Authors: Brian Fuller
He acknowledged Gen with a nod. “Jaron, I must have word with the First Mother.”
“I am here,” Mirelle answered through the bars before Jaron could reply. “What news, Captain?”
“Perhaps I should speak to you alone, Milady.”
“Nonsense, Captain. We are all about the same business here.”
“Very well. The camp at Falls Bridge is either deserted or destroyed. Maewen says there are signs that the soldiers were there, but . . . but they are missing now. All supplies are gone, and there was some evidence of a fight. It appears that we’ll need to tighten our belts for the rest of the way.”
Gen sensed the edge in his voice—it was Tolbrook’s version of terrified. One hundred cavalry and one hundred fifty soldiers had camped at Falls Bridge with a great store of food. That the scouts could find little trace of them was worrisome, suggesting that something had overwhelmed them and carried off the supplies. The river provided a convenient way to get rid of the dead and dying; just below the bridge the river poured over the edge of a deep canyon.
“Thank you, Captain,” Mirelle said, voice tight. “Keep me informed.” Tolbrook walked away, boots slipping and sinking into the mud. To Gen’s surprise, the Chalaine’s wagon hadn’t sunk into the muck and barely showed a trail in comparison to the others, which cut deep ruts into the earth. Another of the clever features Ethris had imbued into the wagon.
“I suppose you heard?” Maewen came around from the front of the wagon, soaked and speaking in Elvish.
“Captain Tolbrook just left,” Gen replied. “He said the encampment at Falls Bridge was missing.”
“He softened it for you then,” Maewen said, leaning on her bow. “They were slaughtered. The rain washed away a lot of the blood and feces, but not the bent grass and the spoor. The Uyumaak carted off the supplies and what men and horses they didn’t eat they probably cast into the falls.”
“It would be a lot of work,” Gen said, “and to what end? Seems they would prefer to leave the carnage to torment us.”
“I don’t know. Either it happened some time ago or they had a lot of help. Two hundred fifty men and one hundred horses are hard to clean up or carry off. They didn’t use fire to burn anything. There are places I believe they cut the horses up into pieces and carried them away, probably for food. You may see it before nightfall.”
“Captain Tolbrook did hide a lot. He probably wanted to be delicate in front of the Chalaine.” Maewen’s face settled into a mixture exasperation and contempt.
“Why you hide so much from your women is hard to understand. Knowing the truth, even if cold and disturbing, serves one better than warm and peaceful ignorance, man or woman. You tell her, Gen. They aren’t attacking this caravan for our sake, but for her and for Chertanne’s. But,” and at this she moved closer and whispered, “I think we will be in peril before the sun rises tomorrow. We will likely camp close to the bridge tonight. We should take the Chalaine and Chertanne, cross the bridge, and leave the road. The Uyumaak have guessed our course, and if we don’t deviate from it, we will be in their power. Think about it. They will listen to you.”
Gen nodded. Maewen held his eyes a little longer to punctuate her seriousness and left.
“So what did your cute elven friend have to say, Gen?” It was Fenna from within the carriage, trying to be mirthful in the worry. Gen stepped up and peered through the bars. The Chalaine and Mirelle sat on the pillows, hand in hand. Fenna stood by the door.
“I’m afraid the good Captain delivered the most comforting version of the events he could.”
Gen related in full what Maewen had told him. When done, he thought the Captain had chosen the wiser path. Fenna trembled and Mirelle wrung her hands together, eyes pinched. In her robes and under her veil, the Chalaine was hard to read, though she huddled closer to her mother.
“Gen,” Fenna said frantically, “what are we going to do? Are we going to turn back?”
“We cannot go back,” Mirelle said resolutely, standing and straightening her deep blue riding dress. “The Chalaine and Chertanne must be wed in Elde Luri Mora, and we must trust that Eldaloth will protect us for that purpose. I’m coming out, Gen. Fenna, stay with the Chalaine, please.”
As Mirelle descended and Jaron relocked the door, the caravan started to move again. A horse was brought for the First Mother, and Gen sat behind her, contact with her luring his thoughts back to their earlier encounter. She was all business, however, riding directly to Torbrand Khairn, who sat astride his horse at the edge of the makeshift bridge watching every wagon wheel and horse hoof cross.
“Gen” he greeted excitedly, ignoring Mirelle. A wild anticipation shone in his eyes. “It seems we shall have a fight after all! Everyone is scared, but not you and I. We were fashioned for this hour. They will watch us fight and know that we two, we are the ones to fear!”
Gen wasn’t sure how to respond. He had no enthusiasm for a bloody run in with an Uyumaak horde. Luckily, the First Mother dampened the Shadan’s fey mood with a good question.
“Lord Khairn,” she demanded, “what do you intend to do?”
The light faded from Khairn’s eyes as from a child’s when a mother tells him to stop playing and come inside the house. “What choice have we, First Mother? We go forward. In less than a mile we will be trapped against the river to our right and the mountain to our left and will be ripe for the killing. I will do the only thing I can—order a wall of soldiers to the left flank to protect Chertanne and the Chalaine and then fight like rabid dog. I just hope those shifty-eyed Magicians don’t take away all the fun.”
Seeing that the Shadan wouldn’t provide satisfaction, Mirelle turned her horse and galloped off to find Ethris.
“I can’t understand that man!” Mirelle grumbled. “He’s supposed to be a seasoned general and he’s got no plan better than that? Phaw!”
While Gen didn’t voice it, he knew Torbrand was right. Their mission forced them to go onward. Getting trapped by the river played into the enemy’s hands. They didn’t dare split their force lest they become too weak. The narrow road and rocky terrain gave them no alternative routes, at least before they crossed the bridge. They couldn’t foray out into unknown territory and mount any sort of serious attack. There was nothing to do but fortify the exposed side and win their way through by force of arms, magic, and whatever good fortune they had left.
It took Ethris telling Mirelle the same to calm her down and accept the Shadan’s strategy or lack thereof. As they counseled together, Cadaen arrived and relieved Gen. Ethris had another horse brought up.
“Mount up, Gen,”the Magician ordered. “We have little time to finish our business.”
As if on cue, a wagon near the rear of the column sank into the mud, horses laboring. In the confusion and messy toil that followed, Gen and Ethris gradually worked their way back toward the rear before volunteering to go search for more poles to help lift and extract the wagon. They rode a little way back and quickly skirted behind a large boulder.
Ethris wasted no time. Gen removed his shirt, casting about for any stragglers that might observe their clandestine meeting. From his voluminous cloak, the Magician retrieved the thin, silver blade with which he had performed the other brandings. With confident strokes he cut a runic pattern into Gen’s chest before chanting and heating the blade to sizzling white. With it, he sealed and cauterized the cuts. As Gen slipped his shirt quickly back over his head. A shout from the caravan told them the column was underway again.
“Listen, Gen,” Ethris said as they rode slowly back. “If a Portal is opened near you, the branding will sting, but it won’t help you know where the Portal is. To be safe, sleep with your back against something, a corner preferably. This will limit where the Portal can appear in relation to yourself and make it easier to find. Remember that a Portal goes two ways. You can use weapons to good effect.”
“You think Chertanne controls the mirror, don’t you?” Gen speculated. “Is that why you’re taking such care to protect me?”
Ethris returned a slight nod that left no doubt as to his opinion.
They rejoined the line of muddy, grumpy foot soldiers and weary horses. As they marched, the rain gradually lessened and finally stopped, inspiring a general cheer from everyone. The river Dunnach roared somewhere ahead of them, and as they turned a bend around a hill, it came into view, wide and swift, rushing down from the mountains to their right and forming a small lake against walls of broken granite. Straggly pines grew in these cracks, and over the years their efforts, combined with those of the ice and wind, had dislodged granite chunks that had fallen down the steep slopes and formed a rough stone beach around the water.
Less than a mile across the water ahead of them the mighty Falls Bridge spanned the river just before it emptied into the canyon. As they pressed forward the clouds broke up, sun streaking into the valley in wide, yellow rays. A rainbow formed in the mist from the falls beyond the river, arching above the bridge as if it had provided a guide for the builders to follow.
Gen realized his imagination of the bridge had greatly missed the mark. In contrast to the sturdy shard-spanning bridges of Rhugoth, the Falls Bridge was chiseled into delicate, thin patterns. Expertly tooled clouds decorated the top of the arch, making the falls’ mist seem like rain falling from them. The builders had carved the curved supports so finely they seemed like a frail web a stiff breeze might ruin.
As they traversed the rocky edge of the lake, the ground became less muddy and more firm. The steep hill to their left gave way to a deep green meadow, a welcome relief from the rocky, uneven landscape they had grown accustomed to in the previous days. Here Shadan Khairn ordered a halt, calling an early end to the day’s march. Gen knew the meadow would be the most defensible place for miles, providing a clear field for approach and a place where the generals and Warlords could put their horsed knights to good use.
The clouds continued to break and flee, and soon the camp was astir with relieved, happy conversation. For the first time in days, someone laughed sincerely enough to be believed. Looking ahead, Gen saw the Chalaine’s carriage opening and Fenna emerging. He rode up quickly and helped her up onto his horse. She kissed him long enough for it to be embarrassing.
“Isn’t it beautiful!” she said, eyes alive. Gen shoved aside a tinge of guilt, noticing Mirelle nearby. Fenna smiled. “This almost makes up for the days of rain. Almost.”
Gen pointed out the bridge to her and her mouth fell open. “It is the most magnificent thing I have ever seen!” Fenna proclaimed. “The Chalaine should see this! It must have taken ages to make! It must be magic!”
“It did take some time,” Gen said, enjoying Fenna’s fascination, “but I’d bet the Amun’Mu, the giant builders of the first times, had a hand in it. They were massive yet gentle, created by Eldaloth to build mighty structures and cities, including Elde Luri Mora. They did the rough crafting and dwarves provided the finer detail. Both races, unfortunately, were destroyed in the First War. Men have tried to imitate their work with magic, but I don’t think such craftsmanship will be matched again.”
“Do you think the Shadan will stop and let us see it?”
“I think you’ll have to settle for a quick glimpse as we ride over it. His mood is hard to read, but he expects battle soon, and so do I. I don’t think he’ll allow much time for sightseeing. And speaking of battle, I would appreciate it if you would catch a quick dinner and sleep in the carriage with the Chalaine.”
Fenna gave him another kiss. “As you wish, Milord.”
The afternoon waned, and the meadow filled with tents and cook fires. Breezes took up the smell of the fatty meat and tender vegetables, wafting it around the camp, setting mouths to watering. Dried bread, meat, and fruit filled the belly but didn’t lift the spirits, and as mealtime neared, a feeling of celebration charged the air.
Despite the sunshine and the promise of a warm meal, Gen couldn’t relax. He caught Maewen out of the corner of his eye, scowling as she used to do when Geoff would howl out a tune into the unfriendly night. With a quick word to the Shadan, she ran toward the hill, ducking into the forest to the side before beginning her ascent.
Torbrand watched her go, staring eagerly at the high hill as if impatient for an Uyumaak mob to pour over it so he could stain his blade before nightfall. Ethris and Mirelle disappeared into a tent as soon as they could erect one, and Captain Tolbrook and Warlord Maelsworth stood at the edge of the meadow, pointing to various spots on the field as they planned their strategy for a battle they could sense coming but had no proof of. Gen didn’t know how many knew of the slaughter that had recently occurred a scant mile or two away, but a force nearly as large as the one now encamped had been crushed and carted off with little trace.
Gen received his food shortly after servants carried away meals for high nobility and the Pontiff. In short order he and Fenna sat on the back of his wagon, feet dangling over the edge. The food, while not fare for the table of a king, felt like a feast. With Fenna beside and the blue sky above, Gen could almost forget the danger all about them and have a moment’s peace, but Geoff bouncing up in his green coat and yellow hose ruined whatever good feeling Gen had coming. Geoff’s resilient cap feather thrust stiffly into the air as if it hadn’t seen one drop of rain.
“Good evening, Miss Fairedale and Lord Blackshire,” he said, hat sweeping close to the ground, but not close enough to get dirty. “How do you like the weather now?”