Nelothan soldiers poured oil into the trench, separating the Withering from natural land stretching several miles, until finally disappearing into fog. It did not look as dangerous as the stories made it out to be. Pulling his cloak tighter, Jalen glanced at his father’s Serafe who had accompanied him to this cold northern country. He would not have been able to come, but High Lord Nightkar had granted Lord Warfink’s request to let Jalen visit the edge of the Withering.

Every High Lord’s son, including those of kings, came to see the Blackwood at some point in their early lives. It was important that highborn rulers understood the Blackwood, and what dangers it posed. That was what Jalen’s teachers, including his father, had told him since he was old enough to walk. It did not seem dangerous. A few soldiers with some casks of oil and a trench could hold the cursed land back.

The banners of keep Fellwind, a brown bear’s paw on a field of yellow, fluttered in the wind. “How many keeps prevent the Withering from spreading?” he asked the stiff-backed Serafe abreast of him.

His studies said the Withering was some kind of unnatural plague that killed plants and trees as it spread. It preceded the Blackwood, an ever spreading forest of malicious evil.

Trench soldiers set aside their casks, preparing to torch the oil. Fire was the only way to keep the Withering from spreading.

“Every league or so,” the Serafe said. “These keeps are the only line of defense.”

“What if the keeps are attacked?”

“They are lightly defended. They are not supposed to be used as a defense against attacking armies. Their purpose is to keep the Withering in check. Attacking them is a breach of the King’s Oath.”

The King’s Oath was a pact signed back when the Blackwood was first realized as a grave threat, signed many years ago.

Superstition, he thought, though even his father believed, and he was not a man to believe in superstition....

“Unchecked, the Withering spreads deeper into untainted land, allowing the Blackwood to encroach further,” the Serafe said. “Ignored, even a few days, and the Withering begins to creep. It is very dangerous.”

Jalen knew the stories, stories of armies made up of evil creatures that lurked inside the forest, and even on occasion, ventured out to snatch people from their beds. Crusaders had fought to keep back the dangers inside the forest, but those sorties never returned. That is what the stories had said. Now, men knew better, and kept the forest at bay with trenches and oil. But what could trained soldiers not defeat? One day he would lead a force and set the forest ablaze. It would not be that hard—damn the consequences. It would bolster the family name and increase house power.

His smile faded when a rider crested the hill. Torch bearers lit the oiled trench. They did it every single day, or else the Withering would spread.

The rider joined them. “Lord Jalen, Lord Nemen has commanded me to ask you to take shelter within the keep. A large force of Solen cavalry has crossed the border and is heading this way.”

Jalen raised an eyebrow, turned to the Serafe. “You said these keeps would not be attacked.” Word of war between Nelothar and Solen had been brewing for some time. It was possible the Soles were simply launching a raid. The Gods and every noble knew High Lord Nightkar had been doing the same to Solen, attempting to plunder wealth for his coming war with the Dar’nithie. An invasion seemed more likely, the way things were progressing between the two rulers.

“Normally they are not,” the Serafe said, “though tensions are high right now. Anything is possible.”

“My Lord?” the messenger said. “Will you join me as I take shelter?”

“No,” Jalen said. “We are leaving.” This accursed country was too cold for his bones.

A mile off, the Blackwood rustled loud enough to hear from where they were sitting atop their mounts. Strange black birds he had never seen before took flight, seemingly flying deeper over the forest. They did not look like birds of an herbivorous species.

The messenger shivered, from cold, or from fear, Jalen did not know. “What is it?” he asked.

The fires inside the trench blazed. “I...do not know. Could be an attack from the Blackwood, my Lord. We should take shelter.”

Straightening in his saddle—he did not feel like wasting time going back to the keep—Jalen said, “I am not afraid of the forest, sir. And you seem to sense attacks from everywhere.”

“Winged Fell beasts have been known to fly for miles past the borders of the Blackwood,” the Serafe said. “Perhaps Lord Nemen is right to invite you into his keep, Lord?”

An attack from the Blackwood? Jalen wondered, breathing deeply, a slight shiver down his spine, though he made sure not show it. It was better to be safe, then to be dead, and if the Serafe was concerned... “Very well,” he said with a sigh. “Let us go to the keep.”

Despite his broadness, the young lord flicked his gaze back to the Blackwood with ware apprehension, caring very little for the Solendrian soldiers approaching.