“Nyssa, the announcements have been prepared and the envoy is ready to go when you are,” Patrick said softly as he entered her chamber.

Nyssa didn’t acknowledge him at first. She was lost in the memory of her father when she was six years old. She had accompanied him to the academy for meetings and an inspection when he’d stopped to help teach a string of first-year cadets how to hold a long bow. She remembered it fondly because he had noticed them just as he was walking by, not that the instructor was doing anything wrong. Her father just liked to be among his people back then. Any chance he got, he would pick up the sword, the bucket, the hammer and try it himself.

“Message?” she said finally, blinking back into the present. Patrick softened his expression and came to sit at the end of her couch with her. He placed a hand on hers.

“To Bough, Nyssa. It’s time,” he said gently.

Nyssa looked at him for a time, but he could see the fight wasn’t in her right now. She’d been angry and volatile starting shortly after the joy of his nuptials because Nyssa was finding little support in mounting her responding campaign to Rogun. She’d become unapproachable for most occasions and requests and he was happy to be the relief for her when things needed attention, but this he knew, neither of them could ignore.

The Bough Treaty was a half-millennia old tradition created to ensure the two countries that shared a continent carried on a deep respect and understanding of each other. It was rather passive by diplomatic standards. It required the reigning monarch to send one, if not all, of their children to the Great Wood, the ancestral home of the Bough, for one year to immerse themselves in the unique culture and livelihood of their people. The treaty specified children older than ten but younger than eighteen. Patrick had attended at eleven and returned an inspired and exuberant twelve-year-old full of stories and lore and a deep and profound love for his distant kin.

But Nyssa had been absorbed to the military younger than most, almost seeming like her father had subverted her Bough experience for his instead. She knew, like Patrick knew, he was fully human in their family; their mother had been half Bough, born and raised in the Great Wood herself. When she’d passed, Madras seemed to close all appreciation to that culture. He’d not mentioned anything of it to Nyssa directly in all her living memory. In fact, she’d mostly forgotten them herself until Patrick had nudged her when the Bough king had arrived that it was firstly, unusual, and secondly, the law.

Several evenings had been wasted on the debate that she even qualified, but Patrick was unrelenting. King Baro had attended the funeral and her coronation — unique in that they hadn’t done that for anyone in centuries. They were introduced to her and so now knew her directly. The message was clear, even glaringly obvious; she was very close to dishonouring the treaty terms. The Bough expected Nyssa to fulfill her obligations as soon as possible, regardless that she was now queen.

“If you say so, Patrick,” she said quietly. “I’ll leave tomorrow.”

He was taken slightly aback. He expected her to insist they wait for the message to arrive first and maybe to receive a response in return to formalize it. She had been putting it off at every turn.

“Tomorrow seems a bit soon, don’t you think?” he asked her, but she shook her head.

“Send the envoy today, but let them know I’ll be only days behind them. You’re right; it’s time. I need to get on with this,” she said and rose to go to the door. She called someone and came back inside.

“How long will I be gone?” she asked him and started opening her wardrobes. Patrick watched her suspiciously, wondering if this was the pretext to a new explosion.

“As you know this, the agreement states one year, Nyssa,” he said cautiously.

Nyssa swore under her breath but shook it off. She nodded and took a deep breath. Sass came in then and waited for her mistress’ instructions.

“Sass, please make a list as I dictate it to you. We’ll need to pack items and have them shipped after me to Bough. I’ll travel light, ahead of the rest of it,” she said, and the maid curtsied and went to the sideboard to fetch quill and paper.

The rest of the morning, Nyssa spent itemizing her list with Sass in tow. At the end of it, she was surprised there wasn’t much she wanted to bring. There was limited formal attire for state events because she wasn’t going to be a formal state official while she was there. She packed only two gowns, just in case. She brought regular daily clothes, fit for a soldier in the field, the clothes she wore every day, in fact, before being crowned and imprisoned in her own castle.

Nyssa stopped and pinched her nose. She took a deep breath and started the list again.

She added some outerwear, hoping they would indulge her in some riding and hunting, and her armour but only the practical version and some personal effects. All in all, she had only two trunks. Patrick and Triana would assist her in selecting presents for the royal family and she was ready.

“You haven’t much, so the trunks and gear will travel with you in the wagon,” Patrick was saying the next morning as they descended the stairs to the stable courtyard. “The envoy left early yesterday so he’s got some miles on you. He should arrive by the end of next week. You won’t travel nearly as fast in a group, so he should arrive at least three days before you. I hope that’s enough warning…” he mumbled near the end.

He was slightly uncomfortable that Nyssa wasn’t waiting for the response. He knew they were anxious to receive her, but he didn’t want to push it. Nyssa, on the other hand, had stopped listening when he brought it up.

“Don’t fret, Patrick,” she said, slipping on her leather gloves, “it’ll be enough. Is everyone here?” she asked, looking around at the five other horses and their riders. The wagon was being loaded and the driver was helping the groom with final tack adjustments.

“Almost, my Queen!” came the voice of someone obviously not used to hurrying downstairs. She waited and saw Moro, a statesman in her court, exit the staircase opening carrying several scrolls and rolled up maps.

“Moro? Whatever are you doing?” she said, surprised. She looked at Patrick.

“Moro is our most experienced advisor where the Bough are concerned. He’s handled all our diplomatic relations with them and has travelled annually on our behalf to maintain those relations since Father married Mother,” he said coolly. “Of course, I’d send him with you.”

Nyssa couldn’t reply. She didn’t doubt Moro’s experience or Patrick’s reason for selecting him, but Moro was advanced in years. A ride like this was likely to be hard on him, though he seemed enthusiastic enough. She nodded to him and smiled so he could continue to pack his belongings, but she pulled her brother aside.

“Should we have ordered the coach, then?” she said, as discreetly as she could.

“Would you have let me?” he said and smirked. Nyssa scowled at him. No, she would not have, but discussing Moro might have changed her mind. She turned away from him. Fine, this was her mission.

“Moro?” she called to him and came up to help him with the final straps of his saddle bags. “Have you ridden much of late? Will this be comfortable enough for you?” she asked as respectfully as she could.

Moro bobbed his head. He was sweating slightly, but he puffed his chest a bit when he turned to answer her.

“Fret not, my Queen,” he said confidently. “I still continue my rounds visiting the Bough every year and I do my best to stay in shape to meet my obligations. I am more than prepared for this journey; in fact, I am much looking forward to the added company this trip!” He grinned at her and she found herself surprisingly reassured.

“We’re off then,” she said and happily patted Moro’s horse’s mane as he mounted.

“Moro, Jara and your guards will stay with you the year,” Patrick said then, coming up to her and escorting her to her horse. “The driver will double as a courier and make several trips back and forth to keep you informed of things at home and bring you anything you might need,” Patrick was saying.

Her guards, the wagon driver and Moro were ready. She turned to Patrick and they embraced. They didn’t say anything, but Nyssa could see her brother was emotional to see her go. She nodded and returned to Jara, who held her horse. He had been silent about the whole thing, busy, she’d noticed, organizing their first excursion and she respected that.

Since Patrick’s wedding, they’d kept mostly to themselves, even though that was always at arm’s length. They circled each other seamlessly, always in synch but actually spoke less and less unnecessarily every day. Her heart was closed to them. His too, she suspected. Though she missed his advice and his confidence in her, his efforts were more proof than anything that he supported her. He was a brilliant and talented first guardsman.

As far as their friendship, she didn’t doubt it, but it was tucked deep inside and at least it was mutual. She was grateful he was still there, even if she couldn’t say it.

“Nyssa,” Patrick called to her after she’d mounted and was about to turn about. She halted and waited for him to approach. He reached up a hand and held on to hers where they rested on the pommel, “Be safe, Sister,” he said quietly. She smiled and bent to kiss his forehead.

“You as well, Brother,” she said warmly to him. Roan started dancing a bit underneath her, as the other riders had already begun to depart out of the courtyard.

“Take care of that pregnant wife of yours. Give her my love whenever she gets out of that bed!” she called back to him after he’d backed away. He smiled broadly and nodded.

“I’ll tell her you said that!” he yelled after her.

She waved and turned her horse to spur him after the party that had cleared the courtyard gate, Jara wordlessly nodding to Patrick and turning the same after her.

Nyssa could hear the horn of farewell that a sentry blew when her party was visible beyond the outer wall. She would miss the city, its warmth, her family and her bed.

For much of the first day since they had left the city, Nyssa had been in quiet contemplation. She had entrusted point to Jara, who was entirely in charge of her security detail, and allowed herself to drift in her thoughts. Moro said little and rode silently but reassuringly at her side, slightly back so as not to encroach on her privacy.

By the second day, and now well into the fourth, she had begun to engage with Moro and seek his council in all things Bough. Naturally, he was a fountain of information and had many anecdotal stories to tell her from his years of visits to the Wood. Through his telling, she began to understand and elaborate on what little she already knew: that they were a subdued and often thought mysterious race. Their history being many millennia older than humans, they had many great legends and it is said that they had learned to “read” nature and the activities of the earth. Moro even said it was believed they could even manipulate matter using this knowledge, but he had never seen anything more than the queen warming the room with a wave of her hand.

“Wait, the queen can tell your thoughts with her mind?” Nyssa asked, quite surprised. Moro nodded enthusiastically.

“Oh yes, well, your feelings she can sense, I believe, Majesty and other little things of that nature I have personally seen, but I can only speculate at the breadth of that ability, Your Highness,” he replied.

“You speak of magic, Moro. That is a significant bit of intel, don’t you think?” she asked with a slightly pained expression and a twist in her saddle to see him directly. Moro didn’t reply right away but agreed.

“I suppose, my Queen, but your brother is certainly aware from the time he spent there, not to mention your mother must have shown you some things when you were young and so naturally, I just thought you knew,” he said more quietly. He rode on now in silence.

Nyssa thought about that and then thought about why she didn’t know or had forgotten. She sighed. Much of the warm memories she had of her mother were tucked away in her heart. When she died, Nyssa had retreated violently into herself, vehemently refusing to acknowledge softness or anything loving, in case that reminded her of Kara.

She thought about her now, though. She had some vague recollection of her on the floor of her nursery and her mother sitting down opposite her, telling her tails of magical creatures and the special abilities they possessed. Her child’s mind had wondered where they came from but let the question go with the wonder and the joy of the moment. She never did get to ask these questions of her mother and shut the memory down with a painful mental lashing. These are the things she was supposed to learn from her. If she didn't know, then it was not her fault.

But then she thought of Patrick and she tried to remember his return from Bough and did he tell her anything when he returned? She remembered that he was all afire with excitement and stories and regaled her for weeks with little; “The Boughs do this and the Boughs do that.” She remembered now how she had tuned him out. She had been preparing for some finals at the academy at that time. To her, nothing else had mattered.

She sighed.

“Go on, Moro,” she said and waved him to continue. “The queen has magical abilities. Anyone else?”

Moro nodded with renewed enthusiasm and straightened in his saddle. “I believe they all have some aptitude, my Queen, though likely the royal line has some purity to the legends origins. I believe this to be so, anyway,” he concluded.

Just then, Jara rode back to her and brought his horse up and alongside her own. She watched him reining in and settle his mount, which was strong and tall. Months had passed since Madras’s death. They’d focused on absorbing themselves in their duties and Nyssa had swallowed hard her loneliness and separation from her friend, fighting valiantly never to let it show.

They were shockingly suited to their new roles now, she’d remarked nearly every day. They moved around each other with apparent ease and formality and for all they were together — which is to say constantly — there never seemed an opportunity or desire to talk about anything that had happened in the year since the academy. She had watched Jara transform into a serious and fastidious guardsman, intensely vigilant and brilliantly organized; he was confident with her but kept all the rest locked away. For her part, all she felt was pride in him and distance, though he was never more than a few physical feet away. Their stolen moment was now nothing more than a dream that she refused to even let replay in her mind. It was time and fate that they move on to what they had agreed to: strictly professional.

“My Queen, we have activity on the road ahead. Chen reports they do not appear to be normal merchants, but he can’t identify their origins. They are spread out among the road and ditches. I wish to tighten the party and form ranks,” he said firmly.

“How many?” she asked.

“Chen counts fifteen,” he replied shortly.

She acknowledged him and motioned for Moro to bring his horse closer to hers. She slowed them to just in front of the wagon. Jara had ridden back to inform the rear guard and now he too was bringing it in to be closer at her side. If they were attacked, the wagon could be abandoned and the driver, also a highly trained soldier, would fight any way he could. The circle around her and Moro had to stand.

Nyssa shifted her cloak to expose her sword hilt for easy access. She reached back to her packs and pulled her shin guards from the front pouches and buckled them on. Moro, to her right, had also exposed his sword and his short shield he now buckled to his arm.

In a few minutes, they came upon a rise in the road that was hiding the activities on the other side. Chen, her second guard, was waiting for them when they reached the crest.

“They don’t seem to be aware of us, my Queen,” he said in a very deep baritone.

“Let’s see if we can pass peacefully through, but if we can’t, I’m all for just dispensing with honest justice. No need to announce our identities if we don’t have to,” she said, still looking straight ahead.

Jara, now on her left, snapped his visor down and the other two did the same.

The party started out and picked up speed. The intent was to approach with enough speed to be intimidating but not enough to hurt anyone maliciously. Roan’s ears were twitching rapidly and the flesh quivered in its excitement.

Nyssa could now see the group ahead that Chen had described and why he had refrained from taking a guess at their origin or intent. These were no merchants or village-folk from nearby. They were rag-tag, dirty and scattered. It appeared they had squatted where they were overnight and were simply late getting going, but in which direction, she couldn’t ascertain. Some of the men started to rise as her party’s hooves got louder in their approach.

They gathered together, talking and pointing. Some were looking back at one man, huge, cloaked and sinister looking, who stood aside from the rest under a tree in the field. He watched them but made no move to indicate he cared. The people who were closest to the road at first didn’t look as if they intended to move, but just before Nyssa was about to indicate they slow down, the lone man by the tree rose his hand and flicked his wrist and the people on the road scattered into the grass.

The party was allowed to pass unmolested, but Nyssa didn’t feel that was the end. She was determined to just pass, but she couldn’t help but try to look at the man under the tree. There was something definitely wrong about him. She wanted to ask Jara about him, but it wasn’t time for conversation.

They rode for nearly an hour at the faster gallop that the wagon would sustain before slowing and finally stopping to rest and water the horses. Nyssa was grateful when she looked behind them and saw no one following. She noticed Dorn, the third guard, was dismounted and running low up the last embankment they had just descended. He stopped at the top and dropped into the grass to observe what they couldn’t see at the edge of the stream several feet lower down the embankment from the road.

“What do you think, Jara?” she asked finally, the first time any of them had spoken since they ran through. Jara was adjusting his horses' tack from the run while it drank in the stream.

“They’ll be on us soon enough if we linger,” he said.

“So, you agree they will follow us?” she replied and he nodded. “The question is for how far, then?” she added, but this time he shook his head.

“I believe the question is; who are they?” he said. “They looked like they were waiting for us, which would indicate they will follow us all the way to the Wood if we let them.”

“Waiting for us?” she said, surprised. He finished what he was doing and turned to her.

“They had little camping equipment and they didn’t look like they were heading anywhere, no packs or luggage. They had small cook fires with easily caught rodents on them, half-eaten, and all of them wore long cloaks or robes, which tells me they have things to hide. In our business, my Queen, that’s usually weapons,” he said.

“I don’t doubt your observations, Jara, but this is a diplomatic detail. We’re not carrying anything valuable. I’m not even returning this way for a long while. Even if I didn’t arrive at Bough, it wouldn’t hurt anything with our relations permanently. In fact, it might spur a call to arms from both nations against anyone who might attempt interfering with such an ancient treaty. Who would want to interfere with us out here?” she said. She was getting agitated the more she thought about it.

“Did you notice the man under the tree?” he asked and she focused on him.

“Something was definitely not right there,” she said and he crossed his arms in contemplation. He was thinking something but not saying it. She was going to ask, but they were interrupted.

“What do we do?” It was Moro who spoke, almost stumbling on the rocks as he was coming up behind them. He was posing the question to Jara, though.

“We keep moving into the night and don’t stop until morning where we can find some cover off the road,” was his reply. “How far to the border of the Wood, Moro?” Jara asked then, squinting at the sky. Moro answered immediately.

“Two days, at most. I’d say if we hid the wagon and rode through the night, we might reach it by mid-afternoon tomorrow.” Jara frowned but nodded.

“But that depends on the condition of the road and the stamina of the horses,” he added and Moro huffed to agree.

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Jara was considering his words when Chen came back. “Dorn says he sees movement on the hill two miles back,” he reported and, without waiting for a reply, turned and went back to his post. Stan, the driver, came over and waited for Jara’s orders.

“We have three, maybe four, hours of daylight left and the horses have been riding since sun-up,” he said.

“They can take the three more hours but not the night through,” Stan, the driver, added.

“Moro, are there any caves in the hills I see ahead of us? Anywhere we can get some cover to our backs if we need to make a stand?” Jara asked him. Moro considered it. Slowly, he started to nod.

“Yes, I think so. Its heavy brush at the base of the biggest hill. I’ve never been off the road there, but the wall is solid at least,” he said. Jara nodded.

“Stan, we’ll move with the wagon if Dorn doesn’t spot any mounted men. Please tell Chen the plan. We move out now,” he said and everyone started to move. He gave Nyssa an extra second and then she indicated she understood too.

Nyssa started gathering herself and Roan. The big destrier had finished drinking and was wandering around the clearing looking for food. She reached in her pouches and grabbed two big handfuls of oats. He gobbled them quickly.

“Pay attention here, Roan,” she whispered to him. He flicked his ears and shook his mane with a snort.

The party was mounted and ready to move minutes later and no one said a word. They rode for two hours, Stan working to keep the wagon, not built for speed, in tight control and the drawing horses reassured ahead of the banging and swaying wagon. By nightfall, they reached the hill wall and the two Elite began scouring its face for an entrance. A quarter of an hour later, Dorn returned.

“We have a crack in the surface about twenty metres that way,” he said, slightly out of breath. “It’s big enough to stuff the wagon in or hide the horses if we can get them in there.”

“You’ll never get Roan in a hole,” Nyssa said.

She was tired and sore from an entire day of hard riding. She felt sorry for Roan, who was probably feeling the same way.

“We won’t have to,” Jara said. “Stan, get the wagon in there so we don’t have to defend it, but we’ll form up in front of it. All I cared about was reducing the number of sides they could come at us. With the wall, that gives us three and we can see them coming now.”

They moved down the face, and Stan wrangled the horse to reverse the wagon in the hole with little argument. They gathered themselves and dressed in their battle equipment while they waited word from Dorn. Finally, he came back, surprising them with his stealth in the black.

“I counted ten on the road,” he whispered. “Same condition, robed, so I couldn’t make out how heavily armed they are. They don’t speak and there is the minimal sound of metal when they move. I anticipate there is more coming, the whole group, likely, but they’re spread out. Maybe this is an advance party,” he concluded.

“Can they track us here?” Moro asked, also whispering.

“Certainly, the wagon is heavy,” Dorn replied simply.

“It’s a shame we can’t attack them by surprise and take them out with arrows,” Moro said.

“It’s a thought,” Nyssa replied and she looked to Jara for ideas. He was considering it.

“At most, we’d get seven, maybe eight,” he said finally.

“More than enough. The last two could be taken by whomever is free of their bow first with short arms,” Dorn replied.

“Do we have time to get into position, Dorn?” Jara asked. Dorn shrugged.

“How buried are the bows, Stan?” he said, turning to the driver who was now dismounted and fully clothed in bits of armour.

Stan seemed to take offence to this line of questioning. Without answering, he went to the wagon, which was unhitched and the horse, now wearing a very basic blanket and saddle, jumped onto the front wheel and immediately produced a large, rolled bundle. He brought it back to the group and unwrapped it. Five bows and five quivers, full of arrows, dropped on the ground. Dorn smacked Stan on the shoulder and grinned.

“Now that’s a man who knows how to pack,” he said lightly.

“Lead the way, Dorn,” Jara said, picking up a bow and quiver.

They hitched their horses to the wagon and Dorn led the way back to the road, keeping to a thicket that ran the length of it. As the road neared the wall, it turned sharply to go around the rock formations that jut out of the ground here. It continued on south and then turned back westerly once having cleared the large hill. The path then threaded its way through the scattered rocks behind it. Thanks to the thicket, the group could at least see the road leading up to the hill. While under cover, they would have to step out of it to be within firing range, though.

Dorn held his arm up and the group stopped instantly. Nyssa was watching the road now. Some of the men they had seen earlier were now cautiously walking down the dirt path, a disorganized group, not in any file or rank. A scout walking a little ahead of the rest was scouring the ground, likely following the wagon tracks. He stopped suddenly and ran forward a bit to the wall. Looking to the wall and then the ground again, he understood that the wagon left the road there and instead went opposite the road into the bush.

Jara put his arm up and opened the five fingers on his hand. This was the signal to arm themselves and hold their positions. The scout ran back to join the group and report, which seemed to slow and hang back, grouping themselves into a neat package. Nyssa was watching them but knew time was very near, so she switched her sights to Jara’s hand.

In seconds, he closed his fist and the five of them walked three paces out of the tree line and onto the edge of the road. Without stopping, they released their arrows and immediately, five men fell, making very little sound. Nyssa, still arguably one of the country’s best archers, had fired and was already re-loading, which was a particular talent. She had felled another of the men by the time Jara and Dorn fell on the last two with their short sabres to their throats. She had a third in the string and was scanning the road and surrounding area before Jara called them to stand down.

“Chen, check the road for more,” Jara said quietly. “The rest of us need to clear these bodies.” They gave their bows to Nyssa and she kept an eye on every angle she could see around them while her companions dragged and rolled bodies into the long grass of the ditches. She was watching for Chen when they were done and Stan came up and took the bows from her. Her own she held onto. Chen came back after a few minutes and not in any particular rush, she thought.

“I see no movement in the glen behind us and the moon is high now. I could see a good mile or so,” he said. Jara nodded, but he looked at Nyssa.

“We need to rest, but I don’t want to risk six hours or more like a normal night,” he said. “I think we should go back to the wagon, eat and try to sleep for a couple of hours, but we need to be well on our way before dawn.” She nodded her agreement.

“We should take shifts,” she started to say and Jara smiled patiently at her.

“Yes, my Queen, this is already arranged,” he said and she caught the extra patience in his voice.

“No, Jara. I can do my part. We all need rest equally,” she qualified. He looked over his shoulder at her but didn’t stop walking.

“It’s not necessary. You know as well as I that we are all conditioned for this, but no one is conditioned for queenship but you.” She was considering taking offence to that statement but decided against it. He was right; and Nyssa was tired of arguing about it.

They had rested for almost four hours when Moro woke her gently. She was exhausted from a long day and the stress of being on the run, but she was instantly alert when she thought of the dark men that were following them. She rose quickly, packed her bed roll and handed it to Stan. He was already packing the wagon, which he’d hitched to the horses and pulled out of the stone opening. She turned to find Jara for an update. He was conferring with Chen and Moro when she came up to them.

“We have less than two hours before the sun rises. I would prefer to be well clear of the rock outcroppings by the time the sun lights the valley or anyone will be able to spot us there until we reach the border of The Wood itself,” he said quickly. She agreed immediately.

“Let’s get moving then,” she said, and the group quickly dispersed to their mounts.

It was very dark in the pre-dawn night, the moon having set already. Jara led them carefully and as quickly as he dared down the road that threaded its way through the craggy rock outcropping from the hill. It was as if the hill had at one time taken stones from itself and thrown them up in the air, letting the boulders fall and lie where they landed. The road had been beaten down to thread through them, but it was not straight or level and following it in the dark took some concentration. It did not help that some of the boulders were taller than a mounted man, so getting one’s bearings was limited to the spaces in between.

Nyssa was wondering where the men that were following them were. If some had come up so close on them before, why hadn’t there been more? They had expected little delays in between groups, but she thought four hours was excessive. She risked glancing around them as often as she could, trusting Roan to follow his companion's lead, but he was not happy about it and she needed to lend her support.

“In the daylight, this is nothing more than a slower pace and a careful eye,” Moro whispered to her, trying to reassure her.

“It’s actually quite interesting to look at,” he went on but stopped when his horse stumbled on a stone.

The road through the rock pass should have taken a couple of hours but instead took them nearly four, a full two hours past sunrise. By the time they arrived at the edge of the open valley, the sun was warm and rising quickly. They had stopped at the edge of the valley to survey ahead. Chen was long gone ahead of them on foot to root out any potential foes lying hidden in the grass.

The horses were drinking from stores they had brought with them; there was no stream at this end of the valley. Nyssa was eyeing the large and not insignificant band of forest that stretched as far as her eye could see from the north and nearly as far to the south. At the tip, it rounded a bit and disappeared toward the east. The sun rising behind it lit the canopy and a brilliant green and gold were glittering like jewels in the bright morning light. It seemed a very welcoming place, she thought.

Moro had come up behind her and joined with her in admiring the view.

“It’s quite something, isn’t it, my Queen?” he said quietly. She didn’t really know what to say, but she nodded.

“’The Good Wood,’ some call it,” he went on. She looked at him and he was smiling, his hands behind him, relaxed. She wasn’t feeling as confident about their safety at the moment. Subconsciously, she re-adjusted her sword belt.

“We are but a half day’s ride from the outer edge of the border, Your Majesty. The Bough will be watching for us. Once we move out from here, I’m sure they’ll have us in their sights,” he said confidently, “if they don’t already!”

Moro cheerfully took his leave and returned to his horse, patting the mare on the rump and brushing the shaggy mane as she ate her lunch, munching slowly and with care. She hadn’t felt the need to explain to him that she didn’t share his confidence for their welfare, regardless of if the Bough could see them now or not. What good would it do for them to see her and her party from their lofty perches? If they were attacked and slaughtered on the road, their most useful contribution would be to act as witnesses to her brother.

Nyssa wasn’t sure of the chances they were taking. Her instincts were telling her the valley was not as it should be. She let her eyes wander from the impressive tree line to the valley below. She tried hard to make out Chen but couldn’t anywhere. The road itself twisted and bent and the long grass, now blowing in long waves like unbound hair, was covering the road at its bends, leaving many blind spots and making for many slow corners where they would have to walk the horses to ensure they remained on the road. She had been nibbling on an apple but lost her appetite. She offered it to Roan, who gobbled it instantly, and she left to speak with Jara.

“This is a trap,” she said firmly. He turned to look at her, his eyes squinting in the bright morning light. He did not answer but instead turned to survey the valley. He watched it for a good while, as she hoped.

“It is a convenient place for one,” he agreed, “but how else do we cross? This meadow is open for miles in either direction.”

“Where’s Chen?” she asked. He looked back down the valley road, eyeing Dorn, who was talking to Stan but still waiting for him. It had been a long time, maybe too long, since he’d left on his scouting mission.

Jara left to confer with Dorn, but Nyssa wasn’t waiting. She went back to Roan and mounted, moving him down away from the rocks and firmly back on the road. The wind was warm and quite fluid, moving in all directions where it swept down off the rocks and swirled across the open plain. Jara moved to the shoulder, almost jumping when she came up behind him.

“Well? Is he lost, then?” she said, slightly irritated. The waiting was wearing her thin.

“He is gone longer than usual, but that could just mean he’s being thorough,” Jara said, slightly defensive about her impatience.

“Or he’s found something,” Stan added helpfully.

“He knows the drill. Stan — take up his horse. He’ll follow if he’s sniffing about, but we cannot stay here any longer,” she said and Roan stamped his foot in agreement. She could tell Jara wanted to argue, but there was something about her mood that warned him not to. He motioned to the others to move out.

Jara took the lead, threading them on the road, but the long grass swirled and waved at their horse’s ankles where it blew over the winding pass. He moved them as fast as he dared, but the pace was still agonizingly slow. The valley wasn’t quiet either. The grass was loudly ‘hissing’ with its constant movement, and Nyssa thought, there were little places better for an ambush if she’d ever seen one.

They were two hours at the excruciating pace when Chen suddenly rose out of the grass a little ahead of them, like a Jack-in-the-Box.

“Make haste, Colonel!” he yelled above the wind and the constant ‘swish” of the grass. She saw a hand reach up and grab the back of his cloak and yank him back down below the surface. Jara stood up in his saddle and turned to bark orders to Dorn and Stan. Nyssa was stunned, but instantly on fire, she unsheathed her sword and squeezed Roan to control him from rearing and getting loose.

“Switch!” Jara yelled at her, pointing his sword directly at her. “Take Moro and Stan and make for the border!”

Nyssa stood up and leaned back to look around her. Moro was wide-eyed and looking from the spot Chen had been and back. Stan was already slapping the reins on the horses’ rump, calling for her to pick up her pace.

“To me!” she called to Moro, who snapped to and nodded after her. She was just able to kick Roan into a run before Stan passed her with the wagon and Moro fell in at the rear.

The road was nearly impossible to follow at speed and every few feet, it seemed she risked driving straight into the grass and whatever lay beneath it. Roan was in control and seemed to know the road was precarious; he jumped back several times from the edge, stopping them for leaving it and losing the road from under them.

There were noises that flittered on the wind and reached her from behind them. She wanted to look back and see but was afraid to risk it. They were halfway through the valley but still really not close enough to know if they could make it.

Nyssa risked a look back. She could see Jara and Dorn, still mounted, poking their swords into the long grass. In between glances, she thought she saw Chen also on foot but running like a jack rabbit through the grass, bounding every so often to keep from being swallowed by the reeds.

They were falling behind her, the gap between them getting bigger. She had confidence in Stan and even Moro, but she knew even combined, the two of them were no substitute for her three guards.

It occurred to her then; better the enemy you can see.

She held up Roan and called to Stan and Moro to stop. Standing in her saddle, she turned and cupped her mouth to yell back, “Jara! To ME!” she yelled as loud as she could. At first, he didn’t seem to hear her, so she repeated it. Eventually, his head snapped up and he looked after her.

“To me!” she repeated and waved her sword in a broad arc above her head. At first, he seemed to hesitate. He looked back down into the grass and poked it a few more times, but Dorn left what he was doing after one final swing and spurred his horse to jump out of the grass and back on to a visible patch of the road. Jara followed moments later, still chopping the grass with his sword every few jumps.

Chen, she noticed, was already nearer to them and she called for Stan to prepare to throw him his sword. As he got closer, Nyssa could see the attackers rising from where they were hidden, now forced to move faster to catch the fleeing group.

To ensure they kept following, Nyssa urged her group to keep moving, knowing Dorn and Jara would catch up to them. But it took a while and soon a swarm of the filthy people came out onto the road to block them. She saw them ahead and silently begged Roan to forgive her for not insisting he wear his breastplate and mail.

She kicked his flanks and leaned forward into the saddle, spurring him into a dead run. Her party was startled but got her intentions. Even if they weren’t happy about them, they quickly followed to do the same.

Roan ran forward, completely unafraid and probably just as mad as she was to be caught in this trap. She still didn’t know its full scope, but she would try anything to throw something unexpected in its design. Running full bore seemed to do the trick.

Roan smashed into the first person and then the second, sending them squealing into the side of the road to disappear under the grass. The third person was spun, being hit from the side but was trampled by the other horses of her party, now closing in behind her. She looked up at the tree line and knew they were getting closer, but she was willing herself to be there now and she felt Roan quicken beneath her, double stepping as he picked up still more speed.

To her surprise, Roan didn’t fear leaving the road. She watched as much as she could, but he was moving incredibly fast and all she could see was the grass and every so often the ground underneath it, which was just more grass trampled down. It was spongy, though and that slowed her mount down some, but he bounded where his footing was unsure and bolted when it was. Nyssa made sure to hold on for dear life and expect the unexpected.

She was crouched, knees locked and arse up off the saddle to give Roan and herself the best ease of movement and balance of weight and she risked a tight look behind her shoulder. Her companions were doing their best to follow her lead, but their mounts were not as powerful as Roan or as brave. They were running, just not as confidently, and they were beginning to lag behind.

Nyssa made the call to keep going. Someone had to get out of this situation. If she could make for the tree line, maybe the enemies weren’t willing to follow them inside. The Great Wood was protected by the Bough and their reputation for dealing with trespassers was absolute. But she was expected and she was willing herself to believe they would be there now. Maybe she could entice them to help her companions the rest of the way. At the very least, she hoped that the Bough would stop, question and detain any trespassers. She knew no hunting in the Wood was allowed, no random trespassing. It was infamous for turning bandits out or swallowing them whole, never to be seen again.

She was sweating, despite the wind whipping her face from Roan’s desperate run. Her legs were cramping where she was tucking them tight and her hand, still gripping her sword, just wanted to drop it, but she held on. She was calling to Roan now, urging him in a steady chant; “fast as the wind, strong as the earth. Fast as the wind, strong as the earth.” She felt his muscles working and his breathing strong and measured.

Suddenly, the grass fell away and the ground was visible. Gravel and scrubby wild grass and flowers, no taller than Roan’s hoof. The road came into full view and she steered him toward it. Here he really picked up speed and she had to crouch up off the saddle just to keep from losing her grip on him completely.

She was flying toward the Wood now and it loomed ever higher as she got close.

“Not long now, Roan. We’ve made it,” she said into his ear.

She was scanning the tree line, more visible now that she was closing in on it. She was looking for people, movement. Anything to indicate help when she would cross through, but there was nothing. She dared another look behind her and she saw her companions were still running through the long grass, two of them engaged with dark figures on the ground. Stan was kicking someone off the wagon, but at least it was still moving.

She turned her head back to look straight at the trees again. This time there was a figure standing on the road that entered the Wood. Her heart surged for a second, but then immediately, it sank. It was no Bough; it was the huge dark figure from under the tree. The leader, she suspected, and he was blocking her way. She was no more than a quarter of a mile away from him, half a mile from the tree line and closing fast.

“What do you think, Roan?” she asked herself and her mount, though his ears twitched between strides.

The dark figure moved and flipped his cloak off. He raised a very large and ugly looking crossbow to his shoulder and started walking toward her, confirming her in his crosshairs. Nyssa was alarmed; a crude and powerful weapon like that would kill Roan, maybe even instantly. She pulled back on his reigns to slow him out of his run and make him somewhat manoeuvrable. In the chaos of rider and horse attempting to read just their understanding of one another, the dark man fired and she heard the tight rope “thwong” as it released its heavy wooden bolt.

“Roan!!” she screamed in alarm and yanked on the reins to make him turn a sharp right. She had to duck as the bolt sailed over her head and missed them both, but she felt it pass over her, centimetres off its mark.

The dark man discarded the bow and started to run toward her. In her effort to outmanoeuvre the bolt, she’d lost all speed and was desperately trying to reset Roan on a trajectory, but the dark man was unnaturally fast. He was upon her, drawing a long broad sword as he approached. Nyssa was instantly transported to another battlefield and she was stunned beyond believing whom she faced — her father’s killer grinned and readied his stance.

Just in time, Nyssa pulled her own sword to his attacking side and she blocked the blow while Roan danced and clomped beneath her. Several blows vibrated up her arm and she understood the strength behind it was formidable. She couldn’t defeat this man while mounted, but up close, he was impossibly large and she was overwhelmed by trying to think of a way to defeat him on the ground. She could see his face now: heavily scarred with deep-set eyes that burned with rage. The intent was clear on his face and she felt this. Her defeat, like her father's, was his only mission.

Luck finally gave her an opportunity and she was able to get a foot into his chest and push him backwards between swings, which gave her the split second to kick Roan, who lurched so enthusiastically she almost fell out of the saddle. He was at blazing top speed before she could consider turning around to see if he was following her. She tucked her sword into the leather straps of her tack, not her sheath, which was impossible while holding on to Roan at this speed and finally risked a look back. Her companions were free of the valley now and descending on the dark man and a few of his accomplices who had materialized from the grass as well. To her utter dismay, she saw he had his crossbow again, reloaded by one of his men, and was once again aiming it at her. She ducked low and held on; she set her sights on the tree line and waited. In seconds, she and Roan would cross the first line of trees and the shade and the shadow would envelop them. Just a few more seconds…

Roan burst into the tree line and immediately left the road. He kept it in sight, running alongside it, but bounding around trees and obstacles to make them more difficult to follow. His hooves thumped on the deep undergrowth of generations of leaves, fallen to the forest floor over countless seasons, and he nearly made no sound save for his weight on the ground. He ran for what seemed like hours, but eventually, he slowed and finally trotted, having finally run out of strength. He continued to walk slowly, uncomfortable in his new surroundings and, having no direction from his mistress, he was anxious. The wind shifted and he smelled blood. He stopped dead in his tracks and stood tall. He was listening for anything that could help him. Any friend, any human. He was lost.

---

Roan started to move again after he could hear no pursuers and no friends. He walked cautiously through this strange new forest, listening for anything interesting. He found the sound of a stream and made for it directly.

Roan was taking long drinks from the stream, his skin flinching almost constantly from the sweat that was running down his body and legs. He huffed and moved forward a bit. A cool dip in the water would feel so good on his legs… He stiffened. A man was approaching, but he didn’t recognize his scent. Roan lifted his head and made eye contact with him. He seemed not to be hostile. But he was not dressed like the ones they were running from. He was not armed, except for a strung contraption he had on his back. He’d seen his mistress wear one before. She killed small animals and big men with them.

Roan snorted in warning. He wasn’t comfortable with this man, but he had no reason to run. The man sat down on a stone and waited. Roan’s mouth was still dripping from water and he chewed the bit while he watched him.

“I am a friend to your mistress, Big One,” the man said finally. “I think she may be in need of my help.”

Roan flicked his ears and snorted again. He swung his head around to look across the stream. There were more men now, dressed like the first, coming up to the edge but keeping their distance. He sniffed the air. It was now filled with man-scent.

But it was also filled with blood. And he deduced it wasn’t himself that was hurt, which meant only one thing. The weight of his mistress was still on his back; she was not active. She must be hurt. Roan turned from the stream to face the man on the rock. He tried his best to give him a warning stare. The man smiled at him and nodded. He stood slowly, held both his hands out where Roan could see and approached him, his feet making almost no sound.

When he was beside Roan, he patted him in reassurance. “You did well, my friend,” he said. “We will see to her now.”

The man pulled Nyssa gently off Roan’s back and she slid down, landing in his arms. On the ground, Roan turned to smell her and, to his dismay, she was not moving. He snorted, bumped her with his nose and stamped a couple of times.

“Treo, please lead our big friend back. He needs care and to be shown his new home,” said the man. Another man, smaller than the first, came forward and gently put a hand on Roan’s nose. He smelled nice, like acorns and apples. He spoke some foreign words, but they were soothing and Roan was tired. He let him lead him away. He hoped for the promise of acorns and apples.

“She’s been shot,” Hedir said, holding the blood-soaked cloak back and assessing the wound.

“That bolt is not from Orak’Thune,” said one of Hedir’s men.

“We have to move her. Right now,” Hedir interrupted.

The group of men who had come closer and huddled around him started moving quickly. They made it back to the road and a wagon was brought down from the front of the group. Hedir placed Nyssa on the back and then climbed up himself. He repositioned her so he could hold her and put pressure on the wound around the bolt that was still sticking horribly out of her shoulder. The jostling had wakened her somewhat and she’d stirred for the first time. She tried to open her eyes, but the pain was like lightning bolts in her whole body. She squinted at the man holding her but didn’t recognize him. He didn’t seem threatening though. Instead, he was incredibly beautiful, so she reached up and touched his face, which was nice because she believed she was dreaming, and then she drifted into unconsciousness once more.