The road wound upward, growing steeper as they climbed into the foothills.
Roen's lungs burned. His legs ached. But he kept moving, pushing through the pain. Behind
them, riders grew closer. He could hear them now—hoofbeats on packed earth, shouts
echoing off the hillsides.
"They're gaining," Mirelle gasped.
"Keep moving." Braken's voice was strained. "There's a pass ahead. Narrow. If we can reach
it before they catch us, we can hold them off."
The pass appeared through the trees—a gap between two sheer cliffs, barely wide enough
for two horses abreast. Braken took position at the entrance, sword drawn.
"Go," he ordered. "I'll hold them here."
"You'll die," Roen said.
"Maybe. But if I don't slow them down, they'll catch you on the open road." Braken's
expression was calm, resigned. "Go. Deliver the sphere. Find out what Sable wanted you to
find."
"No." Roen stepped beside him. "We fight together."
"Boy—"
"I blocked a Silver Weaver's attack. My threads are waking up." Roen drew his sword.
"Maybe I can't use them properly yet, but I'm not useless. And I'm not leaving anyone
behind."
For a moment, Braken looked like he would argue. Then something shifted in his
expression—respect, perhaps.
"Fine. But stay behind me. And don't do anything stupid."
The riders appeared through the trees. Five of them, on horseback, dressed in the dark
leather of the Thread-Born Covenant. At their head was a man Roen didn't recognize—tall
and lean, with silver hair and cold eyes.
"Councilor Varen," Braken said. His grip tightened on his sword. "Coming to do your own
dirty work for once?"
"Your interference has become inconvenient, Thorne." Varen's voice was smooth, cultured. "I
gave you chances to hand over the boy. You refused. Now I'm forced to take more direct
action."
"He's not a threat. He's a courier carrying a package to the Pale Mountains."
"He's thread-bound with Gray affinity, carrying an artifact that predates the Thread-Wars.
That's the definition of a threat." Varen's eyes moved to Roen. "Come quietly, and your
friends live. Resist, and they die with you."
Roen felt the gray threads stir inside him. They were watching, waiting.
"What do you want with the sphere?" Roen asked, stalling for time.
"That's not your concern."
"It's my cargo. My responsibility."
Varen studied him. "Very well. The sphere contains something that was lost during the
Thread-Wars—a power that could prevent the next one. Or cause it. I intend to find out
which."
"Thread-bound," Roen corrected. "Not thread-blind."
Varen's eyes narrowed. "What?"
"I'm not thread-blind. I have threads. Gray ones." Roen stepped forward. "And I'm not giving
you the sphere."
For a moment, no one moved. Then Varen laughed—a cold, mirthless sound.
"You don't even know how to use them. You're a child playing with forces you can't
comprehend." He raised his hand, and silver threads flickered around his fingers. "But since
you insist on dying today, I'll oblige you."
The mental assault hit Roen like a physical blow. Varen was stronger than the Silver Weaver
in the forest—much stronger. The suggestions pounded against his mind: *Drop your sword.
Kneel. Surrender.*
But the gray threads were ready this time. They wrapped around the foreign thoughts,
dissecting them, unwinding them. The pressure didn't disappear, but it became manageable.
Varen's eyes widened. "How—"
Roen lunged. His sword caught Varen's raised arm, slicing deep. The Councilor screamed
and staggered back.
"Attack!" Varen screamed at his men.
The other riders charged. Braken met the first, their blades ringing. Tor stepped forward, axe
swinging. Senna pulled Mirelle back, out of the fighting.
Roen faced Varen, who had recovered enough to draw his own sword. The Councilor was
skilled, but Roen had something Varen didn't expect—the gray threads guided his
movements. *Left. Now right. He'll overextend on the next thrust.*
Roen followed the whispers. And when Varen did overextend, Roen was ready.
His blade caught the Councilor across the thigh, sending him sprawling. Roen stood over
him, sword raised.
"Call them off."
Varen looked up, hatred in his eyes. But he saw something in Roen's face that made him
hesitate.
"Stand down! Everyone, stand down!"
The fighting stopped. The riders pulled back.
"This isn't over," Varen said. "The Covenant will have what it wants."
"Then they'll have to go through me."