Fog

The morning following the attack, the pass was filled with fog. It was not a natural fog, one that would be laid irregularly over the rugged folds of the foothills and cling tenaciously to the blackened trees and burned crops. Rather, this mist was a thick, even fog that blanketed the area in a complete, frightening, and almost democratic fashion.

Complete, of course, save at the center of the fog bank, Lovisa’s outpost. There a crystal blue sky shone overhead. The forty-some surviving Balduvians (Jodah had found himself hard-pressed to call them barbarians) were manning the walls in case the attackers decided to take advantage of the fog bank for another sortie.

“Blue Storms,” reiterated Lovisa to her son. “They have the fastest ponies, and their leader Kartha Shockfist owes me a great deal.”

Alexandrite was already mounted atop her aesthir and sat stonily as the blond-haired young man climbed up behind her.

“Try not to talk too much in flight,” she said sharply to the youth.

“Only to give directions,” said Lothar, “and I’ll try to use small words so not to confuse you.”

“Off!” shouted Jodah. “I can’t keep the fog this thick forever.”

With a flurry of feathers, the aesthir launched itself from the ground, churning the edges of the mist with its great wings. It circled quickly upward, spiraling above the camp, then veered north.

Jodah released the spell, and the fog behaved like any normal cloud of mist, lapping up against the barricaded wall, thickening in low places, dissipating at the edges.

***

The Shattered Alliance, Chapter 10