1 #3

Kaoran led Bruma toward a fern-covered cleft. The bridge appeared beyond it: two thick ropes stretched across a sixty-five-foot gap, spaced planks, and a third line at chest height. The torrent below ran white, battering the pillars.

The Brotherhood’s repairs looked recent. They also looked like the work of people with excessive faith in knots.

Kaoran tested the first plank.

“Bruma crosses alone.”

“And me?”

“With me.”

Isolde looked at the drop.

“I’d rather take the horse.”

“Bruma would rather go without you too. For once, we have agreement.”

He lowered her and tied her to his back again. Then he covered the mare’s eyes with a strip of cloth and passed the reins through a loose loop around the side rope.

“Walk,” he told her.

Bruma set one hoof on the first plank. The bridge swayed. The animal backed up and nearly threw Kaoran over the edge.

“She’s decided to stay,” Isolde said against his shoulder.

“I respect many choices. This one is open to discussion.”

Kaoran led the mare forward again. This time Bruma moved in short steps. The bridge creaked beneath her weight. Kaoran waited until she had passed the middle before stepping onto it.

The rope sagged.

The river ran beneath them, swift and full of branches. Isolde breathed against Kaoran’s neck. Each sway pressed on the wound.

“Look at the wall,” he said.

“I’m looking at the knots.”

“A worse choice.”

“The third one is fraying.”

Kaoran moved to within a few planks of Bruma’s hindquarters and followed Isolde’s gaze. A join in the side rope had lost several turns. With the mare near the far end, the strain on the knot was increasing.

“When she reaches the rock, pull the rein,” he said.

“My left hand won’t work.”

“Use the right.”

Kaoran freed Isolde’s hand from the rope holding her and placed her fingers on the rein. She gripped it. Bruma reached the platform, but the blindfold caught on a jutting rock. The mare shook her head.

The side knot began to come apart.

“Pull now.”

Isolde obeyed. Bruma took the last step off the bridge. The cloth stayed behind.

Kaoran moved forward.

The scouts appeared among the ferns on the opposite bank.

There were three. The first carried a bow. The second raised a blue stone. The third saw Isolde on Kaoran’s back and shouted toward the woods.

“She’s alive!”

The arrow flew.

Isolde saw it before Kaoran did.

She tugged at his shoulder. He turned, and the point cut through his sleeve instead of entering his back. The movement set the bridge swaying. A plank came loose and disappeared into the torrent.

“Keep going,” she said.

Kaoran moved toward the last planks. The blue stone sent a line across the main rope. Cold coated the fibers and began to stiffen them.

The soldier wanted to keep the bridge intact long enough to cross. Kaoran knew that choice: pursue first, seal the route afterward.

“The join beside your hand,” he told Isolde. “Can you heat it?”

She saw the rope anchoring the bridge to the western platform.

“It’ll fall.”

“Once we’re off.”

“They’re still on it.”

“They’re still on the bank.”

Kaoran took two steps. The bridge tilted. Isolde extended her right hand. An ember appeared in her palm and touched the rope without setting it alight. Heat slowly entered the fibers.

“Closer to the anchor,” Kaoran said.

“I see it.”

He jumped the last plank and landed on his knees on the platform. Isolde’s wound struck his shoulder. She lost her concentration, and the ember opened into a flame.

The rope caught fire.

The first scout stepped onto the bridge. Kaoran untied Isolde, left her beside Bruma, and drew his knife.

“Back!” he shouted at the man.

The soldier kept coming.

Kaoran cut the last fibers.

The bridge tore free of its western anchor and swung toward the opposite wall. The scout flung himself toward his bank and managed to catch a root. The planks struck the rock. No one fell into the river.

The route was closed.

Isolde looked at the flame still eating the end of the rope.

“You could have killed him.”

“I could have left him hanging too, so his companions would have something to do.”

“You’ve lost the bridge.”

“The Brotherhood will charge me for a rope.”

“And the way back.”

Kaoran smothered the fire with earth.

“Roads can take new directions.”

Isolde watched the soldiers helping the scout. He had made it necessary to cut off a route without turning their pursuer into a corpse. The choice seemed to bewilder her.

“In Caleryon they would have defended the bridge,” she said.

“Caleryon has plenty of men who give opinions about bridges from dry rooms.”

After a protest, Bruma allowed them to mount. Kaoran secured Isolde in front of him and set off again.

The effort of the flame had raised her fever. She shivered despite the blankets. A while later she rested her head against Kaoran’s chest.

“I saw Rheskan,” she murmured.

“Where?”

“Inside.”

Isolde described red rock, a narrow sky, and a claw pushing a stone aside. She paused between images to catch her breath. Kaoran searched the peaks for movement; from the road he could see only branches. She insisted she recognized Rheskan’s impatience, though she had no direction to follow.

“He wants to look for me,” she said.

“He knows how to hide too.”

“He never has.”

“He’ll learn if the alternative involves blue crossbows.”

Isolde fell silent. Her right hand made a small movement, as if stroking scales that were not there.

“He won’t come,” she said.

Kaoran waited.

“I asked him to live with a choice he hated. He will.”

The answer held pain and respect. Kaoran remembered Thalyon bowing his neck before the last flight. He set that memory aside before it could decide the present for him.

“Then you both have work to do,” he said.

The forest began to descend. Behind them lay the broken bridge, three living pursuers, and one fewer route to Cendral. Ahead, Nydel waited beside the smoke of its chimneys.

The trail climbed west between pines and pillars of stone. Kaoran avoided the routes the merchants used. At every change in the terrain, he checked the bandage. The bleeding eased, though her body kept growing hotter.

Isolde stayed awake for the first hour. She watched the marks on the trees, the outlines of the mountains, and any smoke in the distance. She assessed the paths as she shivered inside the blankets.

“Did you serve my mother?” she asked.

“I helped her once.”

“Where is she?”

“West of the Scar, judging by the echo I saw in Cendral.”

“She’s alive.”

“It looks that way.”

“Darian said that…”

Isolde stopped. Kaoran waited for the rest. She chose to keep it to herself.