CHAPTER 66 Torj
Torj
‘History does not remember those who die quiet deaths’
– Bear Slayer, Warsword of Thezmarr
TORJ LED HIS unit of Thezmarrian warriors to the choke point he’d been assigned – a narrow path between two crumbling stone walls, with a makeshift barricade of debris and timber.
From his position, he could see the second choke point, roughly a hundred yards away, with Vernich and Graves at the helm.
Torj knew Wilder manned the third site, but he didn’t have eyes on him, nor on either of the Embervale sisters, who had moved to the parapets above to channel their storm magic into the attacking forces.
Torj signalled to his garrison to wait, even as the echo of the enemy’s march drew closer and closer, their armour glinting in the morning light.
He kept his closed fist raised. They needed to hold their position. They needed to—
A thick silvery fog descended. Not shadow alchemy, but storm magic, billowing down around them, providing cover and distributing the cure Wren had worked so hard to create.
She and Dessa had managed to turn it into a vapour that the Embervale sisters were now spreading across their ranks, protecting their forces from Silas’s corrupted potions.
Torj wished he could see Wren leading the midrealms army as she brought the mist into being, disguising where he and his company lay in wait, ready to strike.
This was it – the warrior’s second, the intake of breath before the slice of a blade, the eerie calm before violence broke out, the unnatural silence of compounding fear.
As the fog swirled around him, Torj rested a hand against the vials beneath his armour.
Not yet, he told himself. Instead, he turned to the ranks behind him and combed his mind for something to say before the enemy was within earshot.
He was tired of giving battle speeches, tired of rallying people to ride to their deaths.
What words could he give them that would offer comfort from the slice of a blade or the hit of an arrow?
He thought back to his time training shieldbearers at Thezmarr. Two of those shieldbearers now stood as Warswords on the precipice of this very battle, another as a lead strategist at its helm. More had gone on to become great warriors of the midrealms. What had he told them?
Ignoring the tremor that had started in his leg, Torj straightened and cleared his throat.
‘Some of you have been here before,’ he started, projecting his voice to the furthest ranks.
‘For others, it’s your first time facing what lies ahead.
None of us asked for this – of that, I am sure.
And yet we cannot change what awaits us beyond the fog, nor can we change the fear that claws at us while we wait.
But I always told the shieldbearers of Thezmarr that being a protector of the midrealms is not about hating the evil before you.
No, it’s about loving the land and its people behind you.
But today it is about looking forwards, to a future that promises freedom, not oppression.
A cause I will gladly lay down my life for. ’
Above, a flash of lightning split the sky. The signal. Her signal.
Torj drew a breath and raised his hammer for all to see, hiding the strain in his muscles as he called, ‘Remember that glory will not be found in failing to fall, but in rising when you do. So we rise! Again, and again! Until we vanquish this bastard and his bastard followers from our realm! Do you hear me?’
A thunderous cheer echoed behind him, drowning out his own heartbeat in his ears, and the distant sound of a drum.
Until the ground started to vibrate beneath Torj’s boots, and dust rose from the path ahead . . . A sudden war cry pierced the air as a unit of the People’s Vanguard charged up the narrow passage.
The enemy was upon them.