Chapter Two

The tears didn't come until Anise was alone. She cried for what felt like hour; for all the wasted years here; for the father she may never see. What if he was in danger? She wondered. Or what if he was finally safe?

Anise did not want to believe that her father would forget about her. But the only other possibility was that he was dead. She did not know which was worse.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Anise, it's me," Alphus said.

"What could you possibly want from me?" Anise said.

"Your forgiveness, if you'll let me have it," Alphus said. That's unexpected, Anise thought. He opened the door and sat down on the bunk next to hers. "I wasn't very. . .cooperative. I shouldn't have hassled you like that. I guess we can both be too stubborn for our own good."

"Doesn't matter. Be as stubborn as you want. Just leave me alone."

"Anise, have you been crying? What did the Captain say to you?"

"Go ask him yourself. I'm sure he'd love to tell you."

"What do you mean? He's not letting you graduate?" Alphus asked.

"He knows we went in the Thornwood. Said he could smell it on me. And he knows you lied."

"I had to! You said you were going to lie!"

"And I'm saying it wouldn't have made a difference!"

Anise had never seen Alphus this angry before. The blood rose in his cheeks. For a moment he stared down at his feet, concentrating on what to say.

"I am very disappointed in you, Anise. Why did you go in the wood? Why did you think that was acceptable?"

"Here it is, Alphus' self-righteous fury," Anise said. "You didn't have to follow me, you little shrew. Then maybe I wouldn't have had to save your grimy little pecker."

"I was trying to save you, you ungrateful harpy!"

Anise had expected Alphus to yell at her, but it still hurt to hear. She hadn't meant to jeopardize his career with the knights.

"It doesn't matter. I just wanted to get out of this place. Now Bannon says he's keeping me here for the rest of my life."

"What do you mean you wanted to get out? I thought you wanted to be a knight."

"I haven't told you much about my father, have I?" Anise said.

"No."

"After he left me here, I never heard from him again. Almost nine years. Wouldn't you want to know why? Why someone would just forget about their daughter like that?"

"I'm sorry," Alphus said.

Anise stood up. She picked up her hunting satchel and set the strap on her shoulder. It was empty, except for her water-skin and hunting knife--she would have to take food from the storeroom on her way. She took her bow and strapped her quiver to her belt.

"What are you doing?" Alphus asked.

"I'm leaving," she said. "I'm going to find him."

"It would be a waste of time."

"Don't say that," Anise said. "You don't mean it."

"Yes, I do."

Anise walked out the door. She knew that Alphus hated it when she ignored him--it was her most effective argument against him--but this time he just kept walking alongside her.

"Anise, you're not thinking about this. What if you can't find him? There's nothing for you out there."

"If your parents were out there. . .most days I can't even remember my dad's face. I don't care if he's forgot about me. I just want to see him again."

"I would kill every Naephra in the Thornwood if it would bring back all the mothers and fathers they killed in the war, but it won't."

"What are you trying to say? I should just accept everything? Not try to change one piece of my miserable little life?"

"I'm trying to help you," Alphus said.

"Then help me! All your life you've looked for the nearest authority figure and done exactly what they said. To Bannon, you're just as guilty as me. And you lied about it. You really think he'll just forgive you?"

"That doesn't matter. I can't just run away."

Alphus always seemed to know exactly what to say to make her upset. This time, he didn't even realize he was doing it, which made Anise feel even worse. But when she turned away he didn't follow her. Her hard boots clacked against the smooth stone, and no one else heard them. As a child she had marveled at the long halls, the high towers on each corner, and the walls wide enough to repel anything. But the longer she stayed, the smaller the fortress became, until it was only dark, dingy stone closed around stale, lifeless air.

While she walked, a small plan formed in Anise's mind. She already knew she had to leave, and the only way was through the front gate. If she moved quickly, she might get out before the guards were told to keep her. Where to go once she was free was another matter, but that could wait.

Anise stopped in the storeroom and took apples, cornbread, and jerky. No one looked twice at her.

The sun shone down from directly above the main courtyard when Anise entered. The gate was open and inviting, with blue sky and horizon underneath the arch. Carts and horses clattered over the pavement, with knights returning or preparing to leave on assignments. Cadets helped with unloading supplies brought back from Laenguir or the settlements in the Eastlands. Midday was a busy time for the Academy--if she was careful, no one would notice her leaving with one of the east-bound caravans.

Anise noticed one group preparing to leave--two carts, each with a driver and passenger. If she followed them closely, without the drivers seeing her, she could pass through the gate unquestioned. It was not unusual for knights to bring cadets along on trips to the settlements. And in any case, cadets were not forbidden to leave the Academy, although very few had ever left to never return.

The knights finished checking over and preparing the carts, and the horses pulled away toward the open gate. Anise fell in behind the second cart. The first went through. As the second approached the opening, she kept close. The two guards, one at each side of the gate, stared past her, and the drivers kept their gaze ahead. She had nearly done it. She felt silly for being so nervous. Outside, she would keep to the eastbound road for a while, well behind the carts, then break off to the hunting trails farther south, where she would camp until she Crofley's men had likely stopped looking for her, if they looked at all. She imagined the Captain's reaction when he learned she was missing--wondered if he would be glad, in fact, to see her gone. Alphus probably thinks I'm a coward, she thought.

A voice, behind her, called her name. Anise ignored it, but her pulse quickened.

"Anise," the voice said again, and this time she recognized it. Lieutenant Belamire. Even worse, she heard him approaching behind her. "Where are you off to?" he asked.

Anise hesitated in her answer, but then realized that he would not know about the trial yet, either.

"Out for a hunt," she said. "Only got evening duties tonight." She hated lying to him--in all her time at the Academy Belamire had always been helpful to her, and now she would not be able to repay him.

"A good day for it," he said.

"Suppose so. Goodbye, Lieutenant."

Anise turned abruptly and stepped out through the gate. The warm wind brushed her face. She did not think about anything other than her next footsteps.

"You won't find him," Belamire said, and his voice startled her. He had followed her outside, and now walked next to her.

"Find what?" Anise asked.

"Alphus told me."

"You didn't see me, and you don't know where I'm going," Anise said. "Please, you can't say anything."

"Not everyone is out to get you, Anise," he said.

"Not yet."

"Listen to me, cadet. Even if you find your man, you won't find what you want. It's going to hurt."

"I don't care," Anise said.

"Let me speak to the Captain. He can't lock you up here like a slave. You can still be a knight some day. Isn't there some part of you that wants that?"

"I don't want to spend my time settling farmer's squabbles for the rest of my life."

"Do you even know where you're going?" Belamire asked.

"Does it matter?"

"You haven't heard from him in years."

"I have my reasons for going. I don't have to explain them to you."

"I'm only asking you to think, for a moment."

"I've thought about this plenty. I was never supposed to stay here. That was never the plan," Anise said.

"If your father couldn't convince you to stay, then chance I am just wasting my breath. But I had to try." Belamire tried to catch Anise's gaze, but she would not look at him directly.

"You think I'm going to die out there, don't you?"

"And you're afraid to die here."

The road lay out before her, and heat wavered in the air like warped glass above it in the distance. The carts she had followed out were now well ahead. Belamire had only good intent, she knew. And she knew the cost of her own stubbornness and pride, and had been able to pay it for most of her life, but now she hesitated. Anise had never made a choice like this before--had not made many choices at all, she realized. And now, with the opportunity to enjoy her own freedom, she felt like she had none. At the time when she most wanted to go, she found she could not move.

"People are always going to leave you, cadet," the Lieutenant said, finally. "But choices you make--those don't go away."

"Save your advice, Belamire. It's time I was the one leaving."

"Officer Cullum, take the cadet back to barracks," Belamire said, raising his voice to reach one of the guards at the gate.

"No, don't do this," Anise said, but he did not respond. The guard grabbed her arm and pulled her, and then she was back inside.

Anise scratched the tall horse's neck and the creature flicked its glossy black tail in appreciation. She had just finished mucking the stables--part of the Captain's punishment for her. It was a task anyone would hate, but she enjoyed seeing the horses. Gelda, the stablemaster, worked with her, filling each horse's tray with feed and spreading fresh hay on the floor of the pens. Lately she and Anise were the only women at the Academy--female cadets were rare, and the few female knights and instructors were currently away on missions--because of this, Gelda offered Anise a friendly side of herself that she seldom shared with the others. Although she was not a knight, Gelda had been at the Academy for many years.

"This one seems to be in a good mood," Anise said as she continued to pamper the horse beside her.

"She should be," Gelda answered. "She's the Captain's. Just came back from a trip to the Council Gardens in Laenguir. The horses up there eat better than we do."

"Is that where the Captain's been going? To Laenguir?"

"Why do you ask?" Gelda said.

After handing down her punishment, Captain Crofley had left the Academy and had only just returned, two days later. Although it was not unusual for the Captain to leave unexpectedly for days or weeks at a time, it was odd that he would travel alone, and the cadets buzzed with gossip about the purpose of his trip.

"Is it too much to hope that he's in trouble with the Council?" Anise asked.

"Little chance of that. He's got friends there, you know. Big folk. How do you think this place stays in the cooking?"

"That's what everyone says, but why would the Council want to keep this rock pile afloat? What do they get from us?"

"Good soldiers. Peacekeepers. And discipline for young troublemakers who should know better by now," Gelda said.

"You've got to know something," Anise asked. "Why did he go off alone? You're the most trustworthy person here, someone must have told you."

"People wouldn't think I was so trustworthy if they knew how much I told you, little feather."

"Don't call me that. I'm not gonna squawk. You can squawk, I won't. Just what did you hear?"

"Nothing," said Gelda. "But--" she hesitated, and Anise smiled. "He's been to the city often lately, but he usually brings lower-ranking knights with him."

"So why did he leave?" Anise asked.

"It's nothing, I'm sure. Just a meeting with the council. You've done the stalls?"

"Yes," Anise said. She knew Gelda would not say more, but felt that she was still keeping something from her. Gelda inspected her work, even though she knew Anise had been thorough.

"Anise, I was sorry to hear how things came out for you," Gelda said.

"Let's not talk about this again," Anise said.

"The Lieutenant only did what he thought was right, same as you. You don't have to hold that against him."

"I absolutely can hold that against him."

"Have you spoken to him?"

"I don't see the point."

Gelda's outright pity annoyed Anise, but she hoped her sarcasm would deter that avenue of conversation. Still, she thought Gelda would know better than to lecture her.

"It doesn't have to be bad, you staying here," Gelda said.

"What's so good about it? You've been here cleaning horse shit your whole life--what's that for? Am I supposed to look up to you for that? Because that's what the rest of my life is starting to look like, and it doesn't enthrall me the same way it does you."

"Good night, Anise." Gelda turned her back and resumed casting the hay over the floor of the stable, moving now with a deliberate, devastating slowness. She wore a small braid in her back, the faintly graying hair barely reaching to between her shoulder blades, and Anise remembered all the times she had seen her working it in the mornings, laying one lock over another.

An apology stumbled around inside Anise's head, but could not make it down to her mouth, and so she left.

As she walked into the courtyard, Anise passed the front gate. It was closed now with the evening, taunting her. "I was so close," she thought. She had asked herself many times, if she had run, whether Belamire would have chased her. And despite his actions, she suspected that he would have let her go. Part of him must have wanted to see her leave, whether it was just to be rid of her, or out of some distorted sense of pride at her conviction.

Anise did not dwell by the door. She knew it was pointless to attempt another escape now. Her one opportunity had passed. Although she regretted saying it in words, she meant what she had told Gelda--she hated thinking of living out her life at the Academy, with no status, relegated to menial tasks and derision. Just the idea of it disturbed her. And yet she could not fathom another option for herself, and so she preferred not to think of it at all. The idea of finding her father felt even more like a child's fantasy now. The more time that passed from her attempted escape, the more ridiculous she felt. As empty and rudderless as Anise felt at the Academy, she wondered if the others were right to dissuade her from leaving, if only to prevent a pointless, dangerous journey with no possible goal.

On her way to the meal hall, Anise passed by the training courtyard. The sounds of wooden swords clacking together came from within, and she heard Alphus's voice as well.

"That's good," he said. "Now faster."

The shadow from the fortress wall covered half the ground and half of the cadets, gathered in a circle around Alphus and a young man named Brim. Alphus made slow, easy strikes towards Brim's head and shoulders, gradually increasing his pace and variety. At first Brim deflected each lunge and slice with confidence, but as Alphus's moves quickened, he faltered, and Alphus hit him with a forceful jab in his chest, knocking him onto his back. He reached out his hand and helped the cadet back to his feet.

"You hesitate, you die," Alphus said. "Only defend until you see an opening--then strike."

"How? You didn't leave an opening," Brim said.

"Then help him," Anise said. "Force him to over-extend, and punish him for it. Give me this." She held out her hand for the practice sword. Alphus said nothing, but nodded to Brim to give it to her. She took it and went into her sword stance: hilt gripped in both hands, blade pointing outward toward Alphus. He took his own stance, mirroring her.

Alphus began with a simple jab aimed at Anise's chest. She deflected it with a simple turn of her wrist and the wooden swords clapped loudly. She felt the eyes of the other students scanning her movements.

He followed his jab with two more strikes at her stomach and shoulder. She knew immediately that this was not a rote training pattern like the ones they had practiced countless times together--he was sparring with her. She had hoped that he would. This first series of strikes were not intended to get through her defense, but to set a deliberate pace. Anise blocked them easily. "Now he'll change his pace," she thought, "and force me to continue to react to him, instead of building my own momentum. And as she expected, he did so, accompanying his next strike with a shift in stance, putting his weight behind a downward slash by stepping forward with his leading foot. Anise recognized the motion without thinking and she met his sword before it made full swing. It was a good block, and she had read his movements perfectly, but even so, Alphus recovered quickly.

Anise took the offensive, pushing forward with her own series of powerful and precise vertical strikes, but Alphus met her each time. The dull clack of wood against wood came faster as the fighters increased their pace. Anise's hands and arms tingled in her excitement.

Alphus attacked her again, more forcefully this time. His skill as a swordsman, Anise had noticed after her years of practice with him, came from his ability to control the pace of the battle--whereas other fighters might press their advantage early and force their opponent to keep up or slip, Alphus liked to keep his strength in reserve, confidently blocking attacks and answering his opponent's vigor with maddening calm. To accent this, he always affected a look of bored disappointment during swordplay.

After their small flurry, Alphus slowed his pace again, and they traded strikes, neither one expecting to land a hit. Anise knew better than to try overtaking his methodical pace with outright aggression--he was prepared for that. But although his technique and form were strong, Alphus's more reserved style did have a weakness, which was its predictability. Every time she had beaten him in the past, she had done so by reading and predicting his movements and responding with the perfect counter to disrupt him.

Anise lunged, taking Alphus by surprise. He deflected her strike with some difficulty, but the move left her wide open for a counterattack. Alphus had no choice but to react, shifting his weight and swinging at her torso. She crouched and whipped her leg, connecting her boot with his lead foot. His sword passed over Anise's head as his leg buckled and he stumbled to the ground. Anise stood over him, grinning, her swordpoint hovering over his forehead.

The cadets applauded politely. They were accustomed to seeing this kind of swordplay from Anise, but the ferocity they saw was new, and they waited expectantly for Alphus to speak--to praise or condemn her performance. He pushed the sword out of his face with a grunt and rose to his feet again.

"As you can see," he said. "Surprise is a very powerful tool. But Anise took a risk. She ignored the established techniques for a move that will only work once."

"It only needed to work once," Anise said.

"You crouched, which limits your movement and makes you easier to hit."

"I forced you to make a move that I could counter," Anise said. "Try to rationalize it if you want. I still won."

"If you had good technique, you wouldn't need to take needless risks," Alphus said.

"Just admit that you lost. Can you just say that to me?"

"I'm sorry, Anise."

"Why did you tell Belamire? You had to go tell him," Anise said.

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not. You thought you were doing me a favor. Well I don't want any more."

Alphus kept saying he was sorry, but it didn't make Anise any less angry. For the first time in her life she wanted to really hurt him. She thought it might make her feel better, and she knew she could do it. But that was a distance between them that she was not able to cross. He had looked so small, down on his side after he had fallen, although he was taller and bigger than her.

Anise left the training room, but she could not bring herself back to her barracks. She could not face Gelda now--better to wait until she was asleep before she returned. She climbed the stairs, up past the second level of the fortress, to the open air of the battlements at the top of the wall. The chill wind blew her hair back as she looked out to the east over the plains. Far ahead the lower arm of the Thornwood jutted out westward like a peninsula into the green fields, just beyond her sight.

"Why did I have to go there?" she wondered. Of course she had known that entering the Thornwood was forbidden. "Why was I not afraid?" she thought. Anise had never thought of her courage as a weakness before. Now, she felt she had no strengths.

She watched the shadow of the fortress as it raced out below her with the setting sun, the shape of its walls distorted into a long and narrow gulf ahead. Beyond its edge, a plume of dust billowed up, carrying a faint reflection of the red sunset behind her--riders, approaching on the Eastlands road. They moved quickly--in moments Anise discerned the outlines of the horseback figures. The lookout in the northeast tower rang his bell three times--the warning sign.

Anise knew she should mind herself and go on to bed, but as the riders drew closer she grew more anxious. "Who are these people?" she wondered. Soon they would reach the gate. She strained her eyes to focus, but no details emerged. The light was fading quickly--it seemed they would arrive just as the sun disappeared. There were four, she saw, and all dressed in black and riding abreast in a line.

They riders slowed as they came up to the closed gate. Their horses were small, scrawny creatures. For what seemed a long time nothing happened and Anise stared down at them through an arrow slit in the wall. She saw their faces clearly now--knew why the lookout had struck the warning. Their skin was stone gray, marked with specks of pure white beneath the eyes and on down to the jawline. But even stranger were their eyes, which reflected the flickering light of the lamps inside the courtyard as an iridescent sheen in their large pupils. Naephra, they were called. Two male, and two female, armored and each with a sword on their back. As Anise passed her eyes over each of their faces, one looked up: a woman, lips set in a tight line, eyes wide and flickering black to green, black to green, in the dim light. Although she knew they could not see her through the narrow opening in the wall, Anise's heart jolted in its rhythm.

"We must speak to Bannon Crofley," one of the male Naephra said, and she heard the footsteps of one of the guards as he hurried across the courtyard behind her to fetch him.

Naephra. The word rebounded uncontrollably through her thoughts. "But that can't be," she thought. None had come this far west since the end of the War of Thorns nine years before. Many claimed to have seen them outside the Thornwood, but those were mere rumors. She knew that if they were Naephra, there could be only one reason they came. Anise peeked over the inner wall of the battlement and saw the Captain and Belamire crossing the courtyard.

"Open the doors," he said, and the guards obeyed, pushing the heavy wooden double doors open. Then she heard chains rattling as they raised the portcullis. The Naephra kept on their horses, standing directly in front of the gate.

"I am Captain Crofley of the Knights Exemplar. Identify yourselves," the Captain said.

One of the Naephran men spoke, and his voice was low and rough. "We are here for the trespassers," he said.

"They will kill me," Anise thought. And met with the prospect of death, she knew she should feel afraid, but instead she felt only anger. She knew the Captain would not defend her, and now for one poor decision she would pay her life.

"Grievances and allegations must be sent to the Council of Laenguir for resolution," the Captain said. "That was the accord." Strangely, Anise could discern no tension in his voice, as if it was completely natural to speak to Naephra.

"You do not honor the accord, and so neither must we. Let the trespassers come forward, or you will die."

No one spoke. Anise wanted to run away, to hide where they could not reach her, but she dared not move now. There were only four of them. But she had heard stories from veterans of the war--how even outside the Thornwood, a Naephra could inflict woodsore on someone without laying a hand on them. Even the portcullis would not protect them against that. All she could do was hide.

"Bring them out to us now, Captain," the Naephran said.

"Let us come out and speak with you," Belamire said. "There's no need for threats."

"You stay where you are," a female Naephran said, and she revealed an anger beneath her calm voice. "Or the Captain dies."

"The Council will know of this," Belamire said. "You will not go unpunished."

"Your Council can do nothing to us," the woman said. "Release the trespassers to us and we will leave. Do what is right, Captain Crofley."

Even as her officer, Anise did not expect Crofley to risk his life for her, or even for Alphus.

"Do as they say, Lieutenant," said the Captain.

"I cannot," Belamire said.

"All that enters the Thornwood is ours, Lieutenant," the man said. "We only ask that you do what is right."

Anise was thankful that Belamire at least was defending her and Alphus, but she did not want him to die for her. If they could delay long enough, she thought, or bring out more knights, it might force the Naephra to leave.

"Fetch Eckley and Priory," Bannon said.

"Don't do this," Belamire said. But Anise heard one of the guards hurry off to follow the Captain's order. She wondered how long it would take them to find her. She considered dropping down over the outside of the wall to the ground two stories below. Then, if she did not break her leg, she would have to run around the wall of the fortress without being seen. She would head west--running, she may make the city by morning. It was uncertain, but she could not sit and wait to be found. She had to do something. Anise crept along the wall, ducking beneath the outer edge. She would have to drop down on the south wall, to avoid being spotted by the Naephra.

"The girl is near," one of the Naephra said. "I hear her, above us."

Anise stopped. She did not know how they had heard her, but there was no chance for her to get away now.

"Anise!" Bannon shouted. "You heard what they want. Face them honorably."

Two sets of footsteps came across the courtyard--the guard had found Alphus.

"Please, sir, leave them be," Belamire said. "They're only students--"

"Enough, Lieutenant," said Crofley.

Anise had no intention of facing the Naephra honorably. Bannon would have to drag her out himself. But she could not sit and wait for her death, either. She had to act, and quickly, but she could only think of one way. Through the arrow slit, she saw that the Naephra had not moved from their place directly below her, in front of the gate. If Alphus, Crofley, and Belamire reacted how she hoped they would, there was a small chance that they could succeed. She would be putting them at risk, but there was no alternative--not if she wanted to live.

Anise jumped onto the battlement and flung herself down feet first over the side, with only enough time to glance toward her target--the Naephra to the left of the lead horseman.

She collided with him, and then she was on the ground, her breath stuck in her chest. She did not feel the pain, but sensed it there underneath the immense shock.

A loud booming noise split the air, like a fallen tree, and then another, louder. Anise rolled over to her stomach and pushed herself up, finding her legs surprisingly sturdy, and looked up to see another Naephra staring down at her--a woman. One of the horses screamed, and the woman spurred her own to turn and ride away. Another Naephra followed as Anise could only watch, still struggling to find her breath.

Four bodies lay on the ground around her. The Naephra she had landed on was motionless, face down in the dirt. His nervous horse brayed and stamped beside him. The other Naephra lay in pooling blood from both her and her horse, which had fallen on top of her. Jonus Belamire's body lay crumpled by Anise's feet, sword still clutched in his fingers. Woodsore marked the skin of his face and neck a fierce black where the Naephra had bolted him. In the time it had taken her to stand up, his life had ended.

Beneath the gateway Alphus had collapsed, but was not yet gone. He lay on his back, eyes closed, his chest heaving up and down. The Captain stood over him, and although he was looking directly at Anise, she felt that he couldn't see her. His legs failed him, and he fell onto his knees, wavering, almost falling sideways to the ground. The two guards had not moved from the gate during the brief collision, but they collected themselves; one went to Crofley, the other to Belamire. Anise went to Alphus in three long steps and sat beside him. His right hand grasped at his chest, and he moaned, and Anise had not felt such a pain in anyone's voice as his. He was not bleeding--woodsore never bled. She pulled up his shirt. A black mark like an ink stain assailed the upper left side of his chest. Somehow, he was still alive, but the woodsore would take him.

"Anise," Bannon said. His voice was weak. He repeated her name.

Hearing her name gave Anise the sudden realization that she was alive. Despite everything, she was not dead, as she had fully expected, nor harmed significantly in any way. She was alive, and the Naephra were gone.

"Open your eyes, Alphus," she said. All she wanted was to see his eyes.

"Don't touch him," said Bannon. Somehow he stood up, although it made him wince in pain. He gripped his sword hilt in the scabbard at his waist. "Get away from him!"

Anise stepped back. She kept her eyes on Bannon's sword hand. Seconds ago he had collapsed, but now she did not know how much strength he actually had.

"Do you know what will happen now?" Bannon said. "Because of this--because of you."

She knew. The treaty which had held for seventeen years might now fall apart. Blood had been shed. And although the thought only appeared for a moment, for the first time in her life, Anise wished that she were dead. She wished that everything was finished. But her body rejected this thought.

Crofley approached slowly. She was not sure she could defeat him, even given whatever injury he had sustained. Her heart raced. The light was fading quickly. One of the guards had gone, and the other only stared at her. She could not remember his name.

"You think you deserve to live?" Bannon said.

The Naephran horse whinnied.

"I don't know," Anise thought. Bannon came closer. His steps seemed more solid now. She glanced at the horse only a few feet away, saddled and nervously waiting. "This is a bad idea," she thought.

Anise threw herself onto the horse's back, landing in the saddle on her stomach. The animal reared back, but she latched her arms around its neck. She flailed her legs wildly to find the stirrup as the horse started to run. Anise pulled herself forward with her left arm and threw her leg over the horse's back, just as it leapt to try to throw her off. Finally her left foot found a stirrup, and with her new leverage she pulled lodged herself securely in the saddle and grabbed the horse's mane. The horse was running at full pace now, and although it had stopped lurching wildly to get her off, Anise could barely hang on, pressing her legs as hard as she could against the animal's belly. The reins flicked and bounced about the horse's neck as it ran, and she let go of the mane to pick them up.

They rushed through the moonless dark settling over the empty plains. Anise looked back over her shoulder at the Academy, already far off behind her. Her new horse was headed east. She did not want to go east. East meant the Thornwood, and she would never go there again. Anise pulled the reins hard to the left, and the horse veered to the side, then jerked its neck back, ripping the cord out of her hands and nearly causing her to fall out of the saddle. She leaned forward over the horse's neck, trying to keep as close to its body as possible. The horse was powerful, even though it was smaller than the ones at the Academy. Anise picked up the reins again and yanked them back this time with all the strength she had.

The horse dug its hooves into the dirt, skidding to a stop and sending Anise out of the saddle and over its head, landing on her back in front of the animal. Her shoulder hurt. Above, the stars swerved in blurry lines. The ground was soft, and Anise was content to lie there for a moment. She had no guess as to how far she had gone, but there was no one else around, and she was glad at least for that. When she tilted her head up, she saw the horse behind her, standing still and calm now that she was off.

"I hope you enjoyed that," she said. She pulled herself up slowly and looked in every direction. Night had fallen quickly, and all she could see were grassy hills. There was no road, and no trees. The Captain would be coming after her, she thought. She needed a place to hide, and she knew she had a better chance of getting there, wherever it would be, if she had a ride.

"Hey," she said, lifting the tone of her voice. She had never spoken to the horses back at the stable, but she had always heard Gelda speaking to them in a higher voice. She felt strange, talking to an animal.

"I'm sorry I jumped on you," Anise continued. She took a careful step toward the horse, which huffed its nostrils but did not back away. "Are you going to help me some more?" She kept going forward, almost close enough to touch it now. The horse shook its neck a bit and its mane fluttered with the motion. Its eyes were large and black and it did not look away from her. Very slowly, Anise reached up her hand to the creature's neck and stroked its fur, and it gave a little grunting noise.

Petting the horse made Anise feel better, if only slightly. Comforting this powerful, foreign animal gave her a sense of control, as if not everything in her life was a screeching, imminent disaster. The feeling did not last. The horse pulled its head up and flicked its ears. Anise heard the noise as well. Riders approached--two silhouettes rounded the crest of a hill not far off. Judging by the north star, they came from the east. The Naephra. Anise did not know how they had found her, and she did not care. She moved to the horse's side and gently placed her foot in the stirrup, like she had watched others do countless times. The horse started to sidle away, pulling Anise with it, as she hopped to keep up. She grabbed the saddle and pulled and swung her leg up over the horse's hips, coming down not quite square on the seat, but firmly enough to hold on. The horse picked about in tight circles as Anise adjusted herself--she was glad at least that it seemed to be acting more reasonably this time, and she was proud of herself for domineering the uncooperative animal.

The riders were getting close. Anise kicked her heels into the horse's sides.

"Go!" she said, but the horse only took a few tentative steps before stopping completely.

"Move, you worthless cow!" Anise said. The horse started to walk, but it was too late.

The two Naephra slowed as they drew near and circled around her. She recognized them as the man and woman who had ran off from their earlier encounter. Anise felt she should say something, but did not know what it should be. She was miserable with fear, and it bottled up her mind. She wanted to insult them; to yell at them. She didn't care if it was childish. If this horse would only move, she thought, I could at least make them run for me. She thought if she went back west, they may give up. As much as she loathed the thought of seeing Bannon again, she preferred it to whatever the Naephra might do to her.

"Abno emiod jebiukaa adta, Kantess," the female Naephra said to the man. Again Anise noticed her flickering green eyes, even in the gathering darkness. She was young, perhaps twenty-five, with short black hair. Her voice was coarse and chilled. Although she could not understand the Naephran language, Anise sensed the annoyance in it.

"Jaajolka mev, euama ja kived dosmaa," the man said. He was the older of the two, and he seemed more calm. They clearly disagreed about something, she thought.

Anise tried to think of something she could do--anything to get her away from them, or give her some advantage, however small. She did not know if she could get the horse to move again. She could not outrun them on foot, and there was nowhere to hide on the open plains. But she would not let herself give up.

But the Naephra were arguing about something. This, she thought, was good. They continued back and forth in their own tongue, all while keeping their gaze on her. She wondered if one of them wanted to let her go. After what had happened at the gate, one of them could have changed their mind.

"Let me go," she said. "Please, I'll never go back to the Thornwood."

The Naephra ignored her.

"Please, I'm sorry!"

The woman turned to Anise finally and spoke. "How did you ride him?" she asked.

"What?" Anise said.

"How did you ride this horse? He should not take a human," the other Naephra said.

"Please, I just wanted to get away--the knights wanted to kill me."

"Because of you, we must kill this horse," the Naephran woman said. She whistled and Anise's horse knelt on the ground. It felt awkward, sitting on a horse that was lying down. The woman dismounted and walked toward Anise.

"If they want me dead, why haven't they killed me already?" she wondered. It was the one fact that gave her hope.

"What do you want with me?" Anise asked.

"Dismount now," the woman said.

She got off the kneeling horse. It surprised her that she and the Naephra were the same height. As she came closer, she again noticed the gray skin flecked with white under her wide, dark eyes. And Anise knew that she would not see anyone she knew again. The Naephra would kill her. She had to do something. Her body felt stiff and tired, and she wanted to give up. But she moved anyway. Anise rushed forward and swung her arm out, and her fist connected with the woman's body. She distinctly felt the tremor of impact shudder up into her shoulder, and her momentum carried her as she and the Naephra fell on the ground together. With her other hand Anise reached for the woman's face or neck. She felt hair, and gripped and pulled it.

Something struck Anise in her stomach, making her gasp, and then she was on her back with the Naephran on top of her, with a sword drawn against her throat.

Then the woman stood and sheathed her weapon.

"Enet temael, Jarko," the man said.

Anise felt the tears coming in her eyes, but she fought to keep her face stern. She watched as the woman took a long loop of rope from her saddle.

"Stand up," the Naephran said.

Anise did so, slowly. The woman wrapped it around her and knotted Anise's hands behind her back. She did not resist. That time was over, she thought. She resolved to face her fate bravely, whatever it would be. But she did not feel brave. She wished that she were merely dreaming. Even the cold damp Academy barracks felt like a pleasant fantasy to her now.

The woman tied the end of the rope to her saddle and mounted her horse, then they started off, with the third horse following behind them. Anise expected the woman to break into a gallop and drag her across the ground, but instead she went at a moderate pace. She still had to hurry to keep up, however, and soon she was winded. Again the tears came, and this time she let them, silently. The Naephra ignored her.

The tree line of the Thornwood loomed in the distance ahead. Here the forest was thick like a wooden wall, with no straggling husks of burnt trees ahead of it. They would enter straight into the deep wood.

To keep from seeing the forest directly ahead, Anise looked up at the stars. It was a beautiful night. She tried to remember what her father had told her about the stars, long ago. She felt as if the little girl who had known him and traveled with him and always obeyed him was someone else. There was so little that she actually remembered about him. Nine years had passed. Enough time to have another child, she realized.

They came to an opening in the trees, perfect and black, between two wide trunks whose boughs arched together above. The horses slowed as they passed through, and Anise could walk easily behind them. The branches replaced the stars overhead, and that loss made her ache. She thought if she could only see a star through the leaves, that something would still be good, and that the forest would not be able to swallow her completely. Behind her, the window out to the plains grew smaller and smaller, and as the path curved, it disappeared. Everything was dark. Anise saw only the rope pulling her along and the trees on either side.

Her neck tingled, and it made her shiver. She knew that feeling. Already the woodsore was worming into her body.

"Please," Anise said. It was all she could think to say. Her voice came out trembling and weak. "Please, I'm sorry," she said. She knew the Naephra could hear her, but they did not answer. All she heard was the buzz of insects, growing louder as they went deeper into the wood, and birds screeching high above. Her stomach churned and ached with a dull, insistent pain, and the prickling in her neck became sharper.

A stiff hand on her shoulder pushed her to the ground. The Naephra had stopped, but she had not heard them dismount. Now they stood looking down at her. The woman crouched down by her feet, and held Anise's ankles together while the man tied another rope around them. When they finished, the man got on his horse.

"Please, you don't have to do this," Anise said. "I was just doing my assignment, I didn't know. I'm so, so sorry. Can you let me go now?" Bile rose in her stomach and it made her gag. She tasted the acid. The pain in her neck was blinding now.

"Never apologize to your enemy," the woman whispered. Anise closed her eyes.

"Jarko! Tu avad!" the man shouted, and then she was off the ground, pulled up by the rope at her ankles. The ground dropped away and all she saw were leaves.

"Put me down!" Anise yelled. Her stomach heaved and she vomited. Her throat was on fire. "Please!" she said. The rope spun her slowly.

"May you rot forever, trespasser," the man said. She heard their horses trotting away, and realized that those would be the last words she would ever hear. Her spinning slowed and stopped, then started again in the other direction as the rope untwisted itself. She looked toward her feet. Above, the dense mass of leaves blocked out everything. Around her, thick branches jutted out from the darkness. She could not see the floor.

"Come back here!" she shouted. "Cut me down, cowards! Bastards! Cut me down!" She waited, listening for a response that she knew would not come. All she heard was the incessant buzzing all around her, drilling into her ears. The pain in her neck grew worse, and she felt more vomit rising in her stomach. Anise looked up again, and as she spun in a slow circle she searched the trees for an opening to the sky--even a small one--anything so that she could see just one star. The burning in her stomach had spread to her chest now. Her breaths became shallow and weak.

"Please," she said, and it surprised her how feeble her own voice sounded. It was the sound of someone dying.

The trees blocked out the night sky. Anise closed her eyes.