding the fire with a gust of wind, ensuring her friends remained separated from her and the enemy as they closed in.
‘We need this. Remember, the roses come first – they’re the key to everything.
Don’t worry about me! The pieces are in place.
All they need to do is take the bait. And I’ll make sure they do.
Now go!’ she shouted again. ‘Stick to the rest of the plan!’
The fire illuminated the panic-stricken expressions on Cal and Kipp’s faces, but all Wren felt was relief. She heard the protest of their horses so close to the flames, and the hoofbeats as they were guided away, disappearing into the smoke beyond.
With her friends safe, she turned to face the enemy.
The front line of cavalry emerged from the rain and smoke, squinting at her – the lone rider waiting for them.
‘It’s her! It’s the storm girl herself!’ someone shouted. ‘She’s trapped!’
At those words, their front line surged forwards, and the commander was upon her in seconds, his meaty hand grabbing her arm and hauling her roughly from her saddle, the rain still hammering them.
Irons were clamped over her wrists. Her magic snuffed out like a candle. The roar of the storm ceased, and the rain eased.
Wren expected a tonic to be forced down her throat, or a damp cloth to clap across her mouth. Instead, she gasped as sharp pain bloomed across the back of her skull, and her vision went black.