"Time," Libro demanded.

"One hour, fifteen minutes, twenty three seconds," Moss said.

"We were right after all." Libro nudged the spyglass shut with his chin and crawled back into the dugout, chest and neck caked deeply with muck. He hit the ground with a wet plop, head brushing the woven tarp they'd made from moss and sticks, and settled into the only decent thing they had in their makeshift hole, a stone stool he'd stolen from Veil along the way through.

No one would miss it. The town had long since been burned to the ground. Whether by passing rebels or passing Chosen, he couldn't say. That's the problem with fire. It holds no loyalty.

Moss came slithering down as one, brown shadow, eyes shining in the dimness. Cent stood near the entrance watching for signs of life, all quiet, all thoughtful, ever since he'd watched his Captain turn a man's head into pulp with a hammer.

Libro, meanwhile, kept reminding himself that he hadn't killed a man at all. It had merely been a corpse that had forgotten how to die. "The patrols in and out of Kel Dracon are set in perfect intervals. Twelve patrols walk in. Twelve patrols walk out. By the time the sixth patrol enters, the first one is already out the door."

"Like farking clockwork," Moss said.

"Even without the bloody sun, they just can't help themselves." Libro pressed his back against the muddy wall, no longer bothering to scrape the stuff off his armor and skin. They'd spent a good week already traveling outside in the muck, hiking along the craggy hillsides towards Veil. Countless freezing nights without a fire in the deep woods to avoid being caught. Countless frigid days braving the elements, the bitter truth that all their work may be for nothing if Elba was already dead.

Libro shook his head. His mind was trailing off. He needed to stay focused. Stay on the path. "If we eliminate patrols two through six, we can give ourselves just enough time to get in with our disguises, extract Elba from her holding cell, and then leave before patrol seven arrives.

"An hour and fifteen minutes," Cent muttered under his breath. "To find one person in a place that big. Like trying to find spun gold in a hay bale, I reckon."

Libro swallowed past the heavy lump in his throat. He'd pondered over the castle a time or two while counting the patrols off with Moss. The place was a towering mockery of jutting stone towers, tough iron battlements, and thick, ice coated walls. The prison looked more akin to a citadel, one that'd seen better days, no doubt, but its resilient majesty could still not be denied.

"Is that how we're getting in?" Moss asked. "False prisoner exchange?"

"Worked last time." Libro shrugged. "Ended up killing everyone when we tried it at the border tower, but I figured it couldn't hurt to give it another go."

"Plans got holes in it," Cent said.

"Fill 'em in then."

"One," Cent held up his hand, eyes still trained outside as he was ordered too. "Getting you in is going to be difficult, but getting you back out is going to be damn near impossible. You'll more than likely be handed off to someone else once we get in, if we get in, and then we'll lose contact with you. That'll be bad."

"Sound advice," Libro said.

"Second, those Chosen bastards we keep stumbling into are all Wyrd touched. I can smell it all over them. Which means they probably have a way of sniffing each other out as well. We can wear their gear and hide our faces, but we'll never smell like them."

"Very true."

"And lastly," Cent paused, taking in a deep breath before puffing his cheeks. "Is that we're three men against what could be countless Chosen and Forsworn packed inside the damn place, much less the damned Right Hand himself. The odds are heavily stacked against us."

"Agreed," Libro said. "This has got to be my worst plan yet."

"Worse than blindly following you through the Deadways?" Moss asked.

"I was a man possessed back then. Half mad from the Captain's death. I'm surprised you all even went along with it."

"You can thank that bastard over there," Moss said, jabbing a muddy finger towards Cent. "Couldn't keep his big mouth shut about it."

"Aye," Cent said. "And I still regret it to this day."

Might have been his imagination, but Libro reckoned he saw a grin on Cent's face, but it was dark, and they were all covered in mud, so it was difficult to tell. Either that or he was finally going mad from all the forest mushrooms he'd been forced to eat the last week or so. Nido's tits, but he missed Fig's foraging skills now more than ever. The man could find water in the desert if asked for it.

"Well, I think we're all dead men regardless," Libro said. "We can't go back to the Empress empty handed, and I'm not leaving without Elba. So it's either die now or die later. Quite the knot we have to untangle, eh?"

"Comes with the job," Cent said. "Being the best warriors in all the Cont."

"Aye," Libro agreed. "But that doesn't mean we're going to go into this blindly. We need to know the layout of the castle, where they're keeping Elba. We'll only get so much squeezing it out of the patrols. I doubt they'll know everything."

"Speaking of the patrols," Moss said. "Why are we focusing on five of them if we could eliminate one and slip our way in."

Libro bit at the inside of his cheek. He knew this day would come. The little secret he'd kept tucked away. He only wished he had more time, cleared up some doubts. Everything he knew was first hand, and without Brand's guidance on the subject matter, he would more than likely flounder like a fish out of water trying to explain it all.

But Cent and Moss deserved the truth regardless.

"Do you remember the Chosen we subdued back at the border tower? What I did to it?"

"I'll never forget it," Cent said.

"Brand thinks the scars on my arm have some sort of effect on magick, thinks I can reel it in like a hook and latch on, even rip it right out of people if I wanted to."

"Makes sense. Saw that first hand," Moss said.

"Aye," Libro said. "But there's more to it, I think. Back at the border tower, I saw a shimmer coming out of my shoulder. It was the Chosen's Magick leaving my body, but when I did at Middlefort, it was different."

"Different?" Cent asked. "Different how?"

"When we were fleeing the dining hall, one of the Chosen grabbed me. I tore out his magick, and this time I forced it into me instead of letting it out. When another Chosen lunged at me, I panicked. I swung at him with my fist like an idiot, and I ended up swatting him away like a fly." Libro stared down at his fist, not realizing he'd been clenching it. Slowly, he forced his fingers back open.

"You...forced the magick into you?" Moss was frowning now, his usual stony demeanor finally cracking with the slightest hint of skepticism.

"It's the only way I can describe it," Libro said. "The magick was meant to leave my body, but I willed it into me instead. I'm starting to think a lot of this Talented stuff is nothing more than willpower and a desire to see things change."

"Chyos, the hungry serpent, gnaws at the World Tapestry's edges," Cent said, his words sounding forebodingly like prophecy. "Consuming the past and forcing the Gods to weave a new future.

"So here's my idea," Libro continued. "I tore the magick out of a single Chosen and sent another flying with just one punch. What would happen if I tore the magick out of, say, five of them?" He stared into Cent's eyes, forcing the man to meet his gaze. "Could I punch through an entire gate? An entire wall? An entire castle, maybe?"

"That's madness," Cent said.

"Maybe you have to be to survive in the Guard. Comes with the job, being the best warriors in all the Cont."

There was a sound then. The lightest snapping of a twig, but Libro knew an ambush when he heard one. Spent too many times on the wrong side of them to think otherwise. It was too late though. He had his sword halfway drawn out when the tarp was torn away and the faint glint of arrowheads pricked their way inside. There were five of them in total, archers bearing down on them with well used hunting bows, but still keen enough to kill you at point blank range. Probably more behind them as well. Men with spears to poke them if need be. Archers are, after all, notoriously known for being cowards.

Stupid idea, Libro thought, making Cent look away from the hole just to prove a point. Would have kicked himself then and there, but he had more pressing matters to attend to.

"Nice and easy, the three of you," a thin voice called out. It's owner stepped into view, a bald, reedy looking man that looked the spitting image of Culter, but with softer eyes, and lacking the usual sneer. "No sudden movements now."

"If I get disarmed for a second time I'm going to lose it," Cent said.

"Better a loss for sanity then a loss for life, aye friend," the Reedy Man asked. "Besides, think of it more as a formality than anything else. I'll even promise to give you back your weapons if you answer a couple of questions for me, and I like the answers."

"Sounds reasonable," Libro said. "I like reasonable men. Cent, Moss, you know the drill."

You had to give Cent credit, but he didn't complain this time when he handed over his axe. Moss was quite the gentleman too, although he was quick to point out where to grab his axe properly.

"Here and here," the old greenbeard said. "Or you'll throw your back out at this angle."

Libro handed his sheathed sword over to Reedy Man. "Pardon my forwardness, but you don't look like Forsworn or Chosen to me."

"Aye, and neither do you, but it's hard to tell under all that muck you're wearing. Which begins my first question. What are you three doing in a ten foot hole in the ground spying on the King's Graveyard?"

"I'm here to rescue my wife," Libro said matter of factly.

The Reedy Man made a pained sort of expression. "Are you now? I dare say your lady is as good as dead then, or worse by any case. No real sense trying to free her. Besides, that old glacier is damn near impenetrable. I should know. My people have been trying for years now." He drew his bow back and plucked the arrow back into its quiver. The other archers followed his example.

"Trust me friend," he continued. "I know a fool's errand when I see one."

Libro narrowed his eyes, the puzzle pieces in his head slowly clicking into place. "You're with the Lightbringers, aren't you?"

"Only two sides to stand on in Danic, and I sure don't look like a Forsworn to you, now do I?"

"Not from where I'm standing. Are you all from Veil?"

"No." Reedy Man shook his head. "We're from the neighboring towns. Place got ransacked by the Right Hand years ago. Been abandoned for years now. Never saw the reason for it."

Memories flashed in the back of Libro's mind. The hollowed out ruins of the town, picked apart by soldiers on either side. Anything that was metal had been nicked. Anything that was wood had been burned. But the stone survived, and he remembered blocks of the stuff lining the scorched roads.

"Do you know if any of the stonemasons there survived?" Libro asked.

The Reedy Man stared at him side eyed. "Who are you people? You're not Forsworn, that much is certain, but you aren't from this land either. You're accents all wrong, I can feel it."

"Clever. Think of us as an interested third party then, keen on rescuing my wife and leaving this accursed land for good. And since your enemy is currently my enemy." Libro held his hand out. "That would make us allies."

The other archers looked at each other, looked to Reedy Man for guidance, and Libro couldn't blame them. It's not everyday you find three men in a hole all covered in mud and wanting to be your friend. It all sounded rather suspicious, if you asked him.

Reedy Man placed both hands on his hips, looking like he had no idea what to make of it all. "How about we start with a meal and see where this story goes first."

"Deal," Libro said. "Now pull me out of this damn pit."

***