Page 8 of Given

The next few hours passed uneventfully. We stopped to rest the horses and eat a hasty mid-morning meal. After another hour on the road, one of the Green Guards brought his horse alongside Rolund’s. “We approach the Thicket, Your Grace.”

His observation was kind but unnecessary. It was impossible to miss the Thicket, which cast a long shadow over the ground. “Thicket” was far too jovial a word for the ancient elven forest, which was anything but welcoming. The wall of trees stood in a forbidding line, the black trunks as big around as the Towers of the Heart and the Mind. Clouds stirred at the top of the trees, which some scholars claimed were a thousand feet tall. No one knew for sure, since men who attempted to climb them either fainted from lack of air or fell after they grew too tired.

Then there were those who simply…disappeared.

There was a saying every child in Ter Isir learned: Only fools tarry in the Thicket. None who entered ever returned. From time to time, adventure-seekers or those hoping to see the ruins of the fabled elven city of Vai Seren ventured into the trees. No one ever heard from them again. The people of Wesyfedd, the tiny free territory that bordered the Thicket, claimed the undead souls of the elves haunted the woods—and captured those who dared to trespass.

As the shadow of the towering forest fell over us, I shivered.

Rolund noticed. “We won’t get too close. Just near enough to use the Pass.”

“I wish we could build a bridge away from it,” I said, combing my fingers through my horse’s mane so I wouldn’t have to look at the wall of unrelenting black. The Bleak Pass was the only crossing over the Rift. Unfortunately, it was right next to the Thicket. The Pass itself was a marvel of engineering—a hanging bridge anchored by twin stone forts on either side of the Rift. It spanned the chasm at its narrowest point and was passable only on foot, as horses were too heavy for the wooden deck.

My brother offered a humorless smile. “You would give the vampires unfettered access to Sithistra.” He nodded toward the trees. “The Thicket reminds them of the perils of war.”

I couldn’t control my smile. “I know you don’t believe that story.” According to legend, the Rift formed during the War of the Three Kingdoms, when the elves of Eldenvalla summoned demons to help them invade Sithistra and Nor Doru. There was no Rift back then, and humans and vampires had fought their own war for years. With north and south distracted, Avenor, the elven king, saw an opportunity to rule the entire continent. Long rumored to practice dark magic, the elves brought forth a demon army from the Fir.

But King Avenor’s greed was Eldenvalla’s undoing, as the demons proved too difficult to control. When the elves sought to banish the demons from Ter Isir, the demons struck back by opening the Rift. The kingdom of Eldenvalla was rocked by earthquakes for days, which ground the elven capital city Vai Seren and every other town to dust and killed most of the elven race. As the gouge in the earth splintered east, the kings of Sithistra and Nor Doru feared their people would perish too.

The way the Brotherhood told it, the brothers used powerful magic to raise the Thicket, which stopped the Rift from widening and sealed the demons—and the doomed elves—inside Eldenvalla forever.

Rolund raised a brow at me. “You don’t believe it?”

“Believing it would require me to believe the Brotherhood once practiced magic.”

“It was five hundred years ago.”

“Five hundred and twenty-nine.”

He smiled. “So you have read the histories.”

“Helen thought I should know all the stories the lowpeople tell themselves.” I glanced around to make sure no knights were within earshot. “The Brotherhood condemns magic, but the brothers have no problem taking credit for raising the Thicket and saving Sithistra. Don’t you find that hypocritical?”

Rolund gave me a patient look. “Devotion is for the masses, sister mine. The Brotherhood traffics in power, and there’s power in letting the lowpeople believe you can raise a forest and banish demons back to the Fir.”

His cynicism didn’t surprise me. Although Rolund gave generously to the Towers, it was rare to see him inside one.

“Perception is everything,” he said. “No one has ever been able to prove the brothers weren’t responsible for the Thicket. In the absence of another explanation, the lowpeople on both sides of the Rift believe the Brotherhood raised that forest and vanquished evil. The legend is as much of a deterrent as the trees.”

I studied the long shadows that fell over the road. “If everyone believes the Brotherhood raised the Thicket and defeated the elves, why do we bargain with Nor Doru? King Laurent demands thralls. Why give him our people’s blood when we could simply threaten to seal his kingdom behind another forest? Complying with Laurent’s terms makes us look weak.”

Rolund didn’t respond. When I turned, he sat stiffly in the saddle, all humor gone from his face.

“It was only an observation, Brother—”

“The Deepnight creeps south, or have you forgotten?”

I hadn’t. The encroachment of Nor Doru’s blanket of everlasting dusk had been the talk of Sithistra for years. No one was certain when it had started moving. For as long as men had dwelt in Ter Isir, the sun was the only thing that kept humanity from being invaded and enslaved by our powerful northern neighbors. But now the twilight of Nor Doru was adrift. Every year, the threat loomed larger.

The thunder of hooves drew Rolund’s attention, saving me a response. Treston galloped toward us, his cloak flying out behind him.

Rolund raised a hand, halting the column and the creaking carriages.

Treston pulled his mount to a stop. “The advance party has returned, Your Grace. They have news from the fort at the Pass.”

“I’ll speak to them at once.” Rolund rode off. The Green Guards and a group of high-ranking lords followed.

Treston watched them go, then turned to me. “Is he still angry about you being late?”

---