“Where is my wife?”

Jason, to the casual observer, was absolutely calm. His shoulders were relaxed, and his grip on his massive, ruby-studded hammer was deceptively light, considering how heavy it was.

But his eyes, his eyes blazed with the kind of fury that was only found in the sun, when the unwise looked at it too long.

“The heretic Witch will burn!”

The cleric, a disciple of some Sun cult or another, did not know what death stood before him, dressed as a simple blacksmith.

“I said,” Jason murmured, and twisted his hand in the man’s tunic, before lifting him off his feet, and then into the open air on the other side of the high walls. “Where is my wife?”

The cleric twist and fought, but Jason was far, far stronger than he looked, and he looked strong already. His grip never faltered as he held the struggling man out over the edge without the slightest strain.

“The Witch is a plague!” the cleric said, and yanked fruitlessly at Jason’s iron grip. “The plague must be eradicated! We will wipe clean the taint and the evil! It is the truest calling!”

“My wife,” Jason said, without the slightest blink, “Is not a plague.”

Before anyone could stop him, Jason opened his hand, and the cleric fell.

It was a long way to the ground.

Jason turned back to Kellen before the screams behind him cut off abruptly.

“She’s here,” he said, and walked past the old duke without looking back. The cleric’s screams cut off abruptly, and Jason kept going. “My heart will always know the way to her.”

Despite his outward serenity, rage rolled off the big man, just the way it had ever since the news came that Daramethe was missing.

The gates loomed high above them as they stormed the city, surrounded by a fast-moving wedge of soldiers.

The cultists and clerics and prophets could think whatever they wanted. At the end of the day, the people of their country loved Daramethe and the way she cared for all of them, no matter how low-born. They would rise up in the defense of their beloved sorceress queen.

But Jason had loved her longer than anyone else, and nothing would keep him from rescuing his wife from the evil men who dared to kidnap her away.

“Move,” he said, when the men scattered to find something to make a ram. “Now.”

Warmth pooled in his chest, where he kept the memories of his wife on their wedding day, in her soft green dress, with flowers in her long black hair. From there, it flowed into his hands, until his hammer shone with radiance

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From there, it was simple.

If there was one thing a blacksmith knew how to do, it was swing a hammer.

Jason pulled it off his shoulder and braced himself, before he swung the huge war hammer in a mighty, two-handed blow to steel-strapped wood.

The gates exploded as metal heated until it glowed red-hot, and the wood burst into a shower of splinters, each leaving a comet trail of sparks when they hit the cobblestones.

Jason never even broke step.

Under his boots, the stones smoked and hissed, and cracked.

In his hand, the Hammer of the Sun blazed like a warning.

Men scattered out of his way, unwilling to challenge the one who was Promised by their god, and who now appeared as the embodiment of retribution.

Fires trailed behind him as Jason pressed his way into the grand temple, followed by Kellen, and his men.

Everywhere around them, clerics fell to their knees. Their High Priest did his work too well when he convinced them all that the Hammer of the Sun was divine, and would take the side of Good and Truth.

They never counted on their warrior being a simple blacksmith, who lost his heart long ago to the sweet young hedge-witch. Who married her in the spring, with their bare feet in the grass and kind, low-born folk around them, cheering and drunk on honey-wine.

If there was one truth in his world, it was that Jason would love his wife until the day he died.

The next door never got the chance to bear a blow from the Hammer. It burst into white flames as soon as Jason drew near.

The men around him were forced back one step, and then another as heat rolled off Jason’s body, and sunlight glowed softly in his hair despite the grey, cloud-covered sky.

The door after that was burned to white, powdery ash long before it even came into sight.

“Jason?”

For the first time, Jason’s mask of calm shattered completely, and he ran forward into the darkness of the deep prison, and the hopeful voice that echoed up from the deep cells.

“Dara!”

The bars that separated them were heavy steel, but they melted away like water when Jason lunged for his wife. Like the bars, her shackles melted away, although the Lightning Witch gave no sign of discomfort at the liquid metal dripping off her skin until she could fling her arms around her husband.

“They told me you were taken,” Jason murmured, and cradled her as tightly as he dared. She smelled like pain and sweat, but also like his beloved. “They told me raiders came, looking for a mage to help, and that they drugged you.”

“It was my own fault,” Daramethe whispered into his shoulder, her fingers tight in his shirt. She was filthy and tattered, but mercifully unharmed. Jason knew better than most of the magic that crackled under her skin, for all that it loved him too well to bring him harm. “I should have been more careful. How did you find me?”

“My heart could find yours even if they took us to opposite ends of the world,” Jason promised, and led her out into the daylight. “If they thought they could hide you anywhere I could not find you, they were more the fools than I imagined before.”

Outside, the clerics, those who hadn’t fled, anyway, were chanting. Something about the sun coming out of the shadows and the blessings falling upon them.

Jason ignored them completely as he wrapped his coat around his wife’s shoulders. It covered her from neck to knee, and was far more protection from the chilly air than her tattered silken dress.

Daramethe tugged the coat around her and tucked herself into the curve of his side with a tired smile, and stood on her toes to kiss Jason’s cheek. He bent to let her reach, and pressed little kisses to the top of her head.

The clerics went from chanting to cowering. That was probably wise. Dara had spent the last week in a cell, and had to patience worth mentioning.

At the sight of the robed men, Daramethe muttered dire threats under her breath, and glared all around her. Lightning cracked down out of the sky and sent the clerics running for the hills.

Jason just laughed, cheerful now that his beloved was safe and in his arms.