Chapter Seven

A tiny stream of water rushed like a coursing river down Anise's brown and over her nose, and she wiped it away. Her clothes were damp and cold. The raindrops seemed to touch every leaf and tree branch on their way to the forest floor, the sound of each drip blending together into a deep hiss that belied the gentleness of the rain itself. The rest of the forest was already awake. She heard the stirring. Even the quiet insects underground added to the anima rumbling in her head. A few songbirds sang despite the rain, and Anise tested herself, trying to source their open voices to the vibrations she felt.

The rain slowed and coalesced into a light, hazy mist that clung to the ground. She had stopped to rest at times throughout the night, but the rain made sleep impossible without a shelter. All she had to guide her was the faint pulse of distant Naephra. The source was weak, and it took great concentration to find it, but the sensation was unmistakable: a low hum of presence, all too familiar, amalgamated from thousands of distinct individuals. Not just the living cycles of insects, birds, and small animals, but feelings, thoughts, and sensations, all melded together and rippling out from the many Naephra in Tamryod. She could only make out the edge of it, but already she could tell that it was getting stronger, and closer.

After hours trudging through wet mud and brush, she was finally near. Each tree she passed was larger than the last. Fence-high portions of black roots protruded from the ground, twisting over, under, and around each other as if frozen in a heated race, winding down from the base of the great trees and into the warm ground. Anise kept her eyes gazing upward, walking along on top of the root systems. The city would be close now.

The first Naephra she came across were three young boys. They sat on top of a thick root which extended out from the soil in a tall arch, with enough room underneath for two men to ride through, even with swords raised above their heads. Somehow the boys hadn't heard her approach, and when she spoke it startled them enough that one almost fell from his perch, and had to be held up by his friend.

"I need to see Irel," Anise said, emphasizing the king's name since she assumed it was the only word they would understand.

The boys looked down at her, not to see who it was--they already knew that from her foreign words--but just to see her.

"Anise," one of them said. Not a question--a statement.

Anise smiled. "Irel," she said again. She felt the boys' excitement as a bubbling and popping string of beats in her spine. She didn't know what she had done to make them so happy, but she was glad to be received so well. Her last visit had aroused plenty of curiosity from the Naephra, but it had only made her feel out of place. If she had to stay, at least for a short while, she did not want to be seen as an outsider.

The boys whispered to each other, out of earshot. The one who had spoken her name began to climb down and the other two followed, until they stood in front of her.

Anise was impatient, but she tried not to let it show. "I need to speak to Irel right away," she said. "Important military business." She hoped the tone of her voice would convey some importance.

"Evees ja alak meyonna ye," the boy said, and the other two laughed.

"Anise was exhausted, hungry, thirsty, and sore, and her hair was itchy and full of stickerbrush and she did not have time to waste with children.

"Jarko sent me. She went to Shilenguir and sent me back here."

When she mentioned Jarko, the boys' expressions changed, and the two looked to the first boy expectantly.

"To randaron beges Jarko vava in coray o," the boy said, and all three of them laughed again.

"Why would it be easy?" Anise said. "Nothing's been easy. You don't understand anything I say, do you, you rancid little fungus?"

The young Naephra laughed again.

"Humans...hurt...Jarko," Anise said, pointing west for humans, then pounding her fist into her palm. "Anise...hurt...humans," she continued. "Jarko sent me to Irel."

The three boys were losing interest.

"If you scum can't listen, I'll make you listen," Anise thought. She relaxed her muscles and straightened her back. Just like Jarko had shown her, she tried to imagine herself sinking down through her body, into the bottom of her feet, letting the anima building up and circling inside her flow back down into the ground and out into the air. But instead of simply trying to cleanse herself, Anise focused her thoughts as well, hoping a part of them would be sent out with the anima. She thought about how important her message was, and the danger it signified.

Everything was quiet. The ever-present rhythms tingling her skin faded for a moment, and when they returned they were less insistent. More relaxed. The boys had stopped laughing. They weren't saying anything. Anise resigned herself to finding Irel on her own. Even though she knew the way into Tamryod, the tall trees all looked the same to her--how would she know which was the one where Jarko had taken her before?

Then the boy took Anise by the hand. He smiled at her, and not in a joking way. He bowed slightly, then tugged her along behind him, with the other boys following.

Alphus stared up at the old stone walls of the Academy, shining in the blazing sun as they approached. It seemed much more grand from a distance--the aged, moss-eaten stone gleamed like gold, and green grasses flowed over the thin, rocky soil underneath.

Just as he had said, the Captain led them hard and fast out of Orreck, all through the night, but now Bannon rode for the fortress gates, to allow them rest. The doors swung open as they approached, and the two knights on guard saluted as they passed. Still, Alphus glimpsed the surprised expressions on their faces before they bowed. He wondered what the other knights and cadets had been told regarding the Captain's absence--and about himself.

Alphus had spent the night preparing himself for the inevitable interrogation he would receive from Bannon. He realized quickly that he had no choice but to admit to questioning Hilbreck, and he could only hope that Crofley would at least accept such a rash decision, if not forgive it, since it led to him finding the sivra. He had also tried to rationalize the Captain's apparent disregard for the citizens of Orreck--intending to put them to work in the canyon even at the risk of another attack. Alphus realized how crucial the sivra really was, and guessed that if Bannon had known about the possibility of a hidden cache, he would not have bothered with planning to reopen the mine. He decided that, if necessary, he would let the Captain take credit for finding the sivra. He would have to be delicate, so as not to offend his pride. But if it would help avoid telling the Council of a near-disaster, then Bannon would see that it was necessary. And Bannon's plan would have led to disaster--Alphus was sure of that. He did not know how long Anise had been following him while they were in Orreck. If they had stayed any longer, she and the other Naephra would have surely brought a larger force upon them. If Bannon's plan to lead the Council into war was going to work, there could be no mistakes.

Their horses' hooves clacked on the stone courtyard within the walls of the Academy and Alphus finally dismounted. His legs nearly buckled beneath him from fatigue and already he felt sleep pressing down on his eyelids. Someone took his horse off to the stables. They were the only ones in the courtyard at this early hour.

Bannon dismounted, and Alphus noticed his weariness as well--how his strong frame would falter at times. He was still recovering from the bolt of woodsore suffered in the canyon. The Captain still held the bottle of sivra tightly in his hand, as he had the entire ride from Orreck. "We'll leave in one hour and reach Laenguir by noon," Bannon said, addressing the Council guards. He ordered one of the knights on duty to take them to the barracks. Alphus started to follow them, but the Captain held him back with a touch to his shoulder. "Come with me," Bannon said. Alphus followed him into a hallway and up the stairs to his office. The window in the north wall gave the room a half-light, but Bannon did not bother to light any lamps. He sat down behind his desk and let out a long sigh. It was strange for him to show his exhaustion so openly, Alphus thought, although he instantly knew that this unexpected form of intimacy was the result of frustration, not camaraderie. He had not invited him to sit, so Alphus remained standing and tried to keep his face stiff and unreadable, despite his anxiety.

"You've put me in a difficult position, cadet," Crofley said. "I dislike questioning my own men like this."

Alphus did not believe that.

"You'll remember that the last time we spoke in this room you deliberately lied to me," he continued. Alphus remembered lying about his assignment with Anise, but he did not regret what he had said. Nothing he could have done would have prevented what had happened next.

"I know, sir. I won't lie to you again."

"For your sake, I hope you don't," Bannon said. "Now tell me: where did you find the sivra?"

Even then, Alphus considered lying. He could say he had found it in the rubble of one of the buildings, or that someone had given it to him. The dishonest urge made him feel ashamed. But a lie would not help him here. The magistrate would be questioned soon enough. But still, he did not have to recount everything. The Captain had not asked about Anise yet, but how could he explain her appearance when he couldn't understand it himself? No one had seem the two of them speaking outside the stables, and no good would come from him telling of it.

"I took the other man to the stables. I spoke with the magistrate and he told me where to find it. Behind a crevice in the canyon wall."

"You questioned a prisoner without orders and you left your post," Bannon said.

"I took a chance and it paid off."

"You disobeyed me." The Captain dug into him with his eyes, unblinking. But Alphus knew what to say, and he would not be delicate this time.

"That's not how the Council will see it," he said.

"Enough," Bannon said.

"You'll tell them I was following your orders. That you told me to interrogate Hilbreck. And you'll tell them that despite the Naephran attack, our mission was a complete success. You never would have dug out those mines in time. This way, the Council will have no reason to doubt you."

"You've gone too far," Bannon said. He smiled, barely--a look of elegant satisfaction. "This is not a negotiation, and I don't care about the Council's respect. I could spit in their faces and piss on their daughters--I would still have the sivra. That's all that matters here."

"And who found it for you? You should be thanking me. If I had merely followed your orders, our mission would have been a complete waste, and you know it," Alphus said.

"I will never thank one of my men for going against me. Our task in Orreck is over and done. All that I care about now is our next task, and unless I can count on your full cooperation, then you will have no part in it."

Although Bannon's words were careful and inert, there was menace in the way he spoke. The implication was vague, but threatening and unquestionable.

"If you had come to me with your concerns, there might have been no reason for all this. But now I am forced to consider your motive. Whether you intended to take the sivra to the Council yourself. Or whether you made certain plans with mistress Adalyan."

"Hearing me question your decision would have only hardened you against me," Alphus said.

"You think so low of me?" Bannon said. "I ordered the magistrate to tell me the location of the sivra when we first went to him!"

"Then I was merely working to finish that attempt. You were the one who abandoned the idea."

"And you think you are better fit for command?"

Finally, Alphus's shame won out over his escalating pride, and he hesitated. He had not meant to condemn Bannon, even if he disagreed with his recent decisions. After all, it was Bannon who had planned this miraculous campaign from the beginning. It was he who had saved his life from woodsore. His honest and true mentor of many years, taking this task upon himself, for the defense and survival of all of Saerath. Alphus did not question the Captain's motives--only his method. And yet something about him had changed.

"No, sir," Alphus answered.

Bannon smiled. Even this minor act of deference seemed to placate him immensely. "I know why you slipped, Alphus," he said. "It was Anise, wasn't it? She influenced you, even if you didn't realize it."

Bannon paused, waiting for Alphus to respond. Even after all that had happened, and all that Anise had done, he did not like the way Bannon talked about her. He didn't know the things she struggled with. He did not know her at all.

"Yes, sir," Alphus said.

"You must have been surprised to see her again. Yet there she was, with you in that canyon. And you were unable to stop her," Bannon said.

"The other Naephra was there, sir. She bolted me--I could hardly stand," Alphus answered.

"And still you overpowered her, but not Anise."

"I'm sorry, I did the best I could."

"Perhaps you did. Or perhaps you wished to spare your friend's life."

Alphus realized the trap too late. He could not allow even the appearance of fondness toward Anise, now that she was against them. He knew that a part of him still pitied her, but he would have to bury that pity beneath the cold truth of their circumstances. She was the enemy now, by her own choice, and he could not change that.

"I know what she did," he said. "If it wasn't for her..."

"And should you meet again, what will you do?"

Alphus paused. He knew what he was expected to say, but still it was difficult to force the words.

"I'll take her."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Bannon. "Now, there is one more thing. In spite of your recent behavior, I feel it is important that the others here look upon you favorably. Now that we have more sivra, there is no point in hiding our discovery, and when they see that you have survived the woodsore, they'll be inspired to aid us. So, breakfast will be served soon. Let me tell everyone what happened. We'll keep it simple. The important thing is that we made it back, and our mission was a success. I'm willing to put all this behind us, if you go along. Would that suit you?"

Alphus nodded.

"Most of you are probably wondering what has been going since the attack on our academy."

Bannon Crofley stood at the end of the room, addressing the knights, cadets, and guests seated in the dining hall. Alphus stood at the back of the room. He noticed a few of the other cadets glance at him, obviously shocked to see him alive, but they could not approach him now that Bannon had begun speaking. He didn't feel like talking anyway. His stomach growled, but he was too nervous to eat. He kept thinking of all the people left behind in Orreck, facing certain danger. He wanted to help them. They could have been given the cure, to at least have a hope of survival, if the Naephra attacked again. They could have been brought here to the Academy, where they would have strong stone walls to protect them, and knights to defend them. Of all the things he could have done for them, or tried to do, running back to safety felt deeply wrong. He knew how important it was to get what little sivra they had left back to Laenguir as quickly as possible, but to leave the settlement felt cowardly.

"I can tell you that we are now officially at war," Bannon said. The men gave out a loud "Hoo-ah!" and pounded their fists on the tables. The cadets welcomed the war, grinning at one another in anticipation. Grim delight, he supposed, at the notion of justice for Captain Belamire, and all the wounds of the last war. But there was no cheering among the knights and the instructors, Alphus noticed--only weary looks. Gelda, sitting in a far corner, wore a deep frown on her lips. He could not see it with certainty, but he thought he also saw the glistening of tears in her eyes. She had seen combat during the War, as had several of the teachers at the Academy.

"The Laenguir Council has messaged me personally, formally acknowledging the attacks here and at Orreck. They ask for our support in new offensive actions against the Naephra."

The assembly cheered again, and Bannon let it go on while he smiled. When the cheering abated, he continued.

"Many of you are too young to remember the War, and all that we lost in fighting it. But I can assure you all that I do not believe in fighting battles we cannot win. And we will win. Finally, after years of searching, we have found a cure for woodsore."

Alphus expected a joyous reaction, but most of the cadets and knights seemed merely surprised. There would be doubt, he realized. There had always been talk of a cure, of course--arcane remedies and brewed concoctions, and even wards and charms to keep the Naephra away--but none proven. Until now.

"Come here, Alphus," Bannon said.

He approached the Captain.

"As you can see, cadet Priory is perfectly alive. Thanks to the cure given to him in Laenguir, he survived what would have been a fatal bolt of woodsore in his chest, suffered during the attack here. He also proved his worth on our mission to the Eastlands just yesterday, as he faced another Naephra in battle and held his ground.

"I leave for Laenguir in one hour. Those of you who join me will receive the cure, just as Alphus and I have. You will never have to fear woodsore again. And you will have the chance to take back what the Naephra have taken from us."

"I will go," said one man, standing from his seat. Another knight stood, and more, all pledging their service. Alphus looked back to Bannon and saw him grinning.

"Before we depart, I would like to offer something to Alphus that I know he has been waiting for for some time." Bannon looked directly at Alphus now. "Cadet Priory, you may take your oath."

He knew the words to speak. He had practiced them every night before bed when he was small. "I promise my words to bring peace," it began. "My ears to the wailing of the less fortunate, my feet to the firm and neutral ground, my hands to the bonds between men, my eyes to see the truth, and my sword to the mournful punishment of the unrepentant wicked." But he could not take the Oath after a dishonorable retreat. And being knighted by Bannon made it all the worse. For years, he had dreamed of the day Captain Belamire would accept his Oath, and call on him as a knight of the Greywind. Giving his oath to Bannon felt like a betrayal of that desire. It would not feel genuine to him, after he'd seen Bannon's true character.

"Alphus?" Bannon said. The Captain was still smiling, although weakly, when Alphus finally looked to him. Shadows seeped out from under his eyes like faded ink on thin paper, and he appeared old. The encounter with the Naephra had changed him. Alphus did not know whether the pain in his chest from the woodsore would ever fully heal, but he expected it would not. Neither would the Captain's.

"I decline the oath," Alphus said. Bannon scowled.

"What?" he asked.

"I cannot take the oath. I don't want to be a knight."

"Clearly you are not well, dear boy. You can take the oath, I allow it."

"Listen to me when I speak to you, Bannon: I refuse to take the oath."

He did not speak any louder than normal, but he knew that everyone in the room had heard him. No one else made a sound. Bannon was stunned.

The heat in Alphus's chest rose to fever and hotter. Yet he was thrilled, even as the uncertainty he now faced terrified him. But Bannon's reaction alone proved that he had done the right thing. He had stolen his moment of generosity and forgiveness, and now Bannon would show his true character. Alphus was read for it.

"No one has ever refused to take the oath," Bannon said. "Why would you do this?"

"The Order I believe in died with Jonus Belamire. There's nothing keeping me here." Alphus turned. His chest was on fire. Still he did not look to anyone as he took his steps toward the door.

"You would defy me, after I gave you back your life? Your honor?" Bannon said.

Alphus stopped. He felt the words coming up his throat and couldn't turn them back. But they burned too hot to contain.

"You all heard what I said, yes?" Alphus said, his voice louder now. "Did the woodsore rot your ears, Captain? I'm leaving."

"And you think this is what Jonus would want you to do?" Bannon said. "We all cling to his memory, but you are the only one defying his legacy."

"I'm not defying him, Bannon. I'm defying you."

Even as the hair on his neck and arms tingled with what could only be fear, Alphus kept his features triumphantly calm. Bannon somehow achieved the same, as his familiar smile appeared at his lips. There was no happiness in it.

Alphus stood firm as Bannon approached him. The Captain walked slowly, and although he tried to hide it, Alphus guessed that each movement was painful for him. As the sivra inside him worked to counteract the woodsore, it also drained his strength and replaced it with pain, just as it had with Alphus. After he had only taken a few steps, he stumbled, legs shaking, and tried to brace his arm against a table. But his arm, too, was weak, and he slipped, landing hard on the stone floor. He immediately started to get up again. Two nearby knights helped by lifting his arms, and a murmur swept the hall as others tried to get a closer look.

When he stood again, Bannon pushed away his helpers. All pretense of decorum was gone now. For an instant, Alphus felt a true hatred in Bannon's gaze toward him. Crofley continued forward, his steps surer now, emboldened by shame.

"Let him go, Captain," Gelda said. Alphus hadn't noticed her come to his side, but she stepped between them now. "If a cadet wishes to leave you cannot hold him here."

"Do not obstruct me," Bannon said. "This is a time of war and he is a deserter. I will not allow it. Stand aside."

Gelda did not move away, but she reached out to Alphus's arm and squeezed it tightly.

"Move, now, by my order!" Bannon shouted at her. Gelda released her grip from his arm and let herself be pushed aside, as Bannon moved forward. His steps were solid now. Alphus watched his shoulder roll back slightly, and he instantly knew what would come. He was prepared for it. Even so, the blow came with surprising speed, Bannon's outstretched arm swinging an open palm into the side of Alphus's face and ear, forcefully enough to push him sideways and down. The only reflex he could muster was enough to instinctively angle his fall away from the table to his side.

His cheek burned and his ears rang, but he didn't feel much pain. He could stand up again, and he wanted to. Bannon could have done much worse, and surely thought himself entitled to. But with his relatively light blow, Bannon must have wanted Alphus to strike back in anger. So he made himself stay low.

"Take him to his the barracks and watch him," Bannon said to one of his officers. Two men took Alphus's shoulders. He stood up easily and let them turn him around and march him through the dining hall and on to his room. He didn't look back at anyone, even Gelda, although he felt her stare against his back.

It would have been easy for him to build up anger against Bannon. It tempted him. But he had just seen and felt the dangers of unchecked anger, and he would not let himself act the same way.

"I apologize," Irel said. He sighed and placed his cup down on the table. He and Anise shared the empty dining room, dark except for two candles on the end of the long thick table.

"Why?" Anise asked.

"My daughter could not appreciate what you did for her. The situation you faced would have been difficult for anyone, but judging by your account you did everything possible to keep Jarko safe. She would not thank you for that, but a father would. I thank you."

"I did what I did. I didn't come back here to earn your favor," Anise said.

"I was surprised you came back at all. You seemed to think of yourself as a prisoner here the last time we spoke."

"I came back for Jarko. She told me to tell you that she was going to Shilenguir. She said if you had any courage, you would join her."

"I could never hope to match her courage. But I have my own reasons for staying here," Irel said.

"Do you think the Council will try to recapture Shilenguir?" Anise asked.

"I know they will. But that is for the Shilenguir Naephra to defend."

"Then why would you let Jarko go?"

"You know her well now. Do you think she would obey me to spite herself? And what about you? You wished to find your father only two days ago. Now you seem more concerned with the war."

"We're talking about your daughter now, not me. Do you not want to help her?"

"Do you want to find your father?"

"Of course I do. What does that have to do with anything?" Anise asked.

"You know how it feels to love someone more than yourself. Your whole life, all you have wanted was to be reunited with your father. That is the love I have for Jarko. I would pay my life in a thousand agonizing deaths if it would keep her safe. But that is not enough. In life we have other responsibilities--other principles. And as the ruler of Tamryod, there are things that I cannot sacrifice. Even if all of my people begged to fight for Jarko in Shilenguir, I could not allow it."

"You're not making sense. This affects Tamryod, too. Shilenguir is outside the Thornwood, but if it falls nothing will stop them from marching east. And this is your own damn daughter!"

Anise felt Irel's mood change. She sensed an uneasiness in him for the first time. In her brief conversations with him the past few days, his emotions had been hard to read--always light and largely neutral. Now she felt a sadness in him.

"I know you must say what you feel, Anise. Even if it means speaking harsh words to a king," Irel smiled slightly. "In that way you remind me of Jarko. Did she tell you about her mother?"

"A little," Anise said.

"During the war, Jarko's mother led troops to Shilenguir to aid in its siege. After she fell, in my sorry I sent the rest of our forces to avenge her in taking the city. The battle lasted months. Eventually we were victorious, but our army was almost completely destroyed. If the humans had reached Tamryod after that, we would have lost everything. That possibility did not sway me, and I have been ashamed of the decision to this day."

Anise was unsure of what to say. An apology would sound lame and false coming from her lips, and Irel would hear her lack of conviction. She did empathize with him, but she could not see why he would not do everything to protect his only daughter.

"You are welcome to stay in Tamryod as long as you wish. I hope you can find some peace here, at least for a time."

Anise felt that the conversation was over. There would be no changing the king's mind. "Thank you," she said.

"I wish you well, and I thank you for the information you have given us. I will take it up with my advisers. There may be things we can do yet."

"You're wrong," Anise thought. "There is one responsibility that matters more than any other."

Irel brought Anise to her room personally, although they did not speak. When he saw that her chamber was in order, he bowed and left. Anise returned the gesture, also placing her right palm over the opposite side of her waist in the traditional knight's salute.

It was the same room she had stayed in before, and again she found fresh garments laid out for her on the bed. A simple white dress, not as formal as the orange gown she wore at the dinner. She removed her stiff boots, caked with dirt, and her stockings, and flexed her toes. Her other travel clothes came off and she pulled the dress over her body, the clean fabric soft and cool against her skin. She relished the feeling, even though she felt odd wearing a dress.

Anise laid down on the bed but before she could close her eyes she heard a quiet knock on the door. She considered pretending to sleep. She was barely awake anyway. But she had a good idea of who was behind the door. She touched her hair. It was tangled and oily.

"A moment," Anise said. She got up and opened the door.

The young Naephran girl entered. "Hello Anise," she said.

"Why didn't you say you spoke Saeran?" Anise asked.

The girl held one finger up and said, "Hello."

"I see," said Anise. "Hello."

The girl smiled.

"At least you know one word." Anise touched her hair with her hands. "Did you bring a brush?"

The girl held up her small brush, and Anise smiled. She sat on the edge of the bed and the girl sat on her knees behind her. Although her hair was short, not quite down to her shoulders, it had collected much debris and grime from her journey through the deep forest, and had developed knots and tangles as well. The girl brushed carefully, and the bristles felt nice, like tiny fingers scratching her scalp.

Anise enjoyed the silence. She let her mind drift through the calmest thoughts she could muster; long walks alone through the fields at the Academy after a hard day of work. Arriving at a new city with her father, and how he would show her everything there was to see there. She even thought of her mother. She let herself imagine her life in the Thornwood, something Fellis had never told her about. He didn't like to talk about her mother.

The girl finished brushing. She set the brush down on the bed and began collecting Anise's dirty clothing from the floor.

Anise picked up the brush. Its handle was made from ornately carved bone. She didn't know how the bristles were made. They were soft, but firm. She quietly approached the girl, who had her back turned, carefully folding Anise's trousers. Anise placed the brush against the top of the girl's head, and she stopped folding. She swept the brush downward, following the long strands of dark hair as they flowed in straight lines down her back. When she came to the end, she brought the brush up and started again.

The girl's hair didn't need brushing. It was glossy and beautiful and perfect. But she did not object. After a few more strokes, Anise stopped. The girl stacked the clothes she had folded and turned around to face her.

"Anise Tamryod?" the girl asked. It took Anise a brief moment to realize she was asking if she was going to stay there. It was restrained, but she sensed an eagerness in her.

"I hardly know this girl--I can barely speak to her--but she welcomes me here," Anise thought. "I don't even know her name."

"Anise Tamryod," Anise said. The girl smiled. She handed her the brush and she took it. Then the girl left.

"When did you see Anise?"

"I told you, I was in the gorge--" The man struck Alphus's face hard. His ears rang.

"I don't care how many times you've said it--I'll keep asking you. When did you see Anise?"

"In the gorge, after the other Naephran woman showed up," Alphus said. He tried to reorient himself in his chair, to find a trace of comfort, but it was impossible. His feet were fastened to the legs of the chair and his arms tied behind the seat, so that he could only shift his waist.

"Did you see her at my other time after she left Laenguir?" the man asked.

"No," Alphus said. "I didn't know she was even alive."

They were the same questions they had already asked--had been asking for hours. Alphus didn't know how long he had been tied to the chair. He didn't know the men who asked him the questions and beat him if he complained. When he didn't complain, they still beat him, but not always.

"What did Anise say to you?"

"She said to let her go. Let her and the Naephra go." All Alphus wanted to do was sleep. Even as he spoke, his head began to droop forward and his eyes closed, but the man standing over him groped his jaw and jerked his neck upright. With his other hand he punched Alphus low in the stomach.

"Can't sleep; not finished," the man said. "What else did she say?"

Alphus fought to refill his lungs with breath after the last blow. When he couldn't answer the question immediately, he felt another blow to his face, making his ears ring again.

"I'm sorry, I"m sorry, I don't know, I couldn't hear her completely. Something to the Naephran woman. She wanted her to get away."

"Why did you let them get away?"

"I did not! I fought, I swear it--I injured the Naephra, and when she attacked the Captain I went to help him and they escaped."

"The Naephra attacked Captain Crofley?"

"Who else could have done it?" Alphus asked. The man hit him again, but he hardly felt it. His entire body felt numb, but underneath he felt the burning in his chest, coursing just beneath the black scar. His shirt had been torn off, revealing the blackened mark which had slowly started to creep outward from his breast, onto his back, his abdomen, and his shoulders. If it continued it would reach his neck and arms, where it could no longer be hidden.

"You are not here to ask questions--only answer them," the man said. "You believe the Naephran woman, not your friend, attacked and nearly killed Bannon Crofley, even though you had injured her arm, and no one else saw her move?"

"Anise could not have done it! I knew her, we grew up together! She is human, not Naephra!"

"When she had the container, did she do anything to the sivra?"

"No," Alphus said.

"Did she open the container?"

"No. She set it on the ground when she was asked."

"She gave it up?"

"Yes."

The man moved behind Alphus's chair, out of his sight. He heard him walking away. A door opened and closed behind him, and then everything was quiet.

They left him alone for a long time after that. The room was small and dark. If he stretched his neck, he could see the edge of the door behind him and the small, flickering lamp beside it. The light from the lamp cast his shadow across the floor and the wall, short and pitiful. He expected a new larger shadow to appear at any moment, swallowing up his own on the wall, asking more questions; giving more beatings.

He starved for sleep. By keeping his eyes closed, he managed to find some rest, but when he began to doze he woke immediately, anticipating a new blow. Each time, he found himself still alone, but the fear had already been planted.

More time passed with brief flashes of sleep and sudden fearful awakenings. "I will die here," Alphus thought, and he realized what a pathetic way to die it would be, arms and legs bound to a chair. He tried to tip the chair back or to the side, but found that the legs were sunken into holes in the floor, locking him in place.

It was easy for Alphus to convince himself that he was going to die. He had not seen Bannon again since their scuffle at the Academy. It could not have been more than a day ago, he thought, but he could not be sure. Since then Bannon had ordered him stowed and hauled in a wagon and eventually dragged to this room, all while bound and hooded. His interrogators were men he had never seen before--not Greywinds, for certain. He regretted now his decision to go against the Captain. But he did not know what they expected him to say. He had told them everything already. Or, nearly everything. Alphus had not revealed his first meeting with Anise in Orreck. He could not tell them that he had let her get away the first time. "If they knew that, they would do even worse," he thought.

He realized how strange it was that Anise was alive and in the company of a Naephran woman, but he could not understand what must have happened to her. And judging by their questions, he thought, whoever was questioning him didn't understand it either. Still, she and the Naephra had spoken to each other. And Anise had taken the sivra from him. She seemed to be on their side. "But why? How?" he wondered.

The door creaked open again and a man entered. He was not the same as the one who had questioned him earlier, but the questions did not change, and Alphus answered him in the same way. Each question was punctuated in more strikes--to the face, to the gut. When he asked for water, he received only another blow. Like the one before him, the second man left abruptly when he finished his questions.

Exhaustion coiled around his body like a snake on a branch, and he finally slept, head hunched forward. He awoke again in what felt like moments, but his neck ached so that he could hardly move it. He felt no more rested than before. He wanted to stretch out against the floorboards, lying on his back. To straighten his legs and hold his arms out in front of him. At some point, without even realizing it, he had wet himself, and now the smell lingered.

He waited. Although he did not know how long he sat, when his thirst became severe he realized once more that death could come quickly to him. He felt weak.

"Why was I saved, only to die now?" he thought to himself.

Alphus awoke. He could not remember falling asleep, but he knew what had awakened him: someone had opened the door. The remnants of a deadly dream faded as he returned to his new reality--the chair, the coarse ropes bristling against his wrists, arms, legs, and feet, and his shadow, propped up by the feeble lamp.

The door closed and he heard it latch. Whoever had entered did not approach him. Alphus did not turn to look. He stared at the wall and at the shadow beside his.

It was not one of the guards. He smelled, faintly, the scent of perfume in the dank air.

"What am I to do with you?" Cartha Adalyan asked. She glided gracefully in front of him in a dark gown, and the hem brushed against the spackle of dried blood on the floor.

Alphus said nothing and could not lift his gaze. He wanted to cry out and beg. To let her watch him cry. Never in his life had he felt so ashamed or so low.

"When they told me what you did I was surprised," she said. "I expected loyalty from you after saving your life. It made me wonder about your true loyalty. You quit the Academy. You disobeyed your superior. You have no family. No close friends at the Academy. Well, you had one."

"Please," Alphus said, his voice hoarse. "She is not my friend."

"Then how did she take the sivra from you?"

"I said everything I know."

"What you have said amounts to nothing." Cartha knelt down, forcing Alphus to look into her eyes. "We need to know more about Anise, and what she did after her escape."

"If you won't believe what I say you should kill me now. There would be no reason for me to talk."

"Perhaps you should be more convincing. For your own sake," Cartha said. She whispered: "I want to believe you. I risked much to save your life and I would not throw that away."

"All Anise wanted was to find her father. Bannon must have told you that much. Maybe she went looking for him?" Alphus said.

"Her father was a traitor who worked with the Naephra," Cartha said.

"So you're saying she's a traitor, too? How is that even possible--she's human!"

"That is what we need to find out."

Alphus knew he had no choice but to tell her about meeting Anise in Orreck. He tried to remember her exact words.

"I saw her in Orreck. Before the canyon," he said. Cartha watched him closely. "She tried to convince me to leave. Said everything was her fault."

"What did you do?"

"I told her to never come near me again. I thought she was insane. I had no idea she would try to take the sivra."

"What made you think she was so insane?" Cartha asked.

Alphus thought for a moment. She had said something else, too. Something about the Naephra. "She said the Naephra had punished her for going into the Thornwood. She said they had found her and punished her."

"How did they punish her?"

"That's all she said."

"Oh, what am I going to do with you?" Cartha said again. She reached out her hand to Alphus's face. When she drew it back there was blood on her fingertip, and she wiped it off on the corner of the chair leg. "The sivra you brought back from Orreck is only enough for a hundred soldiers. Perhaps fewer. We will need all of them--even you. Especially you. One cannot go against Commander Crofley. He will want to make an example of you."

Alphus was shocked. The sivra he'd found amounted to almost nothing. A hundred soldiers would never make a difference in battle against an army. And if a hundred were so irrelevant, what could he alone possibly contribute?

"Bannon told me about your parents. He cares about you, you know," Cartha said. "Why else would he risk so much for your sake?"

"Is that supposed to make me respect him? Ask him what really happened in Orreck. Whatever he told you is a lie."

"He told me the truth. I would have found out on my own anyway. He knew that."

"Then you know why I won't follow him."

"I'm afraid you'll have to, Alphus," Cartha said. "Bannon and I have worked very hard for this. Whether you respect him or not, ours is the only way forward for Saerath. Your only way out of this room is with me."

The words sparked in Alphus's mind. He understood now. Perhaps Cartha had told him too much, or perhaps she had said just enough to enlighten him, but he now knew just what she hoped to gain, and this was her invitation. He had been right to distrust Bannon all along. "If you want me to swear my loyalty, I'll do it. But to you, not Bannon."

Cartha smiled. "So, you can be convincing after all," she said. "But in this instance an oath of loyalty is not quite enough." She walked to the door and knocked twice. Alphus twisted his neck and saw one of his earlier interrogators enter, followed by a smaller man, with chains binding his wrists and feet, and a large hood covering his head. He wore thick brown sackcloth which was stained and covered in bits of straw.

"The hood," Cartha said.

Alphus watched as the guard removed the prisoner's hood, revealing a dark, sunken face and grayish skin covered in spots of white. The man was Naephran. He kept his head bent low and his eyes downcast.

"What is he doing here?" Alphus asked. But Neither Cartha nor the guard answered. "What is it? What do you want me to do?"

"Do you want to be a soldier, Alphus? Are you willing to fight for Saerath?" Cartha asked. She glanced at the guard. "Leave," she said, and he obeyed.

The man must have been a prisoner for some time, Alphus realized. He wondered how he had been captured, and for how long. He had never heard of Naephra being taken prisoner before, even during the war. They were always killed, or so he had thought.

"You've made mistakes, but I have faith that you can overcome them," Cartha said.

"What would you have me do?"

"What do you think?"

Heat rose through Alphus's body. His skin tingled with it. She could only mean one thing. She wanted him to kill.

"And if I can't?" he asked.

"Now is not the time for self doubt."

"But what has he done? He's not putting anyone in danger."

"It makes no difference what he did. He is our enemy. The only purpose he has left in this world is to test your loyalty to me."

Alphus had never taken a man's life. Even though this was a Naephra, not a man, the thought still shook him deeply. For years he had wondered what it would be like to fight bravely in war against them--to repay them for all the suffering they had caused. It would be simple to end his life, and it would earn him his own life back, but still he hesitated.

Cartha leaned close to his ear, whispering. "He won't put up much of a fight."

Alphus drew a deep breath.

"Untie me," he said.

Anise realized quickly that Tamryod was a very loud place. As she meandered through the markets of the upper boughs she felt as though she were wading into an ocean of noise--sounds that seeped into her skin like water. Always there was the chirping of birds and the shuffle of feet against the walkways. Vendors shouted. People laughed and argued. The words the Naephra spoke were melodic and pleasing to the ear, but to her they were meaningless. The anima given off beneath them, however, fascinated her. Decoding each rhythm and its subtle changes was instinctual but still challenging. Instead of learning this hidden language, it felt to her more like she was re-learning it.

When she let her mind drift, the rhythms diverged into a buzz of chaos, with distinct voices lost or scrambled. But when she focused on an individual stream, the others melted away and complexities emerged within it. She heard familiar patterns from new sources, and she recognized the meanings and associations they carried along with the unique variations attributing them to each individual.

Anise felt the anima of a woman nearby and her feelings of desire and pride. It was a motherly Naephra perusing a jewelry stall. She was speaking with the vendor and pointing to a necklace on display. The woman smiled. Beneath her own feelings there was a different pattern, and Anise recognized it as evoking another person, someone not present. "A gift for her daughter?" Anise thought to herself. This was a level of perception she did not expect. Previously her listening ability had been somewhat redundant to actual speech, but now she felt more comfortable and more capable understanding without the context of language.

But she was still not accustomed to the strangeness of these new sensations, and the more time she spent in the Thornwood, the louder and more intense they became, especially when she surrounded herself with others. The Naephra, for their part, accepted her presence and did not pester her. Most knew that she did not know their language, and either simply smiled at her in passing or said "Sha sha," which Anise took to mean "hello."

At the end of one of the 'streets' built over the wide bough of a great tree, a crowd of people gathered. As Anise got closer, she heard voices singing, and beneath that, instruments playing. She pushed her way through the audience until she saw the musicians, huddled together in a semi-circle. There were two men and two women, each no older than Anise. The men played large flutes while the women plucked tiny stringed instruments and sang. The melody was complex and daring, but what truly amazed her was how the echoes underneath perfectly synchronized with the rhythm and mood of the song. It was an entirely different experience than any music she had heard before. Some of the patterns were new to her, but many were ones she recognized. Happiness. Sadness. Pride. A very deep and minimal rhythm that she believed stood for honesty. One element stood out over the rest, and came back repeatedly as the song progressed. Each time it crested she felt it rise all the way up through her spine, making the small hairs on her back prick up. She knew it well, for it was the first anima she felt in the Thornwood, although she had not known what it was at the time. A great booming foundation, layered with airy cascades and smooth, sustained washes. It was Jarko's rhythm, and it was unmistakable.

Anise wished she could understand the lyrics the people sang so passionately. She heard Jarko's name repeated often, however. The song continued for a long time, and did not seem to repeat itself, but still the people sang every word. The musicians began to play louder, and the audience sang louder to match, and stomped their feet against the wood slats in time with the beat. Anise sensed that the song was about to end, when the melody shifted again, this time with long drawn notes and discordant tones. "Enesh me a feyad kesson," they sang, and the song ended. The crowd shouted and applauded, and the musicians began their next song. But that last line of Jarko's song repeated itself in Anise's ears, and with it the sad melody.

Anise went back up the walkway and toward the passage into the great tree. She saw Naephra on other walkways just as crowded, and it struck her just how massive and full of activity the city was. Full of people who counted for nothing to Saerath. Not full of people at all, in fact. She reached the tree and went inside, following the windowed path that spiraled up inside it. She had learned quickly how to return to her chamber, but she was not going there. She followed the sloping path upward until she reached its end: the door to the black room where Jarko had taken her when she first came to the city.

She remembered the pain she felt in that room, paralyzing her--eating her. As if the entire forest was trying to cram itself into her bones, each twig and rock and noise and tooth of it. She threw open the door and let the dark room swallow her up. The pain was immediate, just like before. But she had a purpose this time. Her muscles stiffened and her breath came in short gasps. When the initial shock had passed, Anise lowered herself gently onto the floor. She sat absolutely still and made herself feel everything. Her entire back bristled with every wave of pain; the bursts of crackling heat at her neck made her cry out. But she accepted it.

Anise breathed in and out--one complete and connected motion. It was a simple accomplishment but she felt a change because of it. The waves slowed for a moment. Just the effort from the focused breathing left her gasping again, but she felt she had regained some of her control. She breathed in again, longer this time, and let the wave expand at its crest, then pushed it up and out of her body in her exhale. The pain faded as she repeated this process. She felt the rhythms within rhythms being carried inside her from the base of the tree, every voice as loud as the other and each one screaming its presence to her. It left no room for thoughts in her mind, except one. She imagined her father, drawing from every memory that still remained with her. Many memories of him had faded, but she hoped that what she had left would be enough.

Beneath all the other patterns, at the very base of her mind, was Anise's own anima. She knew it was hers--hearing it felt like looking at her reflection. With the memories of her father still pressed in her mind, she shifted her focus outward, down the great tree, out along the roots, into Tamryod and the wider Thornwood. Farther and farther she reached, waiting for the edge, but it never came. The echoes rushed through her body, too fast to process fully, but she didn't need to. Her father's anima would be similar to her own, just as Irel's was similar to Jarko's. Her own anima and her memory of him would be all she needed. Or so she hoped.

She realized immediately when she had reached out beyond the edge of the Thornwood. The strong, loud, patterns fell away, replaced with only a dim buzzing in her spine. It was not nothing, but it did not match the deluge of rampant voices she heard among the Naephra. Still, there were echoes of humans. They were faint, but obviously human. On and on she searched, reaching out slowly now. But everything was foreign. All but one pattern. She had not expected to recognize it. It was Gelda, from the Academy. Her anima was like a voice from a past life, alone, and very lonely.

When Anise exited the black room, she was surprised to see Irel waiting there.

"Anise, are you well?" he asked.

"I couldn't find him," she said.

Irel seemed to know what she meant, and he nodded. "I am sorry," he said.

"Enesh me a feyad kesson. What does that mean?" Anise asked.

"It means, 'She may never return,'" he said. "That song was written for my wife."

"They sing it for Jarko now."

"You could not have stopped her from leaving. Even I could not hope to do that."

"I don't want to stop her," Anise said.

"And although he passes through darkness now, the peace which we strive for in this world will be the light that guides him to sweet rest and comfort in the next."

The elder matron spoke in soothing tones to the mourners who filled the Council Gardens. She stood before the black casket which housed Jonus Belamire's body. Alphus stood with the city dwellers, apart from the knights and cadets gathered for the funeral. He imagined that in their minds, Belamire was the honorable, hard-working, and intelligent man he had been in life. But to Alphus, who knew that image of him even better than most, the man was not merely a corpse. The only life-like memory of him he could call to mind was that of his last moments, when he drew his sword to defend his home and felt the Naephra's bolt in his chest.

Alphus's scars burned, as if he were reliving the pain of that day at the Academy--both Belamire's and his own. And just like every other time he relived the memory, the Naephra's blow shook his entire body and he remembered falling to the floor as she turned and rode away, unchallenged.

The matron continued her speech, and Alphus forced himself to hear her words. It did bring him peace to think that Belamire was about to reach his sanctuary--a world removed from the curse of death. Although he recognized the arrogance and selfishness of it, Alphus wished that Belamire had been the one to survive, and not himself. Belamire could have continued on his path of strength and honor, and he himself would be spared this new path. In a way, he realized, Jonus was more alive now than he was himself. His legacy was strong. Alphus could never hope to be like him now.

"Your struggles are over now," the matron said, while ornately dressed soldiers took up Belamire's casket and disappeared with it into the crypt. "May we always remember you."

The matron moved slowly and with small strides, and a large man took her place at the lectern. Alphus recognized him as Councilman Dathros. He had expected to find Cartha t the ceremony, but she was not in sight.

"Today is full of sorrow," Dathros began. "Sorrow that one of our bravest was taken so unjustly. I was honored to know the Lieutenant well, during the war and after it. He was a man of valor and outstanding character--the best that a defender of Saerath could strive for. His memory will live on in the men and women he inspired, and the great things we will accomplish.

"And there is much for us to accomplish. Thanks to the work of Commander Crofley, we now have the means to effectively combat our enemy in his home territory. A simple and effective medicine which renders anyone who receives it immune to woodsore."

"Chance that," said one man nearby in the crowd. "I won't test their concoction. Let old Dathros go in, see what the woodsies do to 'im."

"Didn't help Belamire, did it?" another man said. "I hear the woodsy weren't even what killed him. Chance was he choked on horse jerky."

The men laughed, and Alphus nearly screamed at them to stop. How could they joke about a man during his funeral? But not everyone in the crowd reacted so negatively. At the mention of the cure, there were cheers and loud murmuring. After pausing for a moment, Dathros continued.

"Soon you will all have the great honor of defending Saerath and restoring the peace which we so deserve, without fear of the same painful, inhuman deaths inflicted upon so many of us by those ravagers of the east. My friends: we will be free."

A raucous cry erupted from the crowd. Somehow just the sound of it made Alphus feel better. It was not a cry for the death of their enemies. It was as instinctive and pure as a baby crying out for her mother. The men and women around him wanted what came after the fighting and the pain. The harsh but righteous pleasure of a life departed from blood conflict.

To Alphus, that desire was a contradiction. A thirst for unthirst. A death for a life. But still he felt it. He desired that peace just as strongly as all the rest. And he knew that the path had already been set--that he marched down it each moment.

The speech was over. Belamire had his rest at last, undisturbed by the prattling creatures above him, however well-intentioned they may be.

"Rest well, Jonus," Alphus thought. "Enjoy the quiet."

The sword thunked against the black wooden torso, sending a tremor through the blade and up Alphus's arm. He pulled back and swung again. One, two, three, he counted with each hit, and he tried to control every movement in his arms. He wanted each swing to be perfect. That much he could do. Regardless of what else he did in his life, no one would fault him for the way he held his sword.

"Come on, you woodsy bastards," a young man said. He and two others from Alphus's squad sparred nearby. The bigger, mouthy one was called Tarny. More young soldiers had gathered to watch the duel, all recruits from the city and faces Alphus had never met. They were outside the city now, in the military camp, set up as a staging area beyond the walls. Alphus had been assigned to Lieutenant Medder's squadron with the Council Guard, which in the wake of the Naephran attacks had been expanded into a proper army. Cartha had placed him there, with Bannon's approval. Marching orders would come in hours, everyone said. Alphus tried not to think about that.

He listened to the sound of his sword against the wood, trying to ignore the banter from the nearby sparring partners. The other soldiers shouted excitedly--Tarny had struck down his two challengers and he stood with his arms raised in triumph, grinning.

"Next challengers!" he said. When no one stepped forward, he repeated himself. "Next challenger, you dumb smuts! Fight me, and the woodsies'll be easy compared!"

Alphus found it odd that such behavior during training was chastised at the Academy, but here, among enlisted men, it was allowed--perhaps even encouraged. Lieutenant Medder kept to his tent, within earshot of the group, but did nothing to stop them. Everything was prepared. The only thing left to be done was wait.

A horn call sounded from somewhere deeper in the camp, low and smooth, bringing with it an uneasy thrill: was it the call to march? Alphus did not know. No one else seemed to know what to do. The men stopped their sparring.

To anyone looking, Alphus imagined that he appeared calm. But if anyone stood too close he was sure the deafening thump of his heartbeat would betray his less valorous thoughts. In the passing of a moment he had built up a resentment for every action and decision in his life that had led him to this, and a clear and urgent desire to be somewhere else, preferably somewhere very far away. Despite this, he knew that the fear and shock would pass, and could feel it going a little already.

"This is it, you stumps," Tarny said. "You, me, and the woodsies now. Mammy's not here to protect you anymore."

"Oh quit it, will you?" someone said. This only encouraged Tarny.

"You quit, if you're so knotted about it," Tarny said. He held out his left arm and pulled the sleeve back, revealing the small black scar where he'd been given sivra. "See this? This means even stumps like you all can spike a few woodsies! We've got it good."

"It won't work," another man said. "How could it work? They're just trying to get us riled."

"If you want to know if sivra works, you can ask him," Bannon said. Alphus hadn't seen him approach, but now there he was, strong and tall in glimmering new Commander's armor. He pointed to Alphus with his thumb. Their eyes met, but only briefly, and Bannon betrayed no feelings toward him, good or bad. The guardsmen all turned to look, saluting Crofley in the military style, pressing their fist against their heart.

"Alphus was there at the attack on the Knight's Academy. Luckily, Councilwoman Adalyan was able to save him from death by woodsore."

The other soldiers looked to him in awe, as if he had been dead a moment ago and the Commander's words had suddenly animated his body.

"What happened when they bolted you?" one young man asked.

"I don't remember much," Alphus said, although he did remember. He remembered a pain so strong that it would sear him for the rest of his life. He didn't know why Bannon did not recount his own near-death. He did not know why Bannon was there at all. The regiment of knights had their own batch of tents in the barracks camp, and a separate hierarchy, reporting directly to the Council.

"Our friend is too modest!" Bannon said. "In truth, that was not the last time Alphus faced down a Naephra and lived."

"Is that true?" Tarny asked.

"Of course it is. Doesn't he look alive enough to you? Tell them what happened, boy."

"Sir, I was ordered not to speak about that," Alphus said.

"Nonsense," Bannon said, rage flickering briefly in his eyes before they settled back into their bemused veneer. "Alphus accompanied me and my men to Orreck, where he helped us uncover a pair of Naephran spies."

Tarny grinned, while others looked on, shocked.

"Sir, do you have orders for us?" Alphus asked. He could not tell if the man was attempting to trap and further punish him or simply cause annoyance.

"We've just received word. Your squadron will be part of the expeditionary group to retake the city, including my regiment of knights, all led by Councilman Dathros. We expect each of you to serve valorously."

Bannon looked over each of the men with a stern smile. He seemed satisfied, despite the disaster at Orreck. He took one last look at Alphus. And although it was only a glance, he saw in it all the hatred that Bannon could muster. The Commander was using him to encourage the other men, but at the same time, hated him.

"We march at dawn," Bannon said.

The night passed slow and tortuous, like a winter illness. At midnight Alphus first heard the thunder overhead, and in the hours just before first light he saw lightning through the thin walls of the tent. Five other men shared it, and Alphus sensed that they were mostly awake as well, although no one spoke.

"Did Anise aid in the attack on Orreck?" Alphus wondered. The question scared him. He knew that she was an enemy now, but he still could not picture her as an aggressor.

The men and women living in Orreck were not soldiers. They did not deserve to die. Their city had already been burned. Why would the Naephra return only to take the lives they had spared only days before?

If he had let Anise take the sivra, would they have returned to Orreck at all?

"I couldn't have let them take it," he thought. "That would make me no better than Anise." But would it have saved more lives? No one else would have known, he realized. Perhaps more sivra would not have been found, and the Naephra would be satisfied to leave them alone.

Alphus flushed the thoughts from his mind. It was cowardly to dwell on past decisions. Nothing could change them. The only thing before him now was the five day march to Shilenguir. Nothing else mattered. He did not know what they would face when they arrived. Chances are, no one really does, he thought. The city had been truly absorbed by the Thornwood in the years since the war. The trees were rumored to grow and spread as quick as grasses. He wondered if the same would happen to Orreck, now.

Alphus had no hope of sleep, which meant the day quickly approaching would be all the more long and tiring. Thinking about the march made him feel sick. Because of this, he allowed himself to indulge in a selfish thought: he hoped that he would never see Anise again.