“Not bad,” Paldren said, walking over to the bale and pulling out the arrow. “At least you hit it.”
“I wasn’t aiming at the bale.” With the others following, she joined Paldren, then tugged at the string wound around the straws of hay and frowned. “Missed my target.”
“It was close, though. Surprisingly close.” Paldren examined her, as if impressed by her competence. “How long have you been shooting?”
“For a few years, on and off. Each time the university hosted a new batch of men for the militia, I’d be sure to visit and pick up anything that I could.”
“University? What university trains archers?”
“The Arcanists of Azura.”
“The Arcanists? My, my.” A smile creeping across his face, Paldren gave her the arrow. “Keep that one. And good luck on your endeavors outside these walls.”
“Thank you for letting us in for the night,” Laedron said. “If you’ll be so kind to open the gate, we’ll be off.”
“One last thing. We used to send smaller shipments of lumber west when requested, but the last one returned and reported that the ancient bridge was damaged. We’ve sent word to Navarine, to the king, but with the fighting in the east, he’s yet to send aid.”
“Ancient bridge?”
“The valley makes a sharp turn west of here and has long marked the divide between the east and the west of Lasoron. The Uxidin built a bridge-well, they built most of the ones we still use today-but this particular bridge was quite long indeed, a marvel of ancient engineering by any standards. One of the sections has fallen out, so you’ll be forced to find a way across it or travel down the valley and up the other side.”
“I think we can handle that. Thank you.”
With little more than a nod, Paldren returned to the top of the wall and turned the crank to open the gate. Slamming shut behind them, the gate was a symbol of what Laedron anticipated for the rest of the trip. From this moment forward, we shall see no security, no shelter, until our journey has concluded, he thought, glancing one last time at Sir Paldren atop the palisade.
Through sparse forest, they trekked until Laedron spotted the columns the knight had described, two marble pillars that had been there so long that they seemed to have sprouted from the earth. Only pine straw and undergrowth surrounded them, as if the trees refused to encroach upon the columns.
Laedron climbed down from his horse. He crouched beside one of the stones and dug into the ground with his hands. A few inches down, he felt smooth rock against his fingertips. “Here it is.”
Marac glared at Laedron from his saddle. “Must we crawl along the ground to find this road? There had to be another way.”
Laedron cleared away more of the thick straw-dirt mixture. “No. If I go along and find a few more in a line, we can merely follow the spacing between the trees. The stone’s been placed with a tight fit, where trees can’t grow up between the blocks.” He searched the ground for another piece of the road. Finding one, he smiled and pointed to the west. He mounted his horse, then brushed his hands together, dusting off the bits of pine straw and mud. He pulled on the reins and led the way deeper into the forest, keeping an eye on the spacing between the trees as he went.
Brice slapped his neck, then examined his palm, as if he had killed a mosquito. “How much farther do we have?”
“We follow this highway until its end. At most, two days by Sir Paldren’s estimation.”
“Two more days,” Marac said, then quaffed a mouthful of water from his canteen. “I’ll be glad to be done with this damned forest.”
They rode on through the rest of the day and came to the start of a stone bridge late in the afternoon. Beneath the bridge, the valley extended deep and long, and Laedron couldn’t see the end of the vale no matter how hard he strained. Wide enough for five horses to cross walking side by side, the bridge was a sight to behold, a miracle of the ancient world still standing in the present. Neither nature nor age had been mighty enough to fell the stonework, but he remembered what Paldren had said about a section missing.
“This should be interesting.” Laedron cleared his throat. “Ready?”
Marac stood in his stirrups and stared at the river far below. “Is it sturdy?”
“Only one way to find out.”
“Do you think it’ll hold, Lae?” Marac asked.
“A bridge that massive and thick? We’ll be fine. I’m sure of it.”
Reluctantly, Marac and the others followed Laedron onto the bridge, all of them silent, as if even a whisper could rattle the foundations and cause them to plummet into the chasm. The gusts of wind through the trestles and the patter of hooves against stone were the only sounds Laedron heard. He kept his eyes focused on the path ahead. Don’t look down. The simple act of looking down could be enough to pull you over the edge.
He slowed to a halt when he spotted the break, stopping about a stone’s throw away from a huge section of missing bridge. “Hold up here.”
“Creator! How can we get across there?” Leaning forward, Valyrie hugged her horse as a child might her favorite toy. “It must be a hundred feet or more to the next landing.”
“A little magic goes a long way.” Laedron drew his scepter. “I’ll send each of us-horses and all-across the gap.”
“Do you know nothing of horses?” Marac asked.
“What? I know enough-”
“If you lift a horse off the ground, there’s a good chance that it will panic. You may be able to save one, but the other will fall to the bottom. Since we want to lose neither people nor mounts, we’d better come up with a better solution than that.”
“A bridge of air, then?”
“Tell me, then: what do horses do when you drive them over the edge of a cliff?”
Laedron shrugged. “They fall?”
“Unless frenzied and ignorant of the edge, they stop, Lae. A bridge could work, but it has to be something that the horses can see.”
“Good thought.” Scratching his chin, Laedron considered the options. Conjure air, but change the color? Or summon the illusion of stone? The latter would be more difficult, but it may be safer. “I’ll try to conjure a replacement that looks just like the bridge, but it could take some time. It would be best if I test it before anyone else.”
Marac nodded. “Take your time. We have that in abundance.”
Laedron hopped down from his horse, crouched, and examined the stonework. It’s almost as if it’s woven together magically. Such small stones fitted together in such a precise fashion… one would face some difficulty to find masonry of this quality even in Sorbia. Crawling along, he tried to find a pattern, something he could duplicate on a scale large enough to cover the gap, but no matter how close he came to finding one, he couldn’t.
“Problems?” Marac asked.
“I can’t find a common scheme; all of the stones are shaped differently.”
“Can’t you just create some?”
“For a space that size…” He pointed at the gap in the bridge. “It’s easier and safer to have a guide. Far simpler to make a copy than invent something new.”
“You might want to give it a shot, Lae. You may never find something you can use, and you might be able to conjure a spell well enough for us to get across without it.”
Laedron nodded and climbed back onto his horse with his scepter in hand. Closing his eyes, he imagined long lengths of timber across the span because he had far more experience with wood. A hundred feet? Almost two hundred? Waving the wand, he repeated the incantation and concentrated on his spell, then opened his eyes to see the result. Timbers glimmered into existence, bridging the gap. He added another, then another, and more until the space had been completely covered. He counted slowly while maintaining the spell. I need a count, a measure of how long I can keep it going. Without a count, we won’t know how many might cross during each cast of the spell.
“Sixty… sixty-one…” He clenched his eyes shut and stilled his mouth, focusing on hi
s count and fighting the strain. Seventy… seventy-one… He released the spell and fell to his knees. He waited for the ache to fade, then asked, “Do you think that will be enough time to get over?”
“It’ll have to be,” Marac said. “We have no other choice.”
“We could go back. Down through the valley.” Brice came alongside Marac, pointing over his shoulder. “It’s the safest way.”
“And lose a few days of time?”
Brice scoffed at Marac. “What good is time when you’re lying dead at the bottom of the valley? Or worse, two broken legs and left suffering and starving until you finally die?”
“Time isn’t on our side, Thimble. Laedron’s sleep is returning, and I don’t take that as a good sign; it could mean the magic-and his life-are fading away. The sooner we get to Myrdwyer, the better.”
Laedron gazed at Valyrie. “What do you think?”
She shrugged. “I would have to agree with Marac. If something happens to you before we get there, what need will we have for answers?”
“Oh, we’ll still have a need for answers, but it’ll be hard to find any without him, I’d say,” Marac said. “No one else here has a handle on spellcraft or the ways of magic like Lae.”
Seemingly deep in contemplation, Brice rubbed his chin and jaw for a while, then said, “I think we should go one at a time.” He pulled a coiled rope from his pack. “This is at least a hundred feet. Tie one end to the first person and the other to one of the horses on this side. Switch it up as each of us crosses. Keep your feet free of the stirrups unless you want to take two horses with you. If we fall, we lose a horse, but not one of our lives.”
“We need the horses. All of them,” Marac said.
Brice shrugged. “We need our lives more.”
“I’ll just have to do it well.” Laedron readied his scepter. “Who’s first?”
“The slowest first,” Marac said, glaring at Brice. “You, then Valyrie, then me.”
Before wrapping the rope around his waist, Brice knotted both ends into a loop, then gave the loose end to Marac.
“Why two loops?” Marac asked.
“When you come across, we’ll have to tie off to one of our horses.” Brice pointed at the far end of the bridge. “Easier to add loops to both ends now than to try throwing the rope.”
Marac gestured at Laedron. “It’s a sound plan, but what about him?”
“Eh?”
“Once you two have crossed, I’m to put the rope around myself and the other end will be tied to one of your horses. When I go, both ends of the rope would be on that side, and we would have to toss the end some hundred feet or more back to Lae.”
“You’ll take my horse with you when you go, Marac,” Laedron said.
“But you could fall.”
“If I do, I stand the best chance of surviving. Have you forgotten when Valyrie fell?”
“If that’s how you want it, that’s what we’ll do. I’ll tie this end to your horse since you won’t be on it.” Marac secured the rope to Laedron’s saddle.
Once Laedron conjured the planks to bridge the gap, Brice guided his horse forward. Each impact of the horse’s hooves against the wood pressed against Laedron’s will, and he fought reality itself to keep his illusion going. Brice looked back over his shoulder with fear in his eyes. The pressure. Fight it. You can do this.
Once Brice stopped on solid ground, he untied the rope from his waist. Marac pulled it back, helped Valyrie secure it, and she started across the bridge. She kept a quicker pace than Brice, and the hooves pounding on his illusory bridge made his heart race.
Forty… forty-one… Laedron counted upward, maintaining the spell. Marac, watching Valyrie dismount and secure the rope, hastily tied his end around himself, then he looked questioningly at Laedron.
“Go. Plenty of time.”
Keeping his eyes on Brice and Valyrie, Marac urged his horse and guided Laedron’s across the bridge. His hands shaking, Laedron watched as the boards bowed and creaked. His will weakened and a headache formed behind his forehead. Just when Marac reached the other side, the planks fell and faded from existence in mid-air. Laedron dropped to his knees. He felt beaten, as if the horses had been trampling his body instead of an imaginary bridge.
Marac called, “Come on, Lae. Get up. You can do it.” Brice and Valyrie joined in with his cheering.
One step, then the next. A bit more, and I’ll be across this bloody ravine, with my friends once again, and onward to Myrdwyer. Thinking of the name filled him with dread, for he had come to associate that name with the endless road, the broken bridge, and his pain and misery. The name had become a mirage, an illusion no more real than his wooden planks, no more tangible than the answers he sought. Will I ever discover the truth? Or will this whole journey be for naught?
He stared across the gap at his friends, all of them apparently eager to see him cross the span and join them on the other side. I cannot lose faith. Failure is a choice, not an unavoidable end. He raised the scepter. I can manage a levitation spell. I don’t need a whole bridge. He chanted. When his feet lifted off the ground, he compelled his body forward. Slow. Keep it slow. Easier to take. Work through the pain! Gritting his teeth, he kept his focus on the spell, doing his best to ignore the agony coursing through his veins. He closed his eyes when his speed and balance wavered. His spell was diminishing with every step. When he thought he was close enough, he released the spell and dropped. His chest and head struck the stone, but he felt his legs dangling in the breeze. His head pounded from the impact, and he couldn’t tell if he’d broken any bones from the fall. The scepter rolled out of reach, and he noticed sparks flickering within the ruby. Then, the weak stones that had been supporting him gave way.
Slipping over the edge, he reached out and clawed at the little spaces between the pavers.
Marac slid to the edge, then reached out and grabbed Laedron’s hand. “Brice! Valyrie! Get my legs!”
Laedron stared into Marac’s eyes. Is this how it will end for me? Drenched in sweat, his hand was slowly slipping from Marac’s grip. Blinking rapidly, he looked down into the ravine, then he saw only darkness.
8
What Lurks in the Dark
D reams. So vivid. Flashing lights. If I can dream, I must still be alive.
“How long was I out?” Laedron asked, opening his eyes. The camp had been set deep in the woods, and he had been placed on his sleeping bag near the fire.
“Half a day.” Valyrie wiped his face with a wet cloth. Perhaps she doesn’t loathe me after all. Marac or Brice might have told her to do this, though. I cannot be sure if it’s by her want.
“What happened?”
“Marac did everything he could to hold on until we could lower the rope.”
“Everything’s a blur.” Laedron rubbed his temples, then his eyelids. “Everyone made it? Marac and Brice are safe?”
She raised an eyebrow. “The spell must’ve taken quite a bit out of you.”
The spell. My rod. Through the pain, he reached down and searched his body. “Where’s the ruby scepter?”
She twisted around and brought the scepter where he could see it. “Here.”
Taking it and staring into the ruby at the tip, Laedron wondered if the sparkle he’d seen before he passed out had been real or merely a figment of his imagination. He thought back to the moment when he’d blacked out. The sudden strain. Like a pile of bricks falling on top of me. What happened?
“What’s wrong, Lae?” she asked.
“I don’t know. The spell seemed impossible to maintain, so I released it. When I hit the ground, I saw the ruby flicker.” Peering into the gem, his voice cracked. “Everything seemed easier with Ismerelda’s scepter. Until the last time, at least.”
“But why? Is there something special about it?”
“She never told me.”
“Yes, but what do you think?”
He pondered his experiences, searching his memory. “Something about it must cau
se magic to flow more easily, though I know not what.” He sighed. “More questions. Always more questions. You’d better let me have the wand back for now, in case the scepter doesn’t work.”
She handed it to him. “Will you still teach me?”
“Of course. I didn’t know if you still desired that.”
“You’re up. Good,” Marac said before Valyrie could answer. He walked over and dropped a few broken limbs between Laedron and the fire. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been trampled by a stampede of horses. Achy, and my head hurts.”
Marac handed him a canteen. “Drink that. We’ll have a meal before long.”
“Thank you, Marac.”
“Don’t worry about it. We have plenty of water.”
“No, not that. For saving me.”
“Ah, you don’t have to thank me for that.”
“I don’t? Of course I-”
“You saved me from Gustav and the executioner, so we’ll just call it even. Besides, what else could I do?”
“Thanks anyway.” Laedron sipped some water, but his queasiness made him pause before he drank too much. He looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. “How far until we reach the ruins? Any way of knowing?”
“The ruins? They’re all around us.” Marac gestured at the worn stones on the ground. “Seems like this is the outskirts of what used to be a great city. This, I think, is your lost city of Myrdwyer.”
A blanket pulled tight about his shoulders, Laedron stood and crept toward a half wall of what must have been the remains of a house or some other small building. He stared into the distance where the stones became more numerous and the trees were few and far between. For a moment, he thought he heard the noises of a bustling metropolis. Probably the wind. It could be nothing else, for this city is long dead and deserted.
“We had better get some food in our bellies and some sleep if we’re to go exploring the ruins tomorrow.” Marac fished through the packs, then pulled out his metal rods and started arranging them over the fire. “I’ll take watch first, and Brice will cover the other half.”
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