CITY OF BRIDGES

9

Fire-fight at the Chasm

Leonie and Feiron moved to the edge of the clearing next to where the bridge had once been.

“What are they up to?” Feiron deferred to Leonie’s night vision.

“One of the brothers is nursing injuries and staying back with the horses. The others are heading for the ravine.” She peered at the edge about thirty feet away. “There’s a rope and a grapple spanning the gap. It looks like we’ve company coming.”

“In your condition, I don’t much like our odds.”

“Let’s see if we can even them out then.” Leonie crawled forward.

“How did I know she’d say that?” Feiron’s image blurred as he transformed into a serpent.

Leonie moved as close as she dared to the ravine without being seen, crouching behind one of the many small boulders scattered about. A large snake slithered through the grass towards the cliff as she waited. She watched as it progressed towards the hook embedded in the ground. “What’s he up to now?”

One of the brothers started climbing along the rope while his companion watched. The climber was upside down with his legs over the rope, pulling himself along with his arms, then dragging his feet behind. The rope sagged with his bulk, making a wide ‘v’. His lack of fitness was telling, and it didn’t take long for him to start wheezing.

The snake slithered onto the rope, coiling around as it moved out.

“A neat trick,” Leonie acknowledged, glancing at the activities of the second group.

They were ten paces further up and attempting to cross near the ruined bridge. After a few swings, the grappling hook arched high into the night. It bounced off a rock and when the thrower pulled it taut; it came loose, ripping up tufts of grass. He hastily re-coiled the rope.

Meanwhile, the first climber was in difficulty. He slapped at the snake with little effect before he tried to reverse his direction and head back. His panicked movements caused the rope to bounce and sway. His companion called out, waving him on. The serpent continued its harassment.

When the man lost his grip he cried out, but his legs stopped him falling. Dangling upside down, his tunic fell, obscuring his sight. Flailing his arms blindly, he only tangled his garment further. Seconds later, he slipped from sight, lost in the foaming waters below. His comrade on the other side baulked, but with a shouted order from a stocky brother, he prepared himself.

Feiron reversed his direction and slithered off the first rope to join Leonie.

“I’ll take this one. I have a few questions.” She prepared to crawl out to the rope.

After watching Leonie creep out, her belly low to the ground, Feiron slinked to an area opposite the second group and transformed into a shape similar to one of the many boulders. With the rope once again gathered, the second group threw again.

With a clang, the hook landed. Relying on the concealment of the night to protect him, the illios flicked it over the edge before it snagged. From their wild gesticulations, a furious argument was taking place between the two on the opposite bank. They re-coiled the rope and prepared for another throw.

The brother Leonie had been watching tapped into the power. A small ball of flame formed above his head, lighting the area around him for a few paces with a pale-yellow glow. He also drew a dagger from a sheath, gripping it between his teeth before lowering himself onto the rope. Climbing hand over hand, he seemed in better physical shape than his predecessor. The rope dipped rhythmically with his movement, placing him out of her sight intermittently. The small flame floating above his head bobbed in unison, causing distorted shadows to grow and shrink.

Leonie used these moments to edge closer to the grappling hook. Shortly after she arrived, a hand slapped the ground in front of her. They met face to face as he was about to haul himself up. His eyes grew wide in fear. Foetid breath washed over her as he swore between clenched teeth. The climber was hanging, one arm on the cliff edge and one still grasping the rope.

“Hello man.” Leonie flashed him a smile. “So then.” She flicked her violet eyes to the flame. “I see your sect likes fire, but tell me, how well do you like water?”

His answer was unintelligible. Spittle ran down his chin.

“Here, let me help.” Leonie reached out with her left paw and took the dagger from his mouth. His reluctance to part with it caused him to receive a cut to his lip for his troubles. Blood and dribble mingled, flowing freely.

“Filthy wench,” he raged, attempting to climb up. Leonie firmly placed her claws on his hand, with enough pressure to draw blood.

“Such language, and you a brother of the cloth too,” she chided. “I want answers man, or else you can follow your friend and start swimming lessons.”

He took the hint, being in no position to force the issue.

“Who’re you working for? Why are you after us?”

He tried to retreat, but again she applied pressure with her claws, careful of her burnt fingers. “These are simple questions; answer and you can go. Remember, you started this when your friend came over and tried to fry us.”

He remained silent. Leonie noticed his arms trembling with fatigue, and doubted he’d be able to make it back, but she didn’t dare let him up either.

The brother closed his eyes and began muttering under his breath. At first, she thought he was praying. Then sensed the familiar drawing of power. There was nowhere for her to run to in time. Frantically, she dragged the knife back and forth across the rope. The dagger was blunt. I could chew through the rope faster than this! Blocking the pain from her burn, she sawed madly using both paws.

The ball of light dimmed. A sneer creased the brother’s bloodied lips. Then he began muttering a spell. The rope jerked as part of the cording twanged, but still, it held. Leonie didn’t stop her frantic sawing.

The last strands unravelled with his weight. His eyes opened wide as he fell. The chanting faltered when he lost concentration. The built-up power had nowhere to go. His body could not contain it. The energy burst out of him in as it sought a path back to freedom.

Leonie drew back from the edge. A bright flash lit up both sides of the clearing as rolls of thunder echoed up and down the ravine. The air reeked with the smell of bile and charred skin. Chunks of super-heated flesh rained down, hissing and steaming when they spattered on the damp ground. Crawling away in a daze, bright spots hampered her vision. She shook her head to clear it and the ringing in her ears.

Raised hackles gave a split-second warning as the ground to her right erupted in a fireball. Leonie instinctively rolled to the left and stumbled towards the trees on all four paws. Staggering behind a pile of rocks, she slumped in a heap, desperately trying to regain her senses. Sucking in a couple of long, deep breaths, she moved around, carefully glancing over the boulders.

Smoke rose from a charred area beside the grappling hook. The three remaining brothers stood on the far edge, pointing and peering into the gloom.

“Are you alright?” Leonie jumped at Feiron’s touch. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“Slistorf!” She turned to see Feiron behind her. “I think I’ve gone deaf.” She shook her head to clear it, but only made it worse.

“I doubt that. Maybe a bit shaken. Sit and catch your breath.”

“I was doing that until you scared the crap out of me.” She ran her fingers over herself. “No new injuries.”

“You were lucky. If they could see in the dark, you’d be charred too.”

Shrugging, she resumed her watch of the worshippers. “I was as weak as a kitten after I blew up the bridge. If we make them cast enough fireballs, they’ll get tired, and we’ll have a chance.”

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Feiron asked, but then answered himself. “Forget it. You’d say you were, regardless. I have a counter-strategy. I’ll distract them when the hook catches. You then fireball the rope. It will burn, or at least be too damaged for them to risk climbing over.”

“Yeah. How many grappling hooks can they have? I like your plan better.”

With a nod, he ambled off through the woods while Leonie slunk as close as she dared; the rocks keeping her approach obscured. They were preparing to throw the hook again. When it snagged, she saw Feiron rush out from the woods, angling his way across the clearing. He threw a rock to gain their attention.

Already one was casting while another brother lowered himself onto the rope. Leonie concentrated on her task, eyes steady on the rope. She needed only a small amount of power for her task. If she missed, she might conjure up one more attempt. Kneeling, she opened her palm and let fly. The fireball shot through the air, bursting on impact. The rope caught alight immediately.

It took the brother on the rope a moment to realise his dilemma. He struggled to move back. When the rope burned through, he swung down and smashed into the opposite cliff-face.

Their response had been swift as a flash of flame incinerated the area where Feiron had been. She hoped he avoided it as she crawled back to the edge of the wood. While waiting, she wondered what it would do to him – considering his fluid form.

Out of sight, they both watched from the tree line for any further attempts at crossing the ravine. The two remaining brothers stood on the opposite side. Whatever they discussed was unknown, but they eventually decided on a plan. Together, they removed their amulets and tossed them into the raging river far below and retreated to their campsite.

When satisfied they weren’t up to any tricks, Leonie and Feiron wearily walked back to the site.

“I think we were lucky,” Feiron said. “It’s likely that group was inexperienced. Maybe we killed their leader? But either way, I suspect they relinquished their calling when they tossed the amulets into the ravine. They will not be returning to the temple. I hear Coundar is unforgiving of failure. However, I have no doubt others will come. And they will be far more experienced.”

Back at their campsite, Leonie retrieved what she could from the remnants of the tent. Feiron went in search of Argus who had broken his tether when the first fireball struck. The cook-fire had been rekindled and a pot of tea was simmering by the time he returned. Leonie leant against the cart, rubbing ointment into small cuts and her singed paw.

“How’s Argus?” she asked, not looking up.

“Not as battered and bruised as you.” Feiron placed a bag of meal around the di’anth’s muzzle before slumping a short distance from the fire.

“I’ll live.” Leonie sat next to him with a groan. “Do you think there’s a link through those amulets?”

“I think discarding them was more than symbolic.” Feiron nodded. “We can assume Coundar, or whoever is behind this, is aware of tonight’s activities. I suggest we get some rest and move off first thing in the morning.” He reached for the pot. “But there’s always time for another cup of tea before sleep.”

Although the clouds had drifted away, the pair moved under the wagon in case the fickle weather turned. Sleep came quickly, any discomfort forgotten.

Dawn coated the horizon in an amber sheen and the clear sky promised a bright day ahead. A small sky island drifted off to the south. They watched it until it had dwindled into the distance. Feiron prepared breakfast while Leonie watered and fed Argus.

As the reptoid ate, she examined his legs and tail for any cuts or injuries from last night’s run through the forest. “I’ll check on our friends, see what they’re up to,” she said to Feiron afterwards. “I won’t be long.” Moving off, she bypassed the area where the body lay.

Crows hopped around on both sides of the deep ravine. There was no sign of the brothers other than the smouldering remains of the campfires. Wisps of smoke curled up into the still air.

Leonie ventured closer to the edge. Crows squawked and cawed at her approach, but didn’t fly off, just hopped away until she passed. She didn’t need to look to know what they were pecking at; the cloying smell of burnt flesh remained in her lungs.

Peering over the rim of the ravine, she guessed it was about three storeys down to the churning white froth. Further downstream, the chasm widened. Picking up one of the grappling hooks, she looked at it before tossing it.

“Are you sure they left?” Feiron handed her a plate on her return from the ravine.

“As sure as one can be.” Leonie squatted opposite him. “The place is deserted, and the fire is smouldering ash.” Steam wafted off the strips of cured meat and mashed vegetables heaped in the centre. Her mouth salivated, and she wiped her lips in case she drooled.

“I thought after last night’s activities you’d need a decent meal,” he said. “We have enough, so dig in.”

She nodded in reply, her mouth already full.

After breakfast, Feiron insisted on checking her injuries before they hooked up the cart. The gash near her ribs had bled, but otherwise, everything else looked clean enough. There was no harsh redness to show any infection. He reapplied more balm before wrapping the worst in a bandage.

“You must try to be more careful. This is the last of the bandage.”

They moved along the little-used trail, giving Argus an easy time of it. The day proved to be warm and the roads dried quickly. The trail angled north-west, leading out of the foothills to another plain. After high-sun, they re-joined the trail about three leagues up the Urmaq River from where the Deraz fed into it. Even when she was taking her turn at the reins, Leonie spent much of the time looking over her shoulder. Argus kept to the road, regardless.

“I very much doubt anyone will be crossing yet,” Feiron said.

“I know, but I get this feeling of being watched.”

Feiron looked around. Some fields lay fallow, while some had ears of corn bent over from the recent weather. There were clumps of trees scattered about, but no dwellings were in sight. High above, a hawk pivoted and then hovered, searching for prey.

“Do you think they’ll stop searching after we deliver the book?”

“Zander is an egomaniac – he won’t stop; after last night, neither will the Woorin brotherhood. Then there’s the Jart’lekk to consider – they may not be after the book themselves, but they’ll not forget the two dead colleagues you left back in Delta. No, I’m afraid to say things will not get any better soon.”

“I didn’t think so either,” Leonie said.

“Besides, they probably think we know what’s in it. If they don’t get the book itself, then they’ll continue in their efforts to get us, believing we’ll be the only ones to tell them its contents.”

“Doesn’t sound promising.”

By mid-afternoon, they arrived at a much more placid watercourse with a small sturdy wharf. A simple system of ropes and pulleys indicated a ferry was still operating. A gong hung from a low branch and from that, a mallet.

Feiron stopped in the tree’s shade. Leonie ambled over to the gong and gave it a hard smack with the mallet. After the resonating sound faded, she saw movement on the other bank as a man emerged from the small hut. Shortly after, another figure joined him.

The pair of travellers snacked and watched as the ferry approached. There were two methods to move it; by gripping the thick rope and walking backwards from bow to stern, or standing and hauling on the rope. By the time the barge thumped into the wharf, Leonie, and Feiron in the guise of Hectr the merchant, were ready to board with the fee for their passage in hand.

Dusk found them entering Swangrove, another small village about four leagues to the north of the Deraz ferry.

The swelling of the Urmaq river left a distance of ten paces between the water and the road. The bent grass and debris evidence it had been higher recently. A cluster of about a dozen buildings lined the road. Cheery, yellow light from the larger one near the middle of the town cast long shadows across the road, beckoning weary travellers to enter.

They tethered the di’anth to a post and peered inside from the open door before they entered. A few patrons sat around the fire, mugs in hand. They looked up as the floorboards creaked to see an old man and a half-rrell.

Considering the troubles resulting from the last time they visited an inn, they ordered meals, booked a couple of rooms at the back and kept to themselves. After their meal, they took Argus to a stall around the back, leaving him in the capable care of the stable-hand.

* * *