CHAPTER 56 Wren
Wren
‘Beware the woman who studies herbs with the same dedication warriors apply to maps. The path to destruction often winds through a garden of seemingly innocent blooms’
– An Encyclopaedia of Deadly Plants
‘DEAR GODS, WOMAN,’ Kipp exclaimed as he regarded their dead enemies littered throughout the camp. ‘You’re terrifying. Actually terrifying.’
Wren was securing her belt of potions around her waist, having found it and her dagger in the commander’s tent, along with his body. ‘Why, thank you.’
Cal made a noise of agreement. ‘Remind me never to piss you off.’
Wren raised a brow. ‘Do you need more of a reminder, Cal?’
‘Nope,’ he declared quickly, shaking his head at the gruesome scene. ‘However, if I were a different Warsword, I might chastise you for changing the plan at the last minute. They were meant to take me.’
Wren strapped her dagger to her thigh. ‘And if they had, you’d be dead. They tested the wine on me first. Luckily, I sorted my immunity to that particular poison years ago. You, on the other hand . . .’
Cal winced as he touched his shoulder gingerly. ‘Good thing I’m not a different Warsword then.’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ Wren replied, stepping over another corpse to stand before him and peel his armour back from his wound.
Cal swore under his breath, but Wren ignored him as she examined the broken, bloody flesh.
‘The arrowhead went clean through. But I’m glad you didn’t take it out without me. ’
‘It was one of the first things you taught us,’ Kipp interjected while he rummaged through the pockets of the dead. ‘And we’ve seen what happens to people who don’t do what you say . . .’
Wren huffed a laugh and reached for her medical supplies. ‘I’ll have to saw the arrow off, so I can draw the shaft back through without making the wound worse.’
‘Sounds delightful,’ Cal muttered.
‘I’d offer you some pain relief,’ Kipp said, wiggling a flask from one of the fallen soldiers, ‘but I’m afraid it might be a tad permanent.’
Cal rolled his eyes. But as soon as Wren started to saw through the front of the arrow with a toothed-edge blade she’d found, the warrior stiffened.
She worked as quickly as she could, trying to hold the shaft of the arrow stiff as she put the blade to the wood.
Cal’s face went blank, muscles feathering in his jaw as he ground his teeth against the pain.
When she was done with the tip of the arrow, Wren patted his good shoulder. ‘I’ll patch you up as best I can, but you’ll need proper treatment when we rejoin the others.’
‘Will I be able to fight?’ Cal asked.
‘Depends . . .’ Wren poured cleansing alcohol over the wound and he swore again. ‘How good are you with your other hand?’
‘Callahan’s had lots of practice being ambidextrous in his earlier, lonelier years,’ Kipp called with a wicked grin. ‘He’ll manage.’
Cal’s cheeks flushed. ‘Fuck’s sake, Kipp.’
Wren fought back a laugh. ‘Well, you won’t be using your bow and arrows. You’ll only cause further damage to the injury and might cause permanent issues. If you were anyone else, I’d tell you not to fight at all, but . . .’
‘But you know I will anyway,’ he finished for her.
‘You Warswords are impossible.’
Cal smiled. ‘So I’ve heard.’
Wren finished wrapping linen strips around the wound and protruding arrow, not wanting to take it out without access to better supplies. ‘If you’re already talking about fighting, you’re fine to ride, I take it?’
‘I can ride,’ he confirmed.
‘Then we need to move. We can’t waste the advantage this tactic gave us.’
‘Torj would kill us if we didn’t ask,’ Kipp ventured. ‘Are you alright? They didn’t hurt you?’
‘I’ve got a lump on the back of my head the size of a cauldron, but other than that, I’m fine,’ she replied with a wave of dismissal.
Kipp looked like he wanted to argue, but Wren was already striding towards her horse and fitting her boot to the stirrup.
Gods, what she wouldn’t do for a bath. She was covered in wine and blood, and she still stank of whatever animal had been in that cage before her.
She could feel the matted hair on the back of her head as well, but there was nothing for it.
‘You two coming or staying?’ she asked, settling in the saddle.
‘And miss you taking back your kingdom?’ Kipp feigned shock. ‘Never.’
There was blood on the pearly white of the silvertide roses.
Wren saw it as she rode past the field into Dorinth, flanked by Cal and Kipp.
The Thezmarrians had guarded the crop with their lives, and had now left a skeleton crew behind as the rest dragged enemy bodies away to be burned with their own dead.
Not yet daring to hope, Wren passed through the broken gates – and gasped at the sight within.
More bodies were strewn across the ancient cobblestones, and the lingering effects of Master Crawford’s alchemy were evident in the surviving enemy soldiers still hallucinating, cowering from invisible terrors.
Smoke rose from several small fires where tents and wooden structures had caught aflame during the fighting, tangling with the scent of blood and dust and the sweet fragrance of the untouched rose field.
We won? she called down the bond to Torj, unable to see him amid the flurry of movement as their forces secured the perimeter and set up defensive positions on higher ground.
We won, came the reply, but his inner voice was flat, drained of the triumph she’d expected.
Wren scanned the ruins for him, an overwhelming sense of urgency flooding her chest. Dorinth is ours? she pressed, suddenly uncertain.
No, he told her. Dorinth is yours. But we need you. Medical tent. Now.
The words struck her like a physical blow. Wren urged her horse onward, abandoning Cal and Kipp to the chaotic aftermath of battle as she spotted Zavier and Dessa in the ruins ahead, tending to the wounded in the rubble.
When she reached them, she slid from her saddle, and before she could ask, her friends pointed.
Torj.
Her Bear Slayer looked up from where he was helping Wilder towards a tent, his face etched with exhaustion, minor wounds littering his exposed skin.
The darkness of the strengthening potion still pulsed faintly beneath his forearms. Thea was on Wilder’s other side, her face deathly pale, her eyes wild and panicked.
Wren rushed towards them. ‘What happened?’
‘Shadow alchemy,’ Torj replied, his eyes roaming over her, scanning her for injuries as she had just done to him. His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘He can’t feel his Warsword abilities.’
‘Wren . . .’ Thea’s voice broke. ‘You have to do something. He . . . he can’t—’
Wren couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her sister so terrified, so desperate. The Shadow of Death reduced to pleading.
‘It’s going to be alright,’ Wren told them, squeezing Thea’s hand in reassurance, willing confidence into her voice. ‘It’s going to be alright.’
‘We know, Embers,’ Torj replied quietly, setting Wilder down on a fallen pillar. ‘You’ve got this.’
Nodding to herself, Wren reached for her belt and took a small vial from one of its pouches, the contents catching the light like liquid silver. ‘Here, Wilder,’ she said. ‘Drink this.’
With a trembling hand, Wilder did as she bid.
She held her breath, watching with the others as the potion took hold of the Warsword before them, his body shuddering. He closed his eyes, jaw clenched, bracing himself against whatever war raged within.
Thea fell to her knees before her husband, grasping his hands. ‘Wilder?’
‘Give him a minute, Thee,’ Wren said gently, resting a hand on her sister’s shoulder.
Wilder’s chest heaved as he breathed through whatever sensations were coursing through him. The seconds stretched into eternity until finally, when he opened his eyes, they were clear.
‘I’m alright,’ he rasped, looking to Wren with dawning relief. ‘It worked—’
‘Wren!’ Kipp’s shout cut through the chaos around them, the edge in his voice making them all freeze. ‘Wren, come quickly!’
Cold dread washed over her. With her heart hammering wildly, Wren launched herself towards her friend, who was running ahead of her. Her boots slipped on blood-slicked stone as she sprinted after him, lungs burning – only to come to an abrupt stop at the entrance to the city.
A strangled noise escaped her as she looked out onto the field of roses.
The silvertide was aflame.
Silver petals blackened, curling in on themselves as hungry orange fire devoured their only hope against the darkness. The blaze spread in rippling waves across the field, consuming their salvation petal by petal, turning their cure to ash before her eyes.