The Burning Bridge

26

G ILAN WATCHED IMPATIENTLY AS THE COMPANY OF CAVALRYMEN remounted after a fifteen-minute break. He was itching to be away, but he knew that both horses and men needed rest if they were to continue at the killing pace he had set them. They had been traveling for half a day and he estimated that they should meet Will's party sometime in the early afternoon.

Checking that all the troopers were mounted, he turned to the captain beside him.

"All right, Captain," he said. "Let's get them moving."

The captain had actually drawn breath to bellow his command when there was a call from the lead troop.

"Horseman coming!"

An expectant buzz ran through the cavalrymen. Most of them had no idea what their mission was about. They'd been roused out of bed in the early dawn and told to mount and ride. Gilan stood in his stirrups, shading his eyes against the midday glare, and peered in the direction the trooper had indicated.

They hadn't reached the Celtic border yet, and here the terrain was open grasslands, with occasional thickets of trees. To the southwest, Gilan's keen eyes could make out a small cloud of dust, with a galloping figure at the head of it.

"Whoever he is, he's in a hurry," the captain observed. Then the forward scout called more information.

"Three horsemen!" came the shout. But already Gilan could see that the report wasn't quite correct. There were three horses, but only one rider. He experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Should we send out an intercept party, sir?" the captain asked him. In times like these, it wasn't always wise to let a stranger ride full pelt into the middle of a group. But now that the rider was closer, Gilan could recognize him. More to the point, he could recognize the horse he was riding: small, shaggy, barrel-chested. It was Will's horse, Tug. But it wasn't Will riding him.

The lead troop had already fanned out to stop the rider's progress. Gilan said quietly to the captain: "Tell them to let him through."

The captain repeated the order with considerably more volume and the troopers separated, leaving a path for Horace. He saw the small group of officers around the company banner and headed for them, bringing the shaggy little Ranger horse to a halt in front of them. The other horses, which Gilan now recognized as Horace's and the pack pony that Evanlyn had ridden, were following Tug on a lead rope.

"They've got Will!" the boy shouted hoarsely, recognizing Gilan among the group of officers. "They've got Will and Evanlyn!"

Gilan closed his eyes briefly, feeling a lance of pain in his heart. Then, knowing the answer before he asked, he said: "Wargals?"

"Skandians!" he replied. "They took them at the bridge. They:"

Gilan flinched in surprise at the word. Surprise and horror.

"Bridge?" he said urgently. "What bridge?"

Horace was breathing heavily from his exertions. He'd alternated between the three horses, switching from one to the other, but not resting himself at any stage. He paused now to get his breath, realizing he should start from the beginning.

"Across the Fissure," he said. "That's why Morgarath took the Celts. They were building a huge bridge for him to bring his army across. They'd almost gotten it finished when we got there."

The captain beside Gilan had turned pale. "You mean there's a bridge across the Fissure?" he asked. The implications of such a fact were horrendous.

"Not anymore," Horace replied, his breathing steadier and his voice a little more under control now. "Will burned it. Will and Evanlyn. But they stayed on the other side to keep the Skandians back and-"

"Skandians!" said Gilan. "What the devil are Skandians doing on the plateau?" Horace made an impatient gesture at his interruption.

"They were the advance party for a force that's coming up the southern cliffs. The Skandians were going to join forces with the Wargals, cross the bridge and attack the army in the rear."

The group of cavalry officers exchanged looks. Professional soldiers, all of them could imagine how disastrous that could have been for the royal forces.

"As well the bridge is gone then," said a lieutenant. Horace swung his tormented gaze on the officer-a young man barely a few years older than himself.

"But they've got Will!" he cried, his eyes welling with tears as he thought of how he had stood by and watched helplessly as his friend was knocked out, then carried away.

"And the girl," added Gilan, but Horace dismissed her.

"Yes! Of course they got her!" he said. "And I'm sorry she's been caught. But Will was my friend!"

"You're sorry she's been caught? Do you know who:" the captain interrupted indignantly, for he was one of the few who knew the true nature of their task. But Gilan stopped him before he could say more.

"That's enough, Captain!" he said crisply. The officer looked at him angrily and Gilan leaned forward, speaking so that only he could hear.

"The fewer people who know the girl's name now, the better," he said, and understanding dawned in the officer's eyes. If Morgarath knew that his men held the king's daughter hostage, he would have a powerful tool to bargain with. Gilan looked back to Horace. "Horace, is there any way they might be able to repair this bridge?" he asked, and the muscular youth shook his head vehemently. He was devastated at the loss of his friend, but his pride in Will's accomplishment was obvious as he described it.

"No way at all," he replied. "It's gone, well and truly. Will made sure that nothing remained on the far side. That's why he was caught. He wanted to make sure." He paused and added: "They might get a small rope bridge across, of course."

That decided Gilan. He turned to the captain.

"Captain, you'll continue with the company and make sure no bridge of any kind is thrown across the Fissure. We don't want any of Morgarath's forces, no matter how small, coming across. Get Horace to show you the location on a map. Hold the south side of the Fissure until you're relieved, and keep patrols moving either side to locate any other possible crossing points. There won't be many of those," he added. "Horace, you'll come with me and report to the King. Now." He stopped abruptly as he realized that Horace was waiting for a chance to say something. He nodded for the apprentice to go ahead.

"The Skandians," said Horace. "They're not just on the plateau. They're sending a force north of the Thorntree Forest as well."

There was another buzz of comment from the officers as they realized how close their army had come to disaster. Two unexpected forces, attacking from the rear, would have left the King's men very hard-pressed indeed.

"You're sure of this?" Gilan asked, and Horace nodded several times.

"Will overheard them talking about it," he said. "Their forces on the beach and in the fens are a feint. The real attack was always going to come from behind."

"Then we don't have a moment to waste," said Gilan. "That force in the northwest could still be a big problem if the King doesn't know about it." He turned to the company commander. "Captain, you have your orders. Get your men to the Fissure as soon as you can."

The captain saluted briefly and issued a few crisp orders to his officers. They galloped off to their troops and, after a quick conference while Horace pointed out the site of the fallen bridge on a map of the area, the entire company was on the move, heading at a brisk canter for the Fissure.

Gilan turned to Horace. "Let's go," he said simply. Wearily, the young warrior nodded, then turned back to mount his own horse. Tug hesitated, pawing the ground as he watched the cavalry ride away-back toward where he had last seen his master. He trotted a few uncertain paces after the troop, then, at a word from Gilan, he reluctantly fell in behind the tall Ranger.