Page 44 of Shadow & Storms

‘Beats me how,’ Talemir quipped, his gaze trained on Drue, who was handing out practice blades to the women warriors.

Wilder realised that he and Talemir had stopped completely in their tracks to watch, and they weren’t the only ones. Plenty of shadow-touched soldiers from all over the camp had paused whatever menial task they were carrying out, elbowing each other as Drue invited Thea to spar.

‘They don’t waste time, do they?’ Talemir mused, his voice rich with pride.

Around them, banners fluttered like restless spirits and the scent of burning wood hung heavy in the air as the two women circled each other amid the gathering crowd of eager onlookers.

Thea flicked her braid over her shoulder and gave Drue a wolfish grin before raising her blade in salute. Drue answered with a grin of her own, and lunged.

The clash of steel rang out, a familiar song of battle, as Drue’s blade, swift as the wind, met Thea’s with a resounding clang. The metallic ring of swords permeated the air, mingling with the camp scent of sweat and ash from the fires.

Wilder’s chest swelled as he watched Thea. Her movements were a fluid poetry, her blade an extension of herself, striking with precision and grace… and yet he could tell she was holding back. There was no storm magic in the air, nor even a hint of that Furies-given power he knew flowed through Thea now. No, she was fighting with the abilities she’d honed over the years and nothing more.

Drue countered with significant strength, her strikes a testament to her own years of training and extra tutelage under Talemir, but she was no match for Thea, not truly. The gathered throng held its breath, seeming to revel in the rush of wind as swords sliced through the air, the tang of anticipation heavy around them. Sparks flew like fiery stars, and Wilder watched as the women in the audience became rapt, mesmerised by the warriors in their midst who looked like them, who had become legends in their own right.

‘You taught her well,’ Talemir said.

‘It’s all her,’ Wilder replied without hesitation. He might have helped shape the Warsword before them, but she’d been a warrior all along.

‘Well then, your work is cut out for you with your unit…’ Talemir nudged him. ‘We can’t let the women have all the glory. Follow me.’

Talemir led him to a unit of thirty shadow-touched men of varying ages. Some were teenagers like Gus, others older than Drue’s father Fendran. It didn’t bode well.

Talemir put his fingers between his teeth and whistled to get their attention. ‘Everyone, this is your commander for the battles ahead, Wilder Hawthorne.’

Wilder heard the intake of breath, noted several men shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, and even a sneer or two in the back. He clenched his jaw. Once, the mere mention of his name demanded respect, had men clamouring to be taught a single manoeuvre by him. But now…

‘Isn’t he the fallen Warsword?’ said a nasal voice from the group. ‘The one who killed a bunch of shadow-touched —’

Talemir silenced him with a single look. ‘Wilder Hawthorne is one of the most formidable warriors in the history of the midrealms,’ he said coolly. ‘He’s here to make men out of you, if you’ve got the stomach for it.’ He glanced at Wilder. ‘They’re all yours until sundown.’

‘I’m not making any promises,’ Wilder grunted, surveying what he had to work with.

Talemir moved on to another unit, leaving Wilder with the unruly crew of shadow-touched. He turned to them, giving them a cold, hard look he usually reserved for the most hopeless shieldbearers.

‘We’re doing laps,’ he said. ‘Let’s find out what you’re made of.’

Wilder drilled his shadow-touched unit all afternoon. They were unfit and undisciplined, but not completely beyond help, though he was no more popular by the end of the day than he had been at the start. Which was fine with him; he wasn’t there to make friends. He was there to make soldiers.

What he didn’t admit was how he himself felt the burn of the exercises more keenly after his stint in the Scarlet Tower, how his brow broke into a sweat far sooner than it should have. When the day was done, he felt wrung out, but he hid it well – or so he thought, until Thea took one look at him in the quadrangle and grimaced.

‘That bad, huh?’ he asked casually, walking over to her and trying not to limp as the stiffness took hold of his muscles.

Thea was sprawled on a bench beneath an ivy-covered archway, wearing a loose shirt and pants, her armour stacked beside her, her feet bare. A notebook was clutched tightly between her hands, as though it were something precious.

Making room for him, she tucked her feet up beneath her and kissed him as he sat down, hiding his wince.

‘You’re exactly how I like you,’ she said with a mischievous grin. ‘Rugged and dirty.’

‘Is that right?’

‘Absolutely,’ she said with another kiss.

Wilder tried to take the notebook from her hands. ‘What have you been scribbling away at?’

Her grip tightened on the pages. ‘Nothing,’ she replied, tucking the notebook under her pile of armour and rummaging through the rest of her things. ‘Anya gave me my pack back and I realised I’ve got something of yours…’

To his surprise, Thea produced the sapphire necklace he’d kept stuffed away in his cabin since his last visit to Naarva. Slightly bewildered, he took it from her and stared at the blue gem as it twinkled in the sunlight.

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