Aze steps in front of me. “There’s been a mistake. Brennr isn’t—”

Two soldiers appear on either side of me, grasping both my arms and pulling me out of my brother’s reach. “Stop!” Aze yells. “You can’t do this! He hasn’t done anything!”

“I know this must come as a shock to some of you,” Captain Oristel says. “Indeed, it was a shock to me as well. To think that one of your own would stoop so low as to betray the army to which he has sworn an oath...” His words sound blurred and distant beyond the pounding in my ears. I suck in panicked breaths, struggling pathetically between the soldiers as they haul me through the crowd.

Over. It’s over. I’m going to die.

“What evidence is there of this boy’s betrayal?” Chass asks. I try to look at him, but the soldiers keep pushing my head down.

“I have heard the evidence in private,” Captain Oristel says sharply. “There is more than enough to render a sentence. I know you have occasionally used this boy as a messenger, Tenant. He’s been using that position to gain information. His true loyalties lie with those who would challenge the Grand General.”

The soldiers give me a final shove to put me before Captain Oristel, my back to the audience. He glares down at me as if I’m mud beneath his boot.

“I didn’t,” I whisper, but my voice is drowned out by the angry mutters spreading through the crowd. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Sir,” Chass continues. “Surely the boy has the right to a trial?”

My knees give out, and the soldiers at my side let me fall. The crowd is shouting now, their voices blurring together in my ears.

“A traitor does not deserve a trial,” the captain says. “His sentence will be immediate.”

“No,” I breathe.

“Captain,” Chass says. “I cannot believe—”

“You placed your faith in the wrong man, Gryfalkr.” The captain lowers his voice, eyes flashing. “Do not test me. You have also been accused, though your rank and connections saved you from further scrutiny. Do not make me rethink that decision.”

“Perhaps another form of punishment would be more appropriate,” Chass presses.

The captain wheels to face him, and Chass’s words falter. I turn terrified eyes on the man whose life I saved, my knees trembling against the cold earth. Chass locks his gaze with mine, and I read the helplessness in it.

He can’t save me.

I look at the scout beside me. His face is calm, as if he’s already accepted his fate.

“Sword,” Captain Oristel demands. “The Ielic first, and then the traitor.”

No. Ieldran, no. The bruise on the scout’s cheek stands out like a stain on clean cloth. He looks at me, his pupils blown wide, and hot fire explodes across my chest, down my arms, into my stomach. Not like this.

I won’t die like this.

Captain Oristel lifts his sword. The sound of a shout reaches me faintly, like my brain is half a step behind my ears. Aze. The scout’s eyes remain on me, burning, seizing onto my gaze as fear finally grips him.

I rip off my glove and press my hand to the earth, feeling the crumbles of cold dirt beneath my palm.

“Quake.”

Golden light knives down into the dirt. The earth gives a violent shake, like a horse bucking its rider. Captain Oristel stumbles. The scout’s eyes widen.

Then he’s on his feet, bound hands driving into the captain’s ribs and knocking him to the ground. I punch another jolt of energy into the earth and lunge after the scout, who pauses just long enough to make sure I’m following.

“Stop them!” Oristel yells. “Wordweaver! Kill them!”

The scout takes off, twisting to balance as the ground shudders. A few soldiers flail at him, but he dances aside and dashes toward the tunnel. I follow in a stumbling sprint, chancing a look over my shoulder to find the soldiers already gaining on us. We’ll never reach the tunnel at this rate.

My energy levels are full and boiling with disuse. The taste of a word frosts my tongue before I speak it, and I let it sink into my blood as a column of soldiers approaches. I bend and touch the earth, picturing my command in my mind.

“Freeze.”

The snow on the ground melts and freezes in the same instant, encrusting the soldiers’ feet in thick ice. I open my eyes as they lurch to a stop, frozen to the earth mid-run. They rip out swords and hack at their restraints, and I spare one last glance into the crowd before I turn away.

Phoenix, protect my brother.

The scout waits for me to join him at the mouth of the tunnel before hurrying through. We sprint to the first turn and I sag against the wall, sucking in air and feeling as though the ice has settled into my lungs.

“Wait,” I gasp. The scout pauses, breathing hard and clearly impatient to move again.

I reach for his hands and set my fingers on the rope. It takes a moment to gather my thoughts—I’ve switched to Ielic now, which uses a different word order than Awnian. The endings of action words also depend on the gender of the speaker, and I take a breath to settle myself before I speak the male form of my next command. “Cut.”

His bonds drop to the ground, and he kicks them aside and flexes his wrists. “Ready?” he asks.

I’m not, but I nod anyway. We run at a jog to conserve as much energy as possible. I’m already panting, but the scout takes controlled breaths through his nose, barely making any sound as he runs. I must seem pathetic to him. He’s probably spent years in the wild, and his stamina is barely affected by this run. I’ve never been particularly fast, but at least I could hold my own in races as a child. After everything, if we are caught because I’m too weak...

So I run on even though my lungs burn, even when the ache in my side because a constant, stabbing pain that pulses with every step. I run until we reach the cavernous Phoenix Nest and the scout slows to a walk, barely winded, and gestures to the wall.

“Rest,” he says. “Stay standing, though. It’ll be worse if you try to sit.”

I drag in gulps of air, closing my eyes against the black dots filling my vision. I should tell him to keep going—there’s no sense in both of us being captured—but I can’t form the words.

“Breathe in through your nose,” he coaches.

I obey, trying not to hate him for his composure. “My brother,” I gasp between breaths. At the last moment, I remember to use the male form of I before I go on. “I have to go back for my brother.”

The scout looks at me, then over his shoulder toward the fort. “You can’t. They’ll kill you.”

“But—”

“He’ll be safer away from you,” the scout says. “If you go back now, he might try to fight them, too. The best chance for both of you is if you escape.”

I don’t want to believe that. I want to go back and fight—level the whole fort if I have to—but my waning energy tells me I’ll never survive. And if Aze fights…

“There will be another chance,” the scout says. “Another time. But first, we have to get away.”

Guilt is thick in my throat, but I force it down and croak, “How far is your unit?”

He hesitates.

“Oh, for Ieldran’s—” I cut off the curse and glare at him, fighting for control over a rush of frustration threatening my composure. “I’m not going to go back and tell the Awnians where your unit is.”

“Just follow me,” he answers. “It’s not only my life at risk.”

He moves into a jog again, and I glower at his back. He’s right, the needling, logical part of my brain says. He can’t afford to trust me so easily. For all he knows, I could have orchestrated the escape just to find out where his base is. Forcing the matter won’t help any. I’ll simply have to wait for him to be ready to tell me, or else let him lead me to the unit without knowing where we’re going.

I hate not knowing.

I pause to drink from the water barrels before following the scout through the tunnel I’ve spent the last month digging. It’s a much shorter run, and before long, light glimmers up ahead. We burst through the tunnel into sunshine, finally safe, finally—

“Stop!” calls the guard stationed outside the tunnel. He draws his sword as we hurtle past, followed closely by his partner.

The scout wheels to face the soldiers, reaching out to catch me as I stagger after him. “Stay back,” he says, as if that wasn’t already my intention. The soldiers advance, swords drawn, and the scout falls into a ready stance with his arms up, palms out, muscles tense. The nearest soldier lunges, but the scout twists to the side and grabs his arm, slamming it against his knee and catching the sword that falls from his hand. He throws the soldier to the ground and falls back, lifting his stolen sword to catch the next attack.

It’s over quickly. Whatever training the scout has obviously received is superior to that of the soldiers. They lie on the ground in heaps, silent as fallen leaves.

“Quickly,” the scout says, wiping his sword clean on one of the soldier’s sleeves. He takes the man’s blade and slides it into the empty sheath at his hip before bending over the second body, where he undoes the sword belt and lifts it away, sheath and all.

I stare at the men. One has hair the color of honey, the same as Arun—and a dozen other men in Vallegat. He might have been my neighbor. How many loved ones did he leave behind to become a soldier? How long will it be before they learn of his fate?

The scout stands and puts himself between me and the dead Awnians, pressing the second sword into my hand and closing my fingers over it. When I don’t move, he slings the belt around my waist and fastens it.

I start, pushing his hands away. “We should keep moving,” he says. Dark blue eyes pierce through the fog of exhaustion and urge me to listen. To see the reason in his words and act.

But Aze... I look back, staring into the tunnel as if I can will it to give up my brother. The scout puts a hand on my shoulder and turns me away, then jogs off without waiting to see if I follow.

I have no choice. I sheath the sword and stagger after him.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

He takes us on a winding trail down the mountain, sometimes moving north but more often taking side routes and doubling back. I lose track of where we’ve been and where we’re going, sure it’s his way of preventing me from fleeing back to the fort once he’s taken me to his base.

“Rest here a moment,” the scout says after an hour, brushing a stump clear of snow and dropping onto it, barely panting.

I collapse against the trunk of a tree, trying to focus my blurring vision.

“I have friends nearby,” the scout says, leaning his forearms on his knees. “At least I hope I do. They should have been patrolling near the area when I was taken.”

“More scouts?” I ask.

“Yes.” He digs his heel into the snow, his shoulders shifting with each controlled breath. The color of his voice is a dark moss green, lit by the golden highlights I always hear in the Ielic language. A friendly color, if a little deeper than I’m used to. “I’m part of a group of rangers responsible for scouting the area around my unit. We travel as a group, but sometimes we split up to cover more ground.” He looks up at me, dark eyes shadowed by sweat-dampened hair. “You saved my life. My men would never have known what happened to me.”

I look away. If I hadn’t been sentenced to die with him, I would have watched his execution with the others, pitying his fate but never dreaming I could have done anything to stop it.

“I’m Six,” he says.

“Six?”

He smiles. “It’s short for Sixterianthe. Horrible thing to name a child, I know, but it’s a family name. What are you called?”

“Brennr.”

“You speak Ielic.”

“My mother taught me. Many of us from the border villages speak it.”

Six flicks his gaze over me and freezes abruptly. I stiffen under his stare, reaching up to the neck of my shirt where his eyes seem to have focused. At first I think he’s looking at my scar, but then cool metal brushes my fingers as I touch the ring beneath my twisted scarf. Somehow during my arrest and escape, it must have been pulled loose.

I guess I won’t be giving it to Chass after all. Add thief to my growing list of transgressions.

Six blinks away when I cover the ring with my hand, his jaw clenching. “What?” I demand.

“Where did you get that?”

“It’s only a ring.” It must be worth quite a bit for him to react like this. He wouldn’t try to rob me, would he?

His stare burns through me, gaze jumping from mine to where the ring is concealed beneath my hand. “You found it?” he presses.

“Yes.”

“In the fort?”

I pause. “Yes.”

He waits, all attention focused on my hand and the treasure beneath it, his whole body angled to face me. Then he sighs, and the tension drains from his muscles with the long breath. “Keep it hidden,” he murmurs. “Don’t show it to anyone.”

I tuck it back under my shirt, frowning, but he doesn’t look at me again. Instead, he scratches his dark hair with one hand, rolling his shoulders and neck as he stands. “Let’s keep going,” he says. “I’d like to get farther away from the tunnel before dark so we can start a fire.”

Repressing a groan, I push away from the tree and force myself to take a calming breath. I’ve mostly regained it now, but the thought of running any more makes my muscles wobble.

We set off at a quick walk, much more relaxed than our previous pace. A lark trills a greeting as we pass, as though this is nothing more than a pleasurable stroll through the countryside. The sound twists in my stomach. I am a fugitive. A traitor to my home, to the army I’d just begun to serve. An army that still holds my brother.

“Shh,” Six says. He stands still beside a leaning pine, his head tilted. I pause a few paces away to listen. The lark has stopped singing, but otherwise I can’t hear whatever it is that’s made him stop.

He straightens, lifting his hands to his face to let out a warbling whistle. It sounds like a snow bunting, though it’s the wrong season for that kind of call.

A rustle in the brush is my only warning. I turn to face it and find a man charging through the forest, his sword raised. I fumble for my own, crying out and stumbling back, but my hand slides off the hilt as I try to jerk it free. I lift my other arm helplessly as the man strikes.

“Stop!” Six yells.

The man freezes, his sword inches from my neck. “He’s Awnian,” he grunts, not taking his eyes from mine. From this close, I can see the scars crossing his tanned face—one bisecting his left eyebrow, one splitting his upper lip, one tracing down his jaw to disappear beneath a scruff of brown stubble. His hazel eyes dart toward my pathetically outstretched arm, and I lower it self-consciously.

“He helped me escape,” Six says, stepping between us and pushing the sword down. I swallow as the point slips past my throat.

“How was I supposed to know that?” the man says. “I see Awnian colors behind you, and what else am I supposed to think?”

“Exactly what you thought,” Six says. “But this one isn’t an enemy. He saved my life.”

The man throws his sword back into its sheath. “An Awnian saved your life? Why? Where have you been?”

“With the Awnians. I thought that much was obvious.”

“Don’t be smart with me,” the man snarls. “You disappear for three days, no word, no trail. It took me that long to track you here. What happened?”

Six sobers. “I was captured. Brennr helped me escape.”

The man turns his attention back to me. “And why would he help you?”

“It was mutually beneficial,” Six says. “Where are the others?”

Six’s friend throws me a blatantly distrusting look. “Down the mountain a ways.”

“I told you he’s fine,” Six says. He pats the man on the shoulder, smiling. “Brennr, this is Thare. He hasn’t mastered the art of socializing yet.”

Thare lets out a sound I can only describe as a growl and pushes Six’s hand away. “The others should be nearby,” he says. “They moved camp after I left this morning.”

“Good,” Six nods. “Glad to hear you haven’t completely fallen apart without me.”

“What about him? You’re going to bring an Awnian soldier into our camp?”

“He’s not a soldier anymore,” Six says.

“He’s still Awnian,” Thare says. “We shouldn’t trust him.”

“We’ll give him a safe place to rest and some food,” Six says, with a ring of finality in his voice. “Let the others keep watch for a while. We’re tired.”

“They won’t like that,” Thare says, but makes no other argument as he marches off into the trees. Six starts after him, but I hesitate. This might be my chance to leave. Thare clearly doesn’t want me around, and his companions will probably feel the same way. There’s nothing stopping me from going my own way now. I’m as free as I’m ever going to be.

Six slows, looking over his shoulder at me. “Coming?”

I don’t answer. He waits, eyes softening as I struggle through my thoughts. “I know things have happened quickly,” he says. “But you can’t stay here. You have no supplies. Come with us now, and we’ll figure out a plan for you after we’ve had a chance to eat.”

My stomach chooses that moment to let out an empty gurgle. He’s right again, and I’m getting tired of admitting it.

Thare leads us to a little hollow of pine trees with a small clearing at its center. “Make your call,” he tells Six. “I hate whistling.”

Six cups his hands around his mouth and lets out another snow bunting whistle. He waits until the echoes fade before repeating the call twice more, then drops arms at his sides and eases into the hollow. “Now we wait,” he says. “It shouldn’t be long.”

I follow him down and set my back against a pine, allowing myself to slide down the trunk until I’m sitting on the ground. It’s surprisingly dry, protected from snowfall by the thick branches overhead. The brown-green of Six’s tunic and armor blends into the earth beneath him, and when he’s still, I almost believe he could disappear against it. “You were on a scouting mission when you were captured?” I ask, curious.

Six lies back against a tree trunk, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. “It wasn’t exactly a mission,” he answers. “Just routine scouting. We keep an eye on the border, especially near Hollow Peak. The mountains are thinnest here.”

I know exactly how thin it is. “What will happen when your friends arrive?”

“I suppose we’ll return to our unit.”

“What will happen when you tell your captain about the tunnel?”

Six opens one eye to look at me. “He’ll want to do something about it. We can’t ignore an opening into Ieli.”

“My brother is still there,” I say. “At the fort. He might be punished because of me.”

Six opens his mouth, but Thare cuts him off. “Someone coming,” he says. “One of us.”

“Which?” Six asks. Rather than answer, Thare backs away from the gap between the trees where he’d been keeping watch.

A man steps through, dressed in the same leather armor and forest green cloak Thare and Six are wearing. Tight coils of black hair hang into his eyes, which open wide as they take me in. “Who’s this?”

“Brennr,” Six answers. “Brennr, meet Redge.”

“He’s Awnian,” Redge says.

“Yes. I’ll give you the full story when everyone else arrives.”

“Shouldn’t be long,” Redge says. “Iorin was right behind me.”

“And still is,” puts in a new voice. Another form slips through the trees, nodding to Thare. “Good to see you, Six. We were taking bets on whether or not you’d been eaten by wolves.”

“Not yet,” Six says. “Brennr, this is Iorin. Iorin, Brennr, who is an Awnian but not an enemy.”

“I look forward to that story,” Iorin says, pushing back his hood. His features are nearly identical to Redge’s—black hair and dark skin, more typical of coastal Ielics than the ones who settled near the mountains—though he appears older by a few years. “You should probably do something about that armband, then,” he adds. “Not everyone is as discerning as we are. They might shoot first and wait to hear your explanation after.”

“Noted,” Six says. “Have you seen Orami?”

Iorin shakes his head.

“Not since the morning,” Redge says. “We agreed to meet here before sundown, though, so he should be close.”

His eyes drift to me as he speaks, a crease forming between his brows. I straighten my shoulders and push down my irritation. I have my breath back now, and I won’t be intimidated by his suspicion.

Another ten minutes pass before the last ranger arrives, just as Iorin sparks a fire in a bed of dry oak branches. “Am I late?” he asks, smiling as he lowers himself into the hollow. He’s only a boy—no more than sixteen—with soft olive skin and kindly eyes that are out of place among the hardened faces of the other rangers. It’s strange that such a young boy would be allowed to scout with the others. They all appear to be in their twenties, with Iorin looking to be the oldest.

“Glad you’re still alive,” the boy tells Six. “Redge said we’d never see you again.”

Redge rubs the back of his neck. “He exaggerates. I had every confidence we’d find you eventually. Now tell us your story.”

The boy gives me a curious look, taking in my black and silver armband with wide green eyes. His hair is a burned orange color I’ve never seen before.

“Gather round,” Six says dramatically. “Three days ago, I discovered what appeared to be a break in the wall of the mountain. As I approached to investigate, the stones exploded before me and knocked me down as a horde of Awnian soldiers broke through and—”

“A horde?” Redge says.

“Broke through what?” Thare says at the same time.

Six glares at them. “Hush. They’d been digging a tunnel, and I had the lucky misfortune of being there when they finished it. And it was a horde, but most of them seemed to only be workers. That left half a dozen soldiers, whom I valiantly fought, but eventually they overpowered me and took me back through the tunnel to their fort.”

“You were captured?” Orami says. Iorin and Thare exchange somber looks, as if Six has just confirmed something they’d already expected.

Redge leans forward. “How big a fort?”

“Big enough,” Six says, his tone suddenly matching theirs. “They questioned me, asking where the unit was and how many men we had on the border.”

“That how you got that bruise?” Thare asks.

“They weren’t impressed with my silence,” Six says. “They tried to use a Wordweaver to make me talk.”

A scowl flashes over Redge’s face. “How?”

“It didn’t work. He tried forcing me to speak, but nothing happened. After that, they decided I wasn’t worth the trouble and that they’d rather just execute me.”

The rangers go silent. Even the fire seems to cease its cheerful crackling, as if everything in the hollow is struck by the thought of how close Six came to death. Something he said earlier circles in my thoughts: They would never have known what happened to me.

Would it have been the same for me? Would Captain Oristel have even bothered to send word to Mjera’s family? Maybe Chass would have notified my parents after things settled down.

What will he tell them now?

“That’s where Brennr comes in,” Six goes on in a subdued voice. “When the Awnian captain announced my execution, he also accused Brennr of treason and sentenced him to death beside me.”

Each man in the hollow looks at me, but I keep my eyes on Six. “You understood that?” I say. “They were speaking Awnian. You said you didn’t understand Captain Oristel’s questions.”

Six winks.

“Why treason?” Orami asks, looking between Six and me.

“They said he was gathering information to be used against Grand General Ambritten,” Six says, tilting his head at me.

Iorin raises his dark eyebrows. “Is it true?”

Something in his gentle, honey-colored voice compels me to speak before I can think better of it. “No. One of the tenants thought I tried to help Six escape. I didn’t, but...”

But it doesn’t matter anymore. No one could argue against my guilt now.

“How did you escape?” Iorin asks.

Six glances at me, and my breath hitches. I’ve escaped being used by one army only to fall into the hands of another.

“Brennr caused a distraction,” Six says, his eyes still on me. “It stopped the pursuit for a while, long enough for us to get away.”

Thare raises an eyebrow and shrugs. “Then he must not be too useless,” he says. “Even if he looks like he can’t lift his sword.”

I glare at him. “I’ve never wanted to use a sword. I joined to be a healer, not a soldier.”

Orami’s face lights up. “A healer! Wait until Somre hears that. He’ll want to talk to you for sure.”

“He’s not going to talk to Somre,” Thare says. “Traitor or not, he’s an Awnian soldier. We can’t take him back to the unit.”

“What other choice do we have?” Iorin asks. “Leave him out here on the mountainside? What thanks would that be for saving Six’s life?”

“Six should never have gotten himself into a position where he needed saving,” Thare says.

Six snorts. “Are you saying I deserved to die because I was surprised and outnumbered?”

Thare only harrumphs.

“Thare’s right,” Redge puts in. “We can’t just bring an Awnian soldier to the unit. We should let him go here. He can return to his village.”

Six shakes his head. “He’d never make it back on his own. Even if he knew the way, there’s the wolves to worry about. We’ve barely avoided them ourselves. He wouldn’t last the night.”

I clutch my jacket closer, wishing I’d have thought to wear Mjera’s father’s cloak when I left the barracks. If the wolves were willing to attack a large group, they certainly wouldn’t have any trouble going after me. I’d have no hope of making it home, even with my Wordweaving.

“Let’s vote,” Iorin suggests. “All in favor of leaving Brennr here to die in the wilderness, raise your hand.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Redge says, but raises his hand anyway. Thare adds his as well.

“All in favor of bringing Brennr back to Captain Bayal, who might like the chance to question someone who has seen the inside of an Awnian training fort and who has first-hand knowledge of the tunnel’s construction,” Iorin goes on calmly. “Raise your hand.”

He lifts his as he speaks and is joined by Six and Orami. “That’s majority,” Iorin says, looking at Six.

Six nods. “The rangers have spoken,” he says, offering me a grim smile. “Guess you get to live another day after all.”