“Hashtha,” Six spits, using a word I don’t recognize in any language. Judging by the sour look on his face, I assume it’s a curse.

“What do we do now?” I ask, sagging against the wall of the tunnel.

He slams his palm against a rock, chest heaving with each frustrated breath. His eyes are on what we can see of the fort, which isn’t much—just the training yard and the far end of the wall. After a moment, he leans his forehead against his arm. “We have to keep them from leaving the fort.”

I want to tell him that’s impossible, but he already looks so defeated. Besides, he told me to go back and I refused, knowing full well that we were up against an impossible task.

But we don’t need to take the fort… we just need to stall.

“I can create a cover,” I say, forcing strength into my voice. “If we can get to Oristel, we might be able to keep him from giving any orders. At least until Captain Bayal arrives.”

Six’s eyes find mine, and I have a feeling he sees through my act. “Brayam can’t have been too far ahead of us. He’s probably still talking to Oristel.”

“Then we have to act now,” Iorin says.

“We’ll need a distraction,” Six says. “Something to keep everyone in the yard.”

“What are you thinking?” Redge asks.

“Remember Ohyr Run?”

Thare groans. “That didn’t work last time.”

“It worked a little. We’ll have better cover this time.”

“Easy for you to say,” he grumbles. “You were on the ridge.”

“We’re running out of time,” Iorin says. “I say we do it.”

“Agreed,” Redge says.

Thare grunts. “Fine.”

Six looks at me. “Are you ready?”

No. But “no” isn’t an option, so I move to the end of the tunnel, careful to keep myself hidden against the side of the wall. Six follows me, drawing his sword. His presence at my back is comforting, giving me the determination to take a breath and hold out my hands.

“Fog,” I command, picturing the cloudy haze of mist that used to drift through the valley in the cool spring mornings before the sun had fully risen. I’ve walked through it on my way to Fryr Edlan’s lessons, and I conjure up the clammy feeling of the fog on my skin, the disorienting sensation of not being able to see the houses I knew should be rising up in front of me.

The word tastes like the whipped egg whites Herre Innre sometimes adds to his cakes—airy and light and a little bit salty. My palms glow, the light lifting in tendrils through the air, and the fog descends. The ground is cool, and when the energy-warmed air spreads over it, the fog grows thicker on its own. I exhale, sending the fog out into the training yard, letting it build until it’s knee level, then hip, then chest. A few Awnian soldiers cry out from wherever they’re standing, and Six touches my shoulder.

“Let’s go,” he says in a low voice, leading the way through the mouth of the tunnel. I follow him, breathing deeply through my nose and keeping a firm control on the power seeping from my palms. It’s harder than I thought it would be, feeding enough energy through the air to keep this much fog from dissipating. Nausea crawls up my throat, but I force it back down. The rangers are counting on me.

Six is counting on me.

Stepping from the dry air of the tunnel into the fog is like wading into a damp blanket. Nothing out of arm’s reach is visible, and the fog is so thick it almost feels like a physical barrier. The shouts of the Awnians in the courtyard give us a good enough idea of what to avoid, so Six takes a route that will lead us to the stairs of the upper wall, taking us above the confusion instead of through it.

The barest shift of movement behind me marks the detachment of the rangers from the tunnel. I turn my head to watch them disappear into the fog, little more than ghosts in the mist. As Six finds the staircase and leads us up onto the ramparts, I strain my ears for any sounds that might indicate what’s happening in the courtyard.

“...never seen anything like this before...” mutters one of the Awnians.

“It’s not natural.” The voice is faint, so quiet I can barely hear his words. The higher we climb, the less I understand. “...see anything... you? How...”

Another few mumbled replies answer him, and once I think I hear Brayam’s name. The fog grows thinner the higher we climb, but I let that be. We need it in the courtyard, not the ramparts.

“Did you see—?” asks a soldier below, and then a sickly gurgling sound cuts him off, followed by a thump.

“Corinn?” calls another soldier. The sound of swords being scraped free from scabbards drifts toward me, followed by the jingling of chain mail as the soldiers shift their weight.

“Someone’s in the fog,” says a soldier. “Sound the alarm! Call for—”

He is cut off as well, this time with a cry of surprise, and the other guards shout as the sounds of swords clash together. The fog around them begins to dissipate, and I redouble the energy wisping from my palms and concentrate on keeping the courtyard covered. I am so focused on that particular spot that I stumble when we reach the top of the stairs. Six has to steady me before I can continue.

He draws his sword and prowls across the rampart. Three guards patrol the upper level, all of them staring down into the fog below with their crossbows pointed anxiously at the sounds of fighting. One stands only a few feet from the staircase, and notices us as Six climbs free of the fog. He lets out a shout and turns his crossbow on us, but Six is ready for him. His bow is already in his hands, and without hesitation, he draws an arrow and releases it in the same smooth motion. The arrow finds its mark, and the guard collapses without a sound as his bolt clatters against the rampart, missing Six by inches.

But his cry alerts the other two guards, who also send up shouts of their own. Six darts in front of me as one of the guards lifts his crossbow, swinging his bow at the man’s head and dropping him at his feet.

Another bolt hisses toward us, and Six spins close to the edge of the wall, catching himself just in time to stay upright. The third Awnian drops his crossbow and dives for cover, drawing his sword as he goes. “They’re on the ramparts!” he hollers. “Quick, to the ramparts! Invaders on the wall!” A moment later, he is silenced by Six’s arrow, but the damage is done.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

I can’t speak without breaking my connection to my Wordweaving, but I reach out and touch Six’s shoulder in alarm. “I’m fine,” he says, flashing a quick smile. “The bolt just grazed me. But they’ve sounded the alarm—our time is running out.”

As if on cue, the soldiers below shout, “The ramparts! The ramparts!” A few crossbow bolts fly out of the fog, but they don’t come anywhere near us. Six rushes ahead, and I stumble after him, feeling as if I’m being pulled in two directions. The strain of keeping this much energy channeled and contained manifests itself in the form of a piercing headache, which stabs between my eyes and makes every step a fight. The Awnians are going to find us. We’ll be outnumbered and we’ll have no hope of getting through to the captain’s quarters without battle.

“No—they’ve come down!” shouts a voice from below. I’m so distracted that at first I don’t even recognize it as Iorin. “To the western walls!” he yells. “The western walls!”

“So far better than Ohyr Run,” Six says as the Awnians below take up the chant. Their crossbow bolts fly out of the fog again, concentrated on the western wall while we continue, unchallenged, to the east.

My breath is coming in gasps now, and I feel sweat pooling on my forehead despite the cool air. Six hovers beside me, his hand on my shoulder, guiding me away from the edge of the rampart. I try to let my control slip every now and then, easing off the flow of energy until the fog begins to fade, and then funneling it back to build it up again. It helps, but only barely.

Just a little longer. We’re almost there.

A figure rises out of the mist on the staircase ahead. He carries a bow, an arrow nocked and aimed at us as he ascends one step at a time. When he sees us, he freezes, holding his ground at the top of the stairs. I blink at him, taking in the familiar build, the vaak hair and the blue eyes that light on mine as he looks us over.

“Hello, Braids,” he says quietly. “I thought I noticed some gold in the fog. Glad to see I was right.”

Six glances at me in surprise, taking in the faint glow pouring from my hands. He turns back to Chass and aims his arrow. “Stand aside,” he orders. He takes a step forward, but Chass turns his arrow on him.

My heart does a strange, stuttering dance in my chest. “Please,” I whisper, breaking my Wordwoven connection to the fog.

Chass’s aim never falters, but his gaze moves to me. “We thought you were dead,” he says. A heavy, stormy blue drips from his voice, weighing down his words.

I shake my head, but I have to pour my attention back into the Wordweaving. I whisper the command into the fog again, gathering it back within my control and concentrating it into the courtyard.

“You’ve made some new friends,” Chass says, studying Six calmly. “You both escaped, then. Tyrr went after you, but he said you’d been killed in the battle.”

Six blinks at me. “What battle?”

“The Ielics waiting on this side of the tunnel,” Chass says. When we only stare at him blankly, he sighs. “An exaggeration, I suppose. Tyrr said there was a score of Ielic soldiers waiting on this side of the tunnel, ready to rescue their scout. He said he and the other two guards could do nothing but defend themselves. The other two were killed, along with you, Braids. He said it was all he could do to escape with his life. I guess he didn’t want to admit he’d lost you.”

“Tyrr was never there,” Six says. He studies Chass a moment longer, the point of his arrow dipping slightly. “You’re the tenant who questioned me.”

“And you are...” Chass hesitates, glancing at me.

Ieldran... Chass knows. I gape at him, then at Six, who nods to himself as if coming to the same realization. “You were the one who unlocked the gatehouse door,” he says. “You sent the message to Aquillis.”

“I see I’m outnumbered,” Chass hedges, lowering his arrow. “Where is your commander?”

Six exchanges another look with me. “I am authorized to accept your surrender. Put down your bow and give Brennr your sword.”

Chass obeys, pulling his sword free and handing it to me with an expression I can’t read. He has to be the real traitor—the fact that he’s not fighting now proves that.

But why?

“Bind his hands,” Six says. “There’s rope in my pack.”

I’m already at my limit as far as concentration goes, and I don’t think I can keep the fog going while doing something else. I take in a slow breath through my nose and release the energy, hoping enough fog has built up to keep steady for a few moments.

Chass holds out his hands, and I take the rope from Six’s pack and wrap it around his wrists. “Sorry,” I whisper, but he gives me a small smile.

“It’s good to see you, Braids. Even like this.”

I tie a knot, feeling as if the same is being done to my stomach. “Chass… Where’s Aze?”

He lets out a slow breath, as though the question had been on his mind as well. “When Tyrr returned and told us you were dead, Aze was… upset. He challenged Tyrr, and while I was able to convince Captain Oristel that his reaction was one of grief and should not be taken seriously, Tyrr made Aze his next target. He said that the only person who would defend a traitor must also be disloyal. Many of your neighbors came to his defense—chief among them your betrothed.”

Six’s head snaps up, but I keep my focus on Chass. “What happened?”

“The soldiers wanted someone to punish,” Chass goes on. “Since you’d escaped, they were happy for someone else to shoulder the blame. The only way I could think to keep Aze safe was to remove him from the fort. Captain Oristel signed his transfer papers yesterday.”

Yesterday. We were so close. I push through the wave of disappointment and ask, “Where has he gone?”

“A division nearby,” he answers. “He’ll be trained for real there.”

Just like he wanted. So why do I feel as if I’ve had the ground ripped out from under me?

“We thought you were dead,” Chass says. “I couldn’t risk leaving Aze where he was any longer.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “You protected him. I’m grateful, really. Thank you, Chass.”

“We’ll find him after this is finished,” Six says, but I know it’s an empty promise. And too far ahead of ourselves.

“We have to focus on getting through this first,” I say, waving for Chass to go down the stairs first as I speak my energy into the fog again. I’m shaking now, but I can’t tell if it’s from the Wordweaving or… everything else. Chass turns to descend, and I put myself between him and Six.

When we reach the bottom of the stairs, I send out a pulse through the fog to clear a path along the wall. Up ahead, barely visible in the mist, two shapes argue in hushed tones.

“What do you mean it just happened?” demands a voice I recognize as Oristel’s.

“I don’t know, sir. One minute everything was clear, and the next...”

“Where is Tenant Gryfalkr?” Oristel demands. “Brayam was supposed to bring him, and now they’ve both disappeared. Find him.”

“Yes, sir.” Footsteps signify the soldier has gone to obey orders, and as we creep closer to where Oristel stands, I hear no one else with him.

“You’re surrounded,” Six says in Awnian, drawing his arrow again to aim it at Oristel. “Surrender, and we will let your men live.”

Oristel stiffens. “Who said that?”

By now, we’ve gotten close enough to see the captain’s face, which turns to us in shock as we appear through the fog. I take a shaking breath and release a margin of the control sliding through my fingers, clearing the area around us so Oristel can see he’s outnumbered—and that we already have one prisoner.

Oristel makes a visible effort to control his expression. “Who are you?” he asks. His hand reaches for his sword, but he doesn’t draw it.

“I am an emissary for Captain Tiiberial Bayal of the Ieli Border Infantry,” Six says. “And I am here to accept your surrender and the release of the villagers you’ve taken captive.”

Oristel barks out a harsh laugh. “Is that all?”

“You’ll find we can be quite persuasive.” Six nods his head at Chass, who remains silent.

A shadow of doubt passes over Oristel’s face, but his expression stays grim. “And what would you have me do, exactly?”

“Surrender,” Six repeats. “You give over control of this fort to my captain. In return, I will allow you and your men to live.”

“Your captain.” Oristel says. “Who is not here.”

“He waits nearby,” Six says. “Surely you don’t think we two came alone?”

Surprised, Oristel’s eyes move to me, and his face contorts with rage. “You,” he spits. “You should be dead.”

“The Pathkeeper has other plans for us,” Six says, gesturing with the end of his arrow.

Oristel glances from him to Chass, who still has not moved. “You are bluffing.”

“By all means,” Six says in a low voice. “Test me.”

My muscles tense reflexively as Oristel reaches for his sword. The headache that had been a pounding ache is now a piercing pain that pulses down my spine. I won’t be able to Wordweave again. Already I feel the power slipping out of my control, threatening to overwhelm me. If I don’t stop the flow of energy soon…

A bugle call erupts from the tunnel and freezes us all in place. Six lets out a breath.

“That would be my captain,” he grins, easing his arrow forward. The yard fills with the shouts of hundreds of men and the echoing, victorious bugle chorus. Oristel hesitates, and Six takes the sword from his hand. “It’s over,” he says.

Captain Bayal has arrived.