The hunting party had gathered the herd of Elken that resided in the eastern forest in a clearing ringed by two long-reaching feet of the mountains. Lyssia felt like they were stepping over some giant snake’s tail as they crossed the short, stony outcropping at the edge of the clearing and joined the group of riders that blocked the Elken from leaving.

There were two distinct groups of riders. Those who intended to do the actual hunting were positioned in a line closest to the animals they would be pursuing. The rest were fanned out along the clearing’s edge.

The majority of the group gathered here today would not be acting as hunters. They had other jobs to perform: the containment of the herd, the gathering of dropped arrows and misplaced tack, the transportation of Elken bodies, and the healing of the injured.

“Did you know Lach Seaka was invited to join the party?”

“Just a precaution, I’m sure,” Roakev said, pulling up beside her.

“Should we…”

“Keep going,” Einsre told them. "Your place is with the hunters.”

“What about your place, father?”

“I will fall back unless called for.” He moved off to the side without another word, leaving Lyssia and her two young escorts to approach the line of hunters on their own.

Lyssia knew their arrival had not gone unnoticed, but her father, unmistakable in his oiled leather mask topped with a circlet of iron and long cloak trimmed with fur, did not break off this discussion to acknowledge them.

She cast her eyes along the line of hunters, nodding to those who bent their heads in silent greeting until she found her aunt’s gold eyes.

Carryn smiled at Lyssia and held out one of her gloved hands. She lifted the three fingers on her left hand one at a time and then curled them into an O.

Is everything alright with you three?

Lyssia saw Azerian signal affirmative and made an O of her own to match Carryn's.

Roakev wouldn't respond. He didn’t know the code, and his attention wasn't on his aunt. He shifted to face the single rider that dismounted and approached them from the knot of unmasked Dunival riders.

"Roakev! Azerian! Well met, boys! I see you've brought the Drottine back in one piece," Kongr Rijek called out, drawing the attention of everyone within listening distance.

Lyssia found it hard to dislike Rijek. On the one hand, he was very loud and opinionated. She didn't think the Dunival leader had a single subtle bone in his body. On the other hand, he was open with his thoughts, never yelled in his anger, and had a gift for remembering names.

Sighing in resignation, Lyssia readied her hand to be grasped and brought to Rijek's lips. "Drottine Lyssia! It is a pleasure to see you again."

"Kongr Rijek." Lyssia tried to greet him warmly, but she knew she could never match his enthusiasm. She had been gone two hours - three at the most - and yet he spoke as if she had been gone far longer. It was part of his charm, but she couldn't be the only one who found it exhausting.

Lyssia's eyes lifted automatically to search for Rijek's son. They should be close by, but she didn't see them among the hunters. "Will you be joining the hunt?" she asked Rijek politely.

"Only as an observer, my dear," he said, returning her hand to its place atop her saddlehorn with a fond pat. "As I understand it, an Elken hunt is a very special event, and we wouldn’t want to get in the way. We'll be watching."

“Lyssia!”

Her father had finally finished his conversation and was heading in their direction. Kongr Rijek bowed out of the way, and Lyssia dipped her head beneath the weight of her father’s gaze. “My Kongr.”

Her horse shifted beneath her, but she knew it was not nerves. It was eager energy. She felt it too. The weight of this moment. Surely her father did too.

But when Lyssia glanced up, he had already shifted his gaze away from her, back to the Elken. Instead of showing her disappointment, she tried to mirror his pensive stance. She felt the absence of her cousin’s presence as they followed Rijek, giving her and her father space to talk.

Her gaze was caught and held by a young buck, barely half a foot into his antlers. A grown male Elke could possess antlers that doubled his height and weight. The average male stood eight feet without his antlers. She had already counted the number of archers waiting patiently in line to take their places in the shadows. Still, she had to ask the question.

“What number?”

“Twelve. Preferably older.” He motioned with his chin toward the man he had been speaking to when they rode up. “It seems last year’s hunt did not go as well as planned. The lesser herd in the western forest has been thinned too much already. Their Elken do not grow as large as ours. It’s the mountain air. When the animals take to the mountain paths in the spring they are strengthened. We must share our good fortune with the western steads. I’ve invited a few of their hunters to join us. They will take the Elken they shoot back to their families, but you---”

He turned abruptly, reaching across the distance between them to grip her arm. “You don’t need to think about that. You just need to focus on one Elke. Do you remember the plan?”

“Yes, father.”

“Yes?”

“The outriders will contain the Elken herd. Then when the time is right, they will drive them forward past the hunters, who will be lying in wait. They will ride in formation forming a barrier through which no Elken can pass through, driving them toward the water and the...the Thivness. They will have no choice but to continue toward the cliff, but their instincts will not allow them to run over it. Once the hunt is complete, we will pull back, take only what we’ve claimed, and allow the herd to return to their usual paths.”

Lyssia’s father nodded as he released her. “Good. Now take your place,” he said, turning aside and making his way for the spot left open in the middle of the line of archers.

No words of welcome. No words of farewell.

The three riders closest to Lyssia peeled off from the line. She knew she was meant to take one of their places, but she hesitated, allowing Azerian or Roakev to decide who would take the position closest to the center. Her eyes sought out the individual forms of the Elken that huddled together in confusion.

Her gaze slipped over the young of the herd, not a year old and fur still shining like gold. And the females, their lighter, spotted fur a contrast to the males darker, solid coats. And the largest male, his forked antlers rising ten feet into the air.

They were beautiful creatures. She just hoped there were enough older females they could choose from to keep from having to target any child-bearing females.

She saw her father motion for the hunting line to move forward. Azerian and Roakev approached her again, a question in their eyes. Twelve, she mouthed, flashing ten fingers and then two. The boys smiled and turned to keep their horses ahead of hers. It seemed they had already chosen who would take the inner position: her.

The other riders moved aside as the hunters passed them, heading for the forest beyond the clearing. They spread out amongst the trees, leaving a sizable gap in the middle of the line and enough room for the Elken to pass between riders. This meant Lyssia was pushed to the very edge of the herd, and Roakev and Azerian weren’t in direct line with their prey. They would have to angle in sharply, and chances were they might be forced to take a second or third shot as their kill. It would still count, but it wasn’t something they would want to brag about.

If I can injure more than one Elke, I will, Lyssia decided. I won’t be greedy. I’ll be helping someone else.

That was assuming she got a shot in at all.

This was her first hunt. Surely, the nerves would kick in. She had been told they would, but her mind felt the clearest it ever had.

Not as one but almost, the line of horses drew back. Lyssia’s horse moved as directed, stepping back with his front still facing the Elken herd in the clearing. Lyssia led him back until she lost sight of the herd and the spectators before guiding him to turn around and ride out another few yards.

The other hunters were lost from her sight as well. She could barely make out Azerian sitting to her right. Roakev would be keeping pace on his other side. They were within speaking distance, but it felt like the distance between them was infinite with the forest’s shadows distorting place and distance.

When she felt that she had traveled far enough, Lyssia circled her horse around a tree and brought him to a halt on the shadowed side. Rubbing a hand over the spot where his neck met his shoulders, she murmured to him to be still and reached for her bow. It was a reassuring weight in her hands.

She angled her satchel of arrows so they would be within better reach and lifted a hand to check the strap that held her mask in place. There were gloves tucked into the bag with her arrows. She tugged them on, adjusting them so that they fit snug around her fingers.

A female voice rose from the shadows. Lyssia closed her eyes and let the haunting melody wrap around her. She had read these words, but she had never heard them sung before. Some believed these ceremonial words could actually strengthen a hunter’s arm, guide their arrows, calm the denizens of the forest. Lyssia knew there was much she didn’t understand of the world, but she wasn’t sure she believed that a song could do all that.

Then again, there was something about this place. If such a transformation were possible, then it would occur beneath these trees.

Someone began to beat a drum and the hunting horn sounded again, one last signal to all those in the area that a hunt was about to take place. Lyssia took a deep breath as Carryn had taught her - in with one beat of the drum, out with another - working to slow her heartbeat to the drum’s steadying cadence.

A sound like an avalanche rushing toward her made grip her bow tight to her chest. The drumbeat was lost to it, and Lyssia struggled to breathe for a moment while her heartbeat stuttered. The first few Elken raced past her riding spot as she struggled to calm herself.

She guided her horse closer to the trunk of the tree they sheltered behind, fearing that he might protest at his proximity to the horned giants, but except for two kicks of his back leg and a single toss of his head, he was still.

She held him there all the same, frozen and cursing herself for her hesitation.

Now! Now!

If she fell too far behind, she wouldn’t get her shot. Someone else, perhaps even someone behind the front line, would take this chance from her. She couldn’t let that happen.

“One down!” a baritone voice called in the distance.

“Two has fallen!” a sweet soprano voice sang, followed quickly by shouts of, “Three!” and “Four!”

Lyssia kicked her horse into action.

Arvid.

The name came to her suddenly. Her great grandfather’s name. She’s been told he was strong and brave and never backed down from a fight. Arvid!

“Arvid!” she yelled out loud and laughed, urging him to pursue the Elken that wove through the trees, desperate in their flight. They were moving through a section of forest that was thin, and the dappled light struck their coats and gave them away. She should act now before the trees closed in around them and lent the Elken cover.

In a double blink of her eye, her bow was raised and an arrow notched in place. She squeezed Arvid’s sides with her knees, trusting him to navigate safely around the obstacles in his path while she sighted. She hummed a piece of the song that had sent a chill up her spine earlier as she drew back the string on her bow and steadied her hand against her leather-clad cheek.

There. Female, possibly four or five years old. A pronounced constellation of brown spots was visible on her hindquarters, and there was a white mark on her left side.

“Five fell to me!”

“Six!”

“Seven down!”

Lyssia released the arrow. Her breath caught as Arvid leaped to avoid a fallen log. She notched another arrow, let it fly, and reached for a third one before his back feet hit the ground. The impact lifted Lyssia partway from the saddle, but she didn’t fall.

Her first arrow had gone wide, but the second hit the white-marked Elke in the side and sent her to her knees. One more to the neck, and she was still.

“Eight has fallen!” Lyssia sang out as loud as she could before her breath hitched in a sob.

Arvid continued on and -

There. A male, not two years old judging by the height of its antlers. There was something off with his gait. Lyssia's gaze dropped to his legs.

Oh, poor thing. His back right leg was bent. He was still running at a good speed, but he was clearly struggling to keep up with the rest of the herd.

Lyssia made a split-second decision. Her arrow shot cleanly through the Elke's injured leg, and he collapsed. Before she could shoot again, another horse cantered into her line of sight. Recognizing Roakev and Sikurd, Lyssia quickly lowered her bow. His attention was arrested by the two female Elke that jumped over the fallen male, and Lyssia sat back in her saddle to witness his victory.

Lyssia didn’t see Azerian until he was upon Roakev. He pulled his horse right up beside him. Although he sat two head lower than Roakev on his runner, Roakev’s aim was still blocked when Azerian stood in his stirrups and balanced one knee atop his saddle.

Lyssia gave a whoop when Azerian’s arrow found its mark in the bigger of the two females. The smaller one skittered and veered off in another direction. The others riders would have to stop her and redirect her toward the rest of the herd.

Azerian shook his bow in the air in triumph. “Ten is mine! Hey!”

Roakev snatched the bow from Azerian’s hands and flung it to the ground, and Azerian’s satisfied expression turned sheepish.

“I didn’t want to be last. Now go! Get your own!” He gathered his reins to pull his horse aside, ensuring that Roakev had a clear path to chase after the remaining Elken.

But Roakev wasn’t paying attention to them anymore. He was staring off after the second female who had bolted.

“Roakev...what are you thinking?” Lyssia asked.

“What am I thinking? I’m thinking…” He caught himself as he looked back at her, his enraged roar quieting to a harsh shout. “I’m thinking that I don’t have any choice!”

“Roakev? Roakev, no!” Lyssia cried.

They weren’t supposed to turn from the path. It was dangerous. Her eyes searched the trees, looking for her father, her uncle, anyone who could have taken charge of the situation.

“What are you doing? Stop, you dunga! You can’t go that way!”

Azerian raced to block Roakev’s path, but Sikurd pushed past his horse with barely a second look. Roakev reached across to shove Azerian out of his saddle.

“I’ll deal with you later, beetle. Just stay out of my way!”

Lyssia stared open-mouthed after Roakev as Sikurd took off in pursuit of their lost prize. Azerian seemed just as stunned, but when Lyssia looked down at him, she saw that there were angry tears in his eyes.

“I only wanted to get the first shot. I didn’t mean for…”

“I know. But what should we do? Isn’t that the direction of the---?”

“Yeah, but we’re not that close, are---?”

“I don’t know. I don’t...I don’t like this. Az, I think we should go after him.”

“Go after him?”

“Yes, to help him...stop him…”

“Someone else will stop him. You’re not done here, Lys.” He gestured toward the male Elke she had shot through the leg.

With a jolt, she realized that the creature was struggling to rise. She had forgotten all about him. Yes, she should put him out of his misery, but it felt different now that she wasn’t caught up in the excitement of the hunt.

“I...I...I can’t. I have to...Please, Az. Can’t you…?”

“Drottine?”

Lyssia jumped at the unfamiliar voice. She waved forward the two riders approaching them. “Oh, thank goodness. You...are not Ilvanian.”

Magnor - Rijek’s older son - looked back at his brother, his face a mask of mock affront. “Well, that’s not very nice. Is it, Tirne?”

“What’s the matter?” Tirne asked, frowning between Lyssia and Azerian.

“I don’t think he would listen to you,” Lyssia said. Then without further explanation, she charged out of the clearing in the direction Roakev had taken.

“Who wouldn’t listen to us? Wait! Where is she going?”

“To stop Roakev from doing something stupid! Follow her. I’ll be right there!”

Lyssia blocked out the sound of pursuing horses as she searched the trees for any sign of Roakev, his steed, or the swift-footed Elke he was pursuing. She yelled his name over and over, her panic rising every second he did not respond.

“Eleven by my hand!”

The shout surprised her by its nearness. They were still close to the herd and the hunters. Good.

“Roakev!” She called out as she caught sight of him up ahead. “Shoot, Roakev! Shoot it!”

The female Elke darted to the left, and Sikurd put on a burst of speed, tearing after it.

Arvid chased after Sikurd, a brown streak chasing black. Lyssia felt now how Roakev must feel - bent on a single purpose. She wasn't worried about spooking the Elken herd or leading Arvid into an impassable area. She noted that other riders were in pursuit of her now, other voices calling her name, but as if from a distance. They weren't here for her; they were here for Roakev.

She couldn't see him now, but he couldn't be that much farther ahead. One Dubkir should be able to outrun another.

But she wouldn't have to outrun him. If she could just draw enough attention to them, someone else would stop him. Before he got lost. Before he got shot. Before he got bucked off this horse and kicked in the head by a stray hoof. Before he...before he...

Whether it was a trick of her mind or of the shadows, she had no warning before the trees gave way around her. Her first thought was that they had entered another clearing. Perfect. Roakev would have his chance now, and he would stop. The hunt would be over. The celebration would begin.

An animal's howl of pain broke through her daydream of the rustic feast they would enjoy at their campsite tonight. Arvid went still, his legs rigid and his ears plastered to his head.

"What is it, boy?" Lyssia asked, trying to coax him forward.

"Drottine!"

"Stop! Magnor, Tirne, stop! Watch the thorns!"

Lyssia's eyes flew to the ground. She was surrounded by thorn bushes. But these were no ordinary brambles.

They were ban-maudr thorns, six-inch-long spikes topped with prickers designed to bury deep into the flesh of any creature foolish enough to wander within reach of them. They were impossible to remove without a knife once embedded, and their spikes contained a poison that drove the victim insane as they tried to gnaw their injured body part off.

Lyssia had heard tell of a horse from their own stables being put down after coming in contact with ban-maudr thorns. The owner had three choices: maim the animal and leave it lame, give it a swift death, or watch it suffer for days as it succumbed to madness.

A swift death seemed like the merciful option.

Ban-maudr existed in small clumps all throughout the forest. Avoiding them had been one of Lyssia's first lessons of the forest. She had never seen so many thorns growing in one place before. They guarded the forest at the edge of the shelf of land she could see just up ahead that ended in the sheer drop of the Thivness.

"They're executioner thorns. We can't go through here. We have to go around! Lyssia, stay right there! We're coming!"

"Azerian, I can't see him! Roakev! Ro! Where are you?"

Another howl rent the air. It wasn't a human sound of pain, but it made her skin crawl all the same. Slowly, so slowly her movements left no sound, she eased herself down out of the saddle.

She couldn't go back. They had made it almost all the way out of the group of poisoned bushes. There was a path forward. She just had to convince Arvid to stay calm and make his way toward the cliff.Lyssia inched in front of Arvid, eyes locked on the ground. Then turning sideways, she slipped her hands around his head and led him forward.

"Easy. Easy does it. Slowly, boy. That's the way."

Arvid answered with low noises that tickled her ear and sounded to her as if he spoke his own words of encouragement. Together, the pair cleared the bushes and stepped onto the barren boundary of the Thivness.

The sounds of animal distress came from their right. Lyssia turned in that direction, crying out when she saw Roakev standing only a foot back from the cliff edge.

He had a knife in his hand and was advancing on the female Elke that had eluded him. She was lying on the ground on her side, but as Lyssia watched, she began to writhe on the ground, twisting her body this way and that as she tried to get at the thorn sticking out of her back leg.

Lyssia was caught between her desire to rush toward her cousin and pull him back to safe ground and watching in spellbound wonder as Roakev stalked forward. His movements were efficient, his stance sure. He had no intention of leaving what he had started unfinished. If only she had been able to show the same strength when it came to the male Elke she had shot.

Sikurd stood on the other side of the tangle of thorn bushes. He was stamping his feet nervously, but he didn’t look uninjured. Lyssia hurried forward and took hold of Roakev's stirrup, leading the frightened horse a little ways from the bushes. He resisted at first, but when Lyssia stopped a good distance from the cliff edge, he relaxed.

Lyssia left Arvid and Sikurd standing together and inched forward quietly. She assumed that Roakev had heard Arvid’s approach, but she didn’t want to break his concentration now. He leaned over the injured Elke, and Lyssia was glad her view was blocked as the creature bleated in fear.

She kept one eye on Roakev’s back and the other on the shimmering expanse of water before them.

The sea.

She was here. She could see it. She could breathe it in. She could hear the waves lapping against the rocks.

She could almost feel the water tickling her feet. She imagined it would be like standing in a meandering river, but the water would be warmer, the ground sandier, and the view...Wow.

The Thivness was not meant for such daydreams. It was a natural barrier against the sea.

No ship could dock in its cove. No man or Elke could dive from its height. There were no stairs that led down the water - natural or man-made.

The cliff was impossibly steep, so steep in fact that it was rumored that not even lichen could find purchase on the hard stone surface. Stumbling over the edge would mean a fifty-foot drop to the water below, and if the rocky spires that poked out of the bottom of the seabed didn’t get you, the hungry fish might.Of course, the one time that Lyssia got close enough to hear the melodious music of the waves, she couldn’t enjoy it.

Roakev stood inches from certain death. He knew the danger well as she did. Why was he hesitating now?

“Ro?” Lyssia stepped to the side and then back suddenly. She had caught sight of Roakev’s knife digging into the flesh below the Elke’s throat.

Twelve! Or whatever number we’re on.

How long had it been since they had left the hunt behind? They were safe from the herd and the hunters here. One lone Elke might have ventured this close to the Thivness, but the herd wouldn’t. She believed that, but she couldn't shake the cold tingle of fear that ran down her spine.

It was time to say their farewells to this place.

“Ro…” Lyssia tried again to get his attention and found that she couldn’t force more than a whisper out of her throat. Throwing a longing glance at the flask tied to her saddle, Lyssia cleared her throat. “Roakev, we need to---”

Roakev glanced back over his shoulder at her, his eyes wide with shock. “Lyssia? What are you doing?”

“I could ask you the same thing, but…” Lyssia crossed her arms and took a step back as Roakev reached for her. “You should really stand back from the edge.”

He jumped to his feet, anger twisting his hands into fists. He threw his bloodied dagger back toward the trees and reached for her again. “You should really mind---”

He broke off as a stone rolled out from under his boot. He thrust his arms out, leaning forward at a sharp angle to try to regain his footing.

Lyssia almost laughed. Roakev, the one who was always one step ahead, the one who was always in control, was about to land on his bottom in the dirt.

But then saw the look of fear in his eyes, and she realized he wasn’t in control.

He wasn’t going to land.

He was going to fall.