CITY OF BRIDGES

6

Race to the Bridge

Leonie awoke to her tail being shaken in the dim room.

“Rise and shine,” said a cheerful voice from the foot of the bed.

Leonie rolled over slowly, squinting at Feiron sitting on the end of the bed. “Will you settle for one out of two?” Leonie sat up with care. “That brew last night was potent enough to curl the tails of Slistorf.” She held her aching head in her paws. “What time is it?”

“Dawn.”

“Uh-huh.” Why did he have to be so damn happy? Her stomach churned like Delta’s harbour at the tide-turn. Glancing at the barrel, she wondered if he’d mind too much if she threw up in it. “I gather you slept well?” It wasn’t his fault she had no head for the local ale.

“Yes indeed. That lovely woman in the kitchen has brought up some fresh nut-loaf and fruit for breakfast,” he said. “I’ve already eaten and paid for everything. Dig in and I’ll get Argus harnessed.” Feiron turned towards the door.

Biting into the oven-warm loaf, she hoped the food would quell her nausea. Leonie watched Feiron in fascination. Instead of opening the door, he oozed underneath it, shrinking like a deflated bladder.

When she finished her breakfast, she washed in the small basin before making her way down the stairs to the rear of the inn. The courtyard was a quagmire. The guilty clouds had now retreated to the southeast, but others were looming, ready to take their place. She tried to make her way to the stables without getting any mud on her but found that virtually impossible.

Feiron, again back in the guise of Hectr, led the di’anth and cart into the courtyard. The horses belonging to the mercenaries were absent; hoof-prints in the mud left a trail to the south.

The young lass stuck her head out the front door of the inn and waved as Leonie and Feiron rode off to the north. A few people braved the wet weather to carry out the necessary chores; otherwise, the streets of Indras were all but empty. The river, far more turbulent than yesterday, threatened to overrun the banks.

“Another downpour like last night will flood this place I reckon,” she observed. Immersed in the book, Feiron managed a nod. Leonie shook her head, incredulous at the amount of interest he had taken in the book. She rode on with the sound of Argus’s feet sucking on the muddy road surface and the incessant buzzing of insects. The surrounding fields, newly tilled – now muddy, contrasted darkly with the green of the abundant crops in the adjacent fields. On the other side of the river was similar, all the way to the mountains to the distant west.

By mid-afternoon, they approached the banks of a tributary of the Urmaq. Water lapped at its banks; the bridge was absent, washed away by the floodwaters. The road ended at the roiling water’s edge where only a few remaining pylons were to be seen.

On the opposite shore amongst a scattering of willows and poplars stood a handful of cottages. Several coracles leant against the walls of boat-sheds. Others had been dragged well away from the rising waterline. No villagers were visible. If not for the smoke whipping out of the chimneys with the fresh breeze from the west, it was easy to think it was deserted.

The pair contemplated their next move. Feiron suggested they try to entice someone from the village to ferry them across, but then they observed a lone rider approach from the hills to the east. They decided to wait as it became evident he was heading over to see them. Leonie prepared for the worst in case this was a trap.

“G’day folks,” he called out as he rode up. “If ya not fancying a swim in this ‘ere Deraz, there be an old bridge way up in yon hills.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. The man looked to be well past middle age though, because of his weather-beaten face, may have been ten years younger. “No one in their right mind’ll be takin’ a boat to water. I had to use the other bridge me’self.”

“How far is it?” Leonie asked, raising her voice as he stopped beside them. She hated water at the best of times and was not comfortable crossing, especially under these conditions.

“Why do you youngsters always think us oldsters are deaf? The bridge is about a half day’s ride. Doubt you be getting there afore dark or the rain.” He turned to ride off. “There be a lot of mud sliding there too, so ya better take care.”

“Thank you,” Feiron called out. The old man waved over his shoulder. They watched him ride south as they considered his words. “So, what to do?” he asked her.

“I’m not keen to retrace our path back to Indras and follow the main road if that’s what you mean. The path less travelled is my preference.”

“Well, that makes it easy then. I suppose we do as our friend suggests and go east into the hills.” Feiron flicked the reins and Argus trundled off the road onto the muddy trail the old farmer had recently travelled.

No sooner had they started off again than the clouds let loose. Leonie scrambled to don her cloak. Feiron, changing back into natural form, seemed unperturbed; the drops ran off his skin.

Travelling on the outskirts of the fields, they reached the start of the hills. Rough ground and woodlands forced them away from the waters’ edge and, as the old farmer had said, mudslides were frequent. Trusting in the strength and stability of the di’anth, they took their time as the narrow, winding trail took them higher into the rough country.

Cresting a rise, they paused to survey the panorama of the countryside behind them – a checkerboard of fields split by the Urmaq, which continued to the base of the Central Ranges seen in the distance. Shafts of light from the setting sun streamed through gaps in the heavy clouds and danced across the fields, treetops and water. The eastern horizon was a continuation of the undulating terrain and forest.

With the failing light, further travel in the dark would be folly in these slippery conditions. They camped within the shelter of a copse a short distance away.

Movement – a glint – to the west caught Leonie’s eye as Argus started down the incline. Instead of getting Feiron to stop the cart, she hopped off, landing lightly.

“Keep going, I’ll catch up,” she called out as she loped back to the summit. Shading her eyes against the glare, Leonie scrutinised the muddy track below.

A group of horsemen were riding hard along the riverbank. In this waning light, the boggy soil and rough terrain made it easy for a horse to break a leg. At this distance, she couldn’t make out details. Another glint. Weapons? Armour. The mercenaries from the inn? A sense of urgency struck her. The numbers are about right!

These riders must have good reason to risk their mounts with this foolishness, and only one came to her mind: the Seer’s Codex.

Leonie considered her situation. Horses were faster and more manoeuvrable than a di’anth and cart, so they’d cut through the woods. At the rate they were travelling, assuming they didn’t lame a horse in the effort, the riders would more than likely reach the bridge sooner and stop any chance of escape. Coincidence? Not bloody likely! She sprinted on all fours over the hill to catch up with Feiron who was about to set up camp.

“Riders coming fast,” she shouted. “Mercenaries from the inn.”

“I thought they went south.” Feiron looked up in surprise as the feline ran up beside the cart, panting slightly.

“Me too,” she said. “Stow that gear and I’ll drive,” Leonie called back, grabbing for the harness to hitch Argus to the cart. “You know, it would be really good if you could transform into something faster than a di’anth!”

“Afraid not, and I wouldn’t be able haul–”

“Just kidding.”

Trusting her instinct for danger, Feiron secured the load without hesitation.

The moment Leonie tightened the last strap she leapt to the seat and flicked the reins. Argus bellowed in protest as he tried to reach for another frond of the juicy leaves. A harder shake of the reins for extra encouragement and they were soon bouncing along the dim trail, mud splashing everywhere. Her night-vision and the beast’s stability allowed them to race headlong in the gloom. Branches and leaves whipped by as they sped along the path that wove through the woods. Leonie dodged as best she could. She avoided the worst, but now and then the sting of sharp-edged fronds left their mark, cutting into her despite the fur. Feiron, who had oozed into the seat beside her, absorbed the lashing with little regard.

The cart trundled over the rutted surface, jolting her to the bone; she had to clench her jaws tight to stop her teeth from rattling. The road was now more rock than mud. Feiron held onto the seat with a couple of tentacles. He sat amiably, wobbling now and then. It reminded Leonie of a dessert she’d seen once – except there were no fruit pieces. There were some advantages to being a blob. “What’s stowed in back?” she asked aloud.

“Tools, mining and farming implements, food and camping gear. Enough to look legitimate but nothing to fend off half a dozen cut-throats.”

Leonie considered this as she ducked under more low branches.

Argus’s breath steamed in the cool air, as his sides heaved like bellows. Di’anths were fine for the long haul, but sprinting was not their strong point.

Stars shone down through a patch of clear sky as the pair shot out of the forest; a small clearing unfolded. On the far side a narrow bridge, barely wider than the cart, spanned the ravine. The distant roar of the torrent below reached them. The clearing on other side was like the one they raced across now, surrounded by woods, with a path leading into hills beyond.

Halfway to the bridge, a shout erupted from the woods to their left and behind. Leonie didn’t dare look back, as she aimed for the centre of the dilapidated wooden bridge. A paw’s width, either way, would send them over.

Feiron glanced around, seeing nothing, but hearing a lot of thrashing within the trees. The riders trying a shortcut, but having difficulty making their way through the thick undergrowth.

“They’re trying to cut us off!”

“I know. Let me think.” She risked a glance to her left as the source of the noise grew louder. As soon as they cleared the trees, the riders would be upon them. “Have you anything flammable?” she blurted.

“Um yes, there’s a small barrel—”

“Get it. If we break it open on the bridge, we can set it alight. That might delay them.” She concentrated on keeping a straight line as she aimed for the bridge.

Feiron flowed to the rear before she finished, searching frantically. The cart rumbled onto the bridge. Hauling the barrel free from beneath the sacks, he rolled off the cart onto the bridge with a hatchet in his grip.

Argus wheezed, drawing in great shuddering breaths. Knowing the poor animal wouldn’t be able to go on much longer, Leonie stopped as soon as they reached solid ground. Bounding from the cart, she raced to Feiron who had knocked a hole in the barrel’s top and was pouring the contents onto the wooden planks. There was barely enough of the thick fluid to cover the narrow structure.

“Get out of here,” she ordered.

“But you have no flint—”

“I don’t need any. Go. I can do this.”

As he backed away, a jubilant cry arose from across the ravine. Once the riders broke through the trees, they turned and sped across the open ground towards the bridge, sods of turf spraying in all directions.

Unsure what Leonie had in mind, Feiron flowed back onto the cart. If the contents were what he thought, the further the better. “Keep your distance from that stuff,” he yelled.

Leonie heeded his advice and backed off the bridge. Anything else he said was lost as she slowed her breathing, cleared her mind and concentrated; ignoring the thunder of the approaching hooves. With only minimal guidance in the arts of spell-casting, she began to draw in the power. She had to be very careful; drawing too much power was a danger, even when using a magical item, like now.

The ring on her finger began to glow. A ball of heat, pitifully small, formed in her cupped paws. Why she did not feel any pain from the heat always surprised her. She focused on the oil slick at the centre of the bridge and sent the flame-ball across. Swiftly, it arced through the night.

Darkness suddenly blossomed with heat and radiance. The resulting explosion threw her back and to the ground. Fading with the distance, the sound echoed along the cliff. The di’anth bolted, taking Feiron along as it tore through the night bellowing in fear.

Across the ravine, the horses reared in fright, throwing all but two of the riders to the ground as they scattered around the clearing.

Leonie staggered to her feet; a stabbing pain in her side.

“Are you alright?” Feiron returned after regaining control of the animal.

“Oh yeah. Fine.” Still shaken, she looked across the chasm. Struggling to control their terrified mounts, the riders were disorganised. The remains of the bridge supports jutted from the cliff face.

“What was that stuff?” she asked.

“That’s what I was trying to remember. I think it was balbon, a concentrated oil derivative and volatile.”

“It certainly did the job.” She winced as she climbed into the cart.

“You’re injured.” He started to fuss over her.

“I’ll deal with it later.” She looked over her shoulder as they moved off. The cloaked riders watched, but the roar of the water obscured their shouts. “Let’s put some distance between us and them.”

* * *