At Falan’s insistence, they stayed well clear of the road as they made for keep Fellwind on the other side of the mountain where the Withering spanned a few hundred yards before slowly merging into the Blackwood forest.
Sorela had kept everyone alive, though she was certain Falan had seen her weaving runes at least once more apart from the first night he had witnessed her magecraft. Some nights she had to discreetly light several fires, letting the others believe she had a strike and flint hidden away. Her barrier wasn’t visible or touchable—but she knew Falan at least, was aware of it. It could hold out some of the cold, as well as keep in some heat.
Very few had ever seen the powers of magecraft. Leisa had also caught her on one occasion. Serin probably knew what he was seeing as well, but neither of the Serafes had reacted very much.
Sorela looked down at her hands, cracked and bleeding from the chill wind. Never had she had endure such hardship—like a vagrant. The men foraged and hunted, usually bringing back only a few frozen berries or a rabbit. There were no more deer in these areas farther north.
Perhaps they had all been hunted already.
The Serafes seemed reluctant to eat the horses. “We should only eat the animals as a last resort,” Falan had said.
The Hall endure. Sorela actually wanted to eat the poor animals.
Fellwind was a disheveled little town—most structures had been burned down. Keep Fellwind towered at the center, overlooking a stone wall with a portcullis.
Leisa frowned, looked back at her. “Why would Lord Jalen come here?”
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“Every lord comes to see the Blackwood,” Falan said. “They need to know what the world is up against. One day these wars”—he gestured vaguely—“they won’t mean anything. Not when the Blackwood overtakes us all.”
Sorela nodded absently, peering at the long burnt line separating the Withering from pure land. She had seen the like before on several occasions, except now the Withering was growing well past the blackened trench. Fire was the only way to keep the accursed Withering from spreading. It slowly killed plant life, preparing the ground for Blackwood saplings that grew at an alarming rate. Evil creatures within the forest knew when a Blackwood tree was attacked. They always retaliated with devastating raids. For some reason new saplings did not sprout until the Withering had attained a certain distance from the main forest. Keeping the Withering hemmed in kept the monsters away. Mostly.
The portcullis was closed, locked tight. Townspeople could still be living here, Sorela thought. Why would they stay after what had happened? Lord Nightkar had obviously abandoned the keep. Foolish man. Once the Blackwood gained new ground it was almost impossible to fight back for the raids.
Perhaps Jalan is alive within the walls. It wasn’t a good hope, because that would be too much fortune. Would there at least be some food or supplies they could use if Jalen was not found perhaps? She peered past the iron grates into the village.
No one in sight.
“Hello?” she called. “Is anyone there?” She turned to the others. Falan shrugged while Leisa blew into her cupped hands.
There was no snow near the Blackwood. For some reason the accursed forest kept the area warm, though it was still cold enough to see white plumes as you breathed. Through the years the Hall had sent mages on numerous occasions to study the forest, to find out why it did not snow here even in the midst of a northern winter. So far, no answers had been found, not in over a hundred and fifty years. Sometimes it made her feel as though the Hall was helpless when it came to the Blackwood. The best any nation could do was to dig and fire those trenches.
A plume of frosted air left her mouth as she turned back toward the others, then glanced at the portcullis.
“We must enter.”