Chapter Seventeen #2
‘Well, it doesn’t look great, does it?’ Malik replied, with a meaningful look at Wilder. He was always doing this, ensuring that Wilder heard certain things, but never explaining them.
A screech shattered the quiet of the Broken Isles, and masses of darkness materialised on the dunes before them.
Wilder and his fellow Guardians unsheathed their own blades, sticking to the formation as ordered.
‘No one but Malik and I are to engage,’ Talemir shouted. ‘Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir!’ came the unified reply.
‘Your blades won’t be able to pierce their chest cavities, do you understand?’ Talemir reiterated, not taking his eyes off the wraiths that now emerged from the swirling shadows.
‘Yes, sir!’
Wilder joined in the chorus, but his knuckles burned from the tight grip around his sword. He had been training every moment of every day since he’d arrived at Thezmarr years ago. He wanted to spill wraith blood, and he wanted to do so alongside Malik the Shieldbreaker and the Prince of Hearts.
‘Three against two,’ Malik said to Talemir.
‘I can count, you giant oaf,’ Talemir responded fondly.
Malik took a step towards the wraiths, swinging his sword menacingly. ‘I’ve got several examples where that’s debatable.’
‘Quit your griping,’ Talemir told him. ‘Only one of us is called the Prince of Hearts.’
Malik laughed. All the while, the monsters stalked towards them. ‘I wasn’t under the impression that had anything to do with battle heroics.’
Talemir grinned. ‘A gentleman never tells.’
Another screech echoed across the isles, high-pitched enough to make Wilder wince from where they’d been ordered to stand down.
‘These wraith attacks are getting a little too common,’ Malik said seriously, sizing up the three that approached, ribbons of onyx cutting through the air around them.
‘Agreed,’ Talemir replied. ‘The rulers should be doing more.’
‘We’ll talk to Osiris upon our return.’
Malik launched himself at the first of the shadow wraiths.
There was a reason the Warswords of Thezmarr had earnt their titles.
It was evident from the first strike of their blades.
Malik and Talemir moved as a single unit, as though they had been fighting together for centuries, as though they could feel the energy of violence shifting and pivoting around them.
They moved like water, like the shadows they were trying to destroy, slicing through the rotten, sinewy flesh of the wraiths like butter.
Wilder gripped his own sword, tense as he watched the skirmish unfold, restless beyond words as he fought with the instinct to throw himself into the battle as well.
The three wraiths surrounded the two warriors, their shadows lashing dangerously close, their hisses and snarls permeating the quiet of the shores. But Talemir and Malik were a force like no other, beating the darkness back with their Naarvian steel and their Furies-given strength.
Sand and blood sprayed while shadows danced around the battle, encircling the Warswords in a swirling mass of obsidian, obscuring them from view.
Wilder heard Malik shout from within, and he took a step forward, poised to run —
‘Don’t,’ Torj told him, a hand on his vambrace. ‘We have to follow orders.’
The mass of shadow deepened, roiling outwards, tendrils creeping towards where the Guardians were posted on the dunes.
Wilder shook Torj off and looked to their peers. Some of their faces had paled, their gazes distant as though they were seeing something far different to what was unfolding before them in real time.
Another shout of pain sounded from within the chaos, and Wilder didn’t think. He was running towards the storm of shadow, brandishing his blade. He might not be able to carve out a heart with regular steel, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t cause some damage along the way.
With a curse, he crossed the threshold of darkness – and blanched at the sight of the battle within.
Malik and Talemir were in the heart of the fray, fighting back lashes of onyx power, blocking swipes of razor-sharp talons.
But their usually precise movements were sluggish all of a sudden, and it became clear that neither Warsword was in their right mind, that they were seeing things that weren’t there.
Wilder took advantage of the element of surprise, cleaving through the arm of one of the wraiths before dragging his blade from its throat to its navel with all his might.
Black blood spurted, hitting his chest. A shout sounded from behind him and he knew that Torj had followed him into the madness.
Good – they could prove that Guardians could do more than stand by and idly watch.
He relished the song of steel carving through more wraith flesh, seeming to snatch Malik and Talemir from their trances.
He gave a victorious shout —
Pain seared across his back as darkness lashed him harder than any whip.
Wilder staggered with a ragged gasp, suddenly unable to see past the agony that lanced through him. His vision spotted and he stumbled again as he was hit by another, the force of the impact sending him sprawling across the sand, a sea of his darkest moments rising up to greet him.
An ear-piercing screech sounded in the near distance and the shore beneath him vibrated. Wilder staggered to his feet, his grip on his blade weakened, but there. He had to help Malik and Talemir, he had to —
A huge form passed through his vision and he watched in awe as Malik cleaved the head of a wraith clean off its shoulders before taking his dagger of Naarvian steel to its chest, removing the thick mass of its heart with a grunt of disgust.
Then he was moving again. To Wilder.
Wilder watched him, utterly dazed at the warrior his brother had transformed into since he’d first left Kilgrave on the family’s old mare.
He felt the kiss of another whip of shadow, but Malik was there, with dagger and sword, fighting back the darkness, blow after mighty blow.
Someone grabbed Wilder under the arm and pulled him upright.
‘You and I are going to have words, Apprentice,’ Talemir growled, fury in his hazel eyes as he watched Malik finish off the third shadow wraith and toss its heart into the sea.
‘I just —’
‘You just nothing,’ Talemir snapped. ‘You disobeyed direct orders. You could have been fucking killed.’
‘You were losing —’
‘Losing?’ Talemir barked, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Furies fucking save me, Hawthorne. I could kill you myself.’ He released his bruising grip. ‘I’ll let Malik deal with you for a change. You’re a fucking idiot sometimes, you know that?’
Covered in wraith blood, his twin swords strapped across his back once more, Talemir Starling stormed off, no doubt to discipline Torj and the others who might have broken formation.
‘He’s not wrong,’ Malik’s voice sounded behind Wilder.
He turned to see his brother washing his hands in the shallows and grimacing as he spat blood onto the sand.
‘I’m sorry,’ Wilder said. ‘I thought you were in danger —’
‘We’re always in danger,’ Malik cut him off. ‘But your heart was in the right place. I’m guessing it was just you and Torj?’
‘I think so.’ Wilder loosed a breath. For all his visions of glory, he’d taken a few lashes and failed spectacularly.
‘Interesting,’ Malik said, not sounding as angry as Wilder expected.
‘What is?’ he asked, scanning his brother for any outward signs of injury. Malik was always so much larger than life that it was hard to imagine anything getting through him. There was a cut bleeding on his brow, but other than that, he seemed to be in one piece.
‘Nothing,’ he replied, waving Wilder off. ‘You shouldn’t have done what you did.’
‘I know…’
‘Talemir will have you in the armoury with the shieldbearers for a month.’
‘I know.’
‘He was scared for you,’ Malik clarified. ‘He feels responsible for you… But he’s forgetting one thing.’
Wilder sighed, his face hot with embarrassment. ‘What’s that?’
‘That I’ve always got your back, little brother.’
Wilder knew Malik was refraining from ruffling his hair like he used to when Wilder was a boy. For they were not boys anymore. They were warriors in a realm of encroaching darkness.
Wilder nudged his older brother, the immovable giant that he was. ‘And I’ve got yours,’ he told him.
Malik grinned, his teeth lined with red. ‘I have no doubt.’
‘You’re a fucking fool, Hawthorne.’
The familiar voice startled him awake. His chains rattled as he fought against them, until he remembered where he was and why he was so fucking cold.
Torj Elderbrock looked at him from the other side of the ice bars, shaking his head as he leant on his war hammer.
‘Hello to you too,’ Wilder rasped.
Torj’s expression was unreadable, but Wilder ventured that his reaction to what had occurred in the final hours of the battle of Tver had been similar to Thea’s.
The betrayal of the guild, of the midrealms, of their brotherhood echoed between them.
Perhaps Torj had simply wanted the opportunity to see the bastard of Thezmarr for himself, to make sure that his chains were sturdy and his suffering was great.
Wilder would have felt the same if he thought Torj had betrayed him.
‘You’ve seen better days,’ the Bear Slayer commented as he surveyed Wilder’s almost-naked body, which still bore the blood and grime of the wraith fight on the road, as well as one or two open wounds from the Aveum guards.
‘Could say the same for you,’ Wilder retorted, trying to suppress a gasp of pain. ‘What’s your excuse?’
The golden-haired Warsword gave a rough laugh. ‘Oh, you know, chasing monsters all over the midrealms, beating back curses from the Veil every other day… Dealing with fucking Vernich breathing down my neck.’
‘So the usual.’
‘Something like that.’
Wilder sucked in a breath, unable to help his next words. ‘You seen Mal?’
Torj dipped his head. ‘I have.’
‘And?’
‘And he’s… Malik.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Wilder growled.
‘It means he is unchanged, but he’s safe… In fact, a young alchemist we know has been his constant companion.’
‘Wren?’
‘You didn’t hear it from me.’
‘Course not.’ The relief was short-lived as Wilder steeled himself for what came next. ‘Anyone in particular send you to taunt me, then?’
‘Is that what I’m doing? Feels a little tame for that, don’t you think?’
‘You were always slow to warm up, Elderbrock.’
To his surprise, Torj didn’t continue the verbal sparring, but instead shook his head again, almost in disbelief.
‘What?’ Wilder demanded, jerking in his restraints.
‘I received a letter…’ Torj said slowly, taking in the ice walls around them, glancing towards the frost-covered stairs.
‘Oh?’ Wilder didn’t dare to hope, didn’t let the possibility even form in his mind. Torj was here out of morbid curiosity, nothing more.
But the Bear Slayer paced before the cell. ‘Marise is here, by the way…’
Wilder was thrown by the change of subject. Why were they talking of the wine merchant from Harenth? ‘Do I get to request my last meal and drink before my execution, then? Being a prisoner is thirsty work. It was thoughtful of him to come.’
Torj snorted. ‘He says you’ve got an unpaid tab.’
‘I’ve been a little busy,’ Wilder muttered.
‘Albert from the Fox sends his regards, too…’
‘How kind. All the traders of the midrealms paying tribute.’ Wilder tried to shift his weight again, the ache in his wrists closer to a burn now. ‘What are you really doing here, Elderbrock?’
‘Why? Got something better to do?’ Torj mused. ‘I told you, I got a letter.’
‘So you said. From who?’ In a moment of rashness, Wilder dared to say the names aloud. ‘Anya? Adrienne? Dratos?’
Torj’s gaze snapped back to his. ‘No,’ he said. ‘From Talemir Starling.’