Chapter Thirteen
THEA
T he ride back to the fortress the next morning was miserable.
Rain hammered down in relentless, sideways sheets, soaking Thea, Cal and Kipp to the bone as they made their way down the trail.
Even Dax, who usually loved the rain, darted ahead of them, eager for the warmth of his master’s room.
The roar of the wind made it too hard to talk, but none of them were in a chatty mood anyway.
Despite the actions they’d taken, the boats on Thezmarrian shores and the unknown ship anchored out to sea left a pit of dread yawning wide in Thea’s gut.
They had watched as two crews attempted to take their boats out beyond the break, long enough to see them sink, the men struggling to swim back to land.
Kipp had double- and triple-checked his count before they left, with Thea and Cal dragging him away by the end, insisting it wouldn’t be long until they sent a unit to investigate the surrounding areas.
Besides, visibility had grown so poor that there was little point remaining atop the ridge.
It was late afternoon by the time they neared home.
The sun was masked by thick, dark clouds, making the cold lines of Thezmarr all the more ominous.
Thankfully, the fortress walls were at last in sight.
Thea wanted nothing more than to go back to Hawthorne’s cabin and sink into that deep wooden tub of his.
She would have no such luck, though. Dax left them as they reached the gate and Kipp informed them that they were to head straight to the council room. He sent a wide-eyed shieldbearer ahead to summon Esyllt, Osiris and the Warswords there, too.
The trio left their horses with a stable hand, Thea cursing all the while that there was no time to dry off or change. Looking like a drowned rat, she wrung out her cloak in the courtyard as best she could before following the others inside.
The council room felt smaller to her somehow, though it was unchanged since her last visit.
A handful of torches lined the walls, illuminating the mahogany table in the centre, surrounded by six high-backed chairs.
The same heavy crimson curtains covered the window, but Thea doubted that opening them would make a difference to the dim light within.
She looked to one of the chairs at the end of the table, picturing herself perched there at the mercy of the Warswords and the Guild Master.
Gods, she had been so terrified then… On the verge of being kicked out of Thezmarr for good, Hawthorne having dragged her there from the Bloodwoods in punishment for breaking the law.
Thea remained standing with Cal and Kipp while they waited for their superiors to arrive. Esyllt was the first one to storm in, looking more harried than usual. Thea fully expected him to start barking orders or issuing demands, but he simply gave Kipp a curt nod and took a seat at the table.
Vernich entered next, shadowed by Seb, whose face was pinched into a sour expression.
Thea felt her friends tense beside her. They, more than anyone, had cause to hate the Bloodletter’s apprentice. Bile rose in her throat as she remembered the sight of them hanging unconscious and half drowned in the mountains. Put there by Seb and his lackeys out of spite and jealousy.
‘Should have let me kill him,’ Cal muttered.
Kipp made a noise of agreement.
Seeming to sense their animosity, Seb stayed by the door, glaring daggers at Thea, while Vernich sat opposite the weapons master.
Torj and Osiris strode in, deep in conversation. Both men were dressed in armour, the Bear Slayer carrying his famous war hammer at his side. The Warsword towered over the Guild Master, his features sharper, the blue of his eyes brighter, his golden hair pulled into a knot at the back of his head.
But Thea’s attention was drawn away as Hawthorne entered last, pushing the door open with such force that it collided with Seb’s face.
The apprentice gave a cry of pain, clutching at his nose.
‘Didn’t see you there,’ Hawthorne said gruffly, drawing up a chair and taking his place. His silver eyes betrayed nothing, but the tense set of his jaw hinted at the anger beneath the surface.
Thea grimaced inwardly and shifted nervously on her feet, knowing there would be a price to pay for her actions.
No one, not even Vernich, paid any attention to Seb, who was still standing by the door, cursing under his breath and clutching his bleeding nose. Instead, all eyes were on the trio, and more specifically, Kipp.
‘Well?’ Esyllt said at last, folding his arms over his chest and waiting.
Kipp didn’t so much as draw breath before launching into his report. ‘An unknown force of men, at least two hundred strong, likely more. Six rowboats on our shores, with a larger ship anchored out towards the Veil.’
‘Weapons?’ Esyllt asked.
‘No cavalry. But a unit of archers for certain, and every man was armed with at least a broadsword.’
‘And you saw no identifying sigil? No banners?’ Osiris cut in.
Kipp gave Thea a nod and she produced the torn piece of fabric from her pocket. It was still wet with blood, flecks of red splattering on the wooden surface as she dropped it down on the table for all to see.
Thea didn’t miss the intake of breath from their superiors. There was no mistaking the pair of wraith wings embroidered there.
‘Fuck…’ Torj muttered, peering across the table.
No one asked about the blood.
The Daughter of Darkness has risen. She hadn’t wanted to believe it, hadn’t let herself truly entertain the notion, until now.
Thea’s skin prickled. She could feel Hawthorne’s eyes on her, could feel his fury radiating off him. She had left with the others without a word to spite him, but already regretted not leaving a note, already dreaded the confrontation.
No one else seemed to notice. They had all fixated back on Kipp.
‘There was no indication as to their point of origin?’ Esyllt pressed.
‘None, sir. They were already anchored when we arrived. Though, their proximity to the Veil was concerning.’
‘You think they came through it?’
Kipp hesitated. ‘If I had to guess.’
‘You do.’
‘Then yes, I’d say they came through the Veil. We have manned watchtowers and scouts stationed all around the north and south coasts of Thezmarr, sir. We would have seen them coming had they sailed from elsewhere in the midrealms.’
‘And you carried out your orders to remain hidden?’ Esyllt asked.
‘Strictly speaking… Yes, sir. No one saw us.’
‘And not strictly speaking?’ the weapons master pressed, his eyes narrowing.
Kipp pushed his shoulders back. ‘We sabotaged all of the rowboats. Two sank before our eyes; the rest are stranded on the shore, completely useless. We also saw to it that their supplies were destroyed. They can’t get to the main ship, which is moored by the Veil. Nor do they have any rations to —’
‘So, you disobeyed direct orders?’
Panic spiked in Thea as she saw Kipp’s throat bob in surprise. He lowered his head in shame. ‘Yes, sir.’
Thea had to shove her hands in her pockets to keep from wringing them, but Esyllt seemed to study Kipp, something gleaming in his eyes.
‘Excellent work,’ he declared.
Kipp blinked. ‘Sir?’
‘Anything else to report?’ the weapons master asked, ignoring his shock.
‘I’d suggest sending a unit to mop them up, sir,’ Kipp ventured, clearly not quite recovered.
Esyllt nodded. ‘Agreed.’ Then he turned to Osiris. ‘You know what this means…’
A muscle twitched in the Guild Master’s jaw. ‘The hunt has begun. The Daughter of Darkness is coming,’ he said bluntly. ‘This means war.’
An icy chill raked down Thea’s spine. They had known it for a long time; the darkening days, the monsters slipping through the Veil, the reaper and wraith attacks… But all the same, the word carried a different weight, and there was no putting it back where it had come from.
War.
War was on the midrealms’ doorstep.
The silence that filled the council room was deafening.
Getting to his feet again, Osiris cleared his throat and addressed the Warswords.
‘You have your orders. And you’re to brief the commanders on the situation.
Reach out to your sources, see if there are reports of any other forces landing in any of the kingdoms. Send ravens to Harenth, Tver and Aveum, and to our Guardians stationed throughout the midrealms. Make sure they know that we are no longer dealing with just monsters, but men as well.
More of them than we anticipated.’ He threw a disgusted glance at the patch of cloth on the table.
‘They wear her sigil. They must be destroyed at all costs.’
A few murmurs of agreement followed, and before Thea knew it, everyone was leaving.
Hawthorne remained. His face was a mask of icy calm.
Cal and Kipp both offered her pitying looks over their shoulders before they followed after their mentors, closing the door behind them.
‘You left,’ Hawthorne said, his voice dangerously low.
She lifted her chin. ‘There was work to be done.’
‘You put yourself in danger.’
‘It comes with the territory, Warsword.’
‘Whose blood was on the sigil?’ he asked, an edge to his tone. The smear of crimson still stained the table.
‘Not mine.’
He seemed to war with himself over which battle he wanted to fight next.
Thea waited.
‘Did something happen with your magic?’ he demanded.
‘No.’
‘Then why can I sense a storm on you?’
‘Probably because it rained the whole ride back.’ Thea gestured to her sodden clothes.
Hawthorne’s jaw clenched. ‘You know what I meant. Did something happen?’
The vision of Anya flashed in Thea’s mind, but she didn’t reply.
‘By not mastering it, you’re making yourself vulnerable,’ Hawthorne told her.
‘I’m the best fighter in the whole fucking cohort,’ she snapped.
‘You still shouldn’t have left.’
‘I shouldn’t have done a lot of things,’ she bit back.
The Warsword before her flinched – actually flinched at her words.
Thea heaved a sigh and pushed her damp hair back from her face. ‘Can we fight about something else?’