The Burning Bridge

25

G ILAN SLEPT LIKE A LOG FOR SIX HOURS, TOTALLY EXHAUSTED, in the tent where Halt had taken him. Throughout that time, he didn't stir once. His mind and body were shut down, drawing new strength from total rest.

Then, after those six hours, his subconscious mind stirred and began to function, and he began to dream. He dreamt of Will and Horace and the girl Evanlyn. But the dream was wild and confused and he saw them as captives of the Wargals, tied together while the two robbers Bart and Carney stood by and laughed.

Gilan rolled onto one side, muttering in his sleep. Halt, sitting nearby repairing the fletching on his arrows, glanced up. He saw that the young Ranger was still asleep and went back to his routine task. Gilan muttered again, then fell silent.

In his dream, he saw the servant Evanlyn as the King had described her-with her hair long and uncropped, masses of it flowing down her back, thick and lustrous and red.

And then he sat up, wide-awake.

"My God!" he said to a startled Halt. "It's not her!"

Halt swore as he spilled the thick, viscous glue that he was using to attach the goose feather vanes to the arrow shaft. Gilan's sudden movement had caught him by surprise. Now he mopped up the sticky liquid and turned with some irritation to his friend.

"Could you give a bit of warning when you're going to start shouting like that?" he said peevishly. But Gilan was already out of the camp bed and hauling on his breeches and shirt.

"I've got to see the King!" he said urgently. Halt stood warily, not altogether sure that Gilan wasn't sleepwalking. The young Ranger shoved past him, dashing out into the night, and tucking his shirt into his trousers as he went. Reluctantly, Halt followed him.

There was a slight delay as they reached the King's pavilion. The guard had changed several hours before and the new sentries didn't know Gilan by sight. Halt smoothed things over, but not before Gilan had convinced him that it was vital for him to see King Duncan, even if it meant waking him from a well-deserved sleep.

As it turned out, in spite of the late hour, the King wasn't sleeping. He and his supreme army commander were discussing possible reasons for the raids into Celtica when Gilan, barefoot, rumple-haired and with several buttons still askew on his shirtfront, was allowed into the pavilion. Sir David looked up in alarm at the sight his son presented.

"Gilan! What on earth are you doing here?" he demanded, but Gilan held up a hand to stop him.

"Just a moment, Father," he said. Then, he continued, facing the King, "Sir, when you described the maid Evanlyn earlier, did you say 'red' hair?"

Sir David looked to Halt for an explanation. The older Ranger shrugged and Sir David turned back to his son, anger clearly showing on his face.

"What difference does that make?" he began. But again Gilan cut him off, still addressing the King.

"The girl who called herself Evanlyn was blond, sir," he said simply. This time, it was King Duncan who held out a hand to silence his angry Battlemaster.

"Blond?" he asked.

"Blond, sir. She'd cut it short, as I said, but it was blond, like your own. And she had green eyes," Gilan told him, watching Duncan carefully, and sensing the importance of what he was telling him. The King hesitated a moment, covering his face with one hand. Then he spoke, the hope growing in his voice.

"And her build? Slight, was she? Small of stature?"

Gilan nodded eagerly. "As I said, sir, for a moment, we could have taken her for a boy. She must have used her maid's identity because she thought it was safer if she remained incognito." Now he understood those slight hesitations in Evanlyn's speech, and why she had a broader grasp of politics and strategy than most servants would be expected to have.

Slowly, Halt and Sir David began to realize the import of what was being said. The King looked from Gilan to Halt to David, then back to Gilan again.

"My daughter is alive," he said quietly. There was a long silence. It was finally broken by Sir David.

"Gilan, how far behind you were the two apprentices and the girl?"

Gilan hesitated. "Possibly two days' ride, Father," he estimated, following his father to the map table and indicating the farthest point that he thought Will and the others might have reached by now. Sir David took instant charge, sending messengers running to rouse the commander of the cavalry wing and have him prepare a company of light cavalry to leave camp immediately.

"We'll send a company of the Fifth Lancers to bring them in, sir," he told the King. "If they leave within the hour and ride through the night, they should make contact sometime around noon tomorrow."

"I'll guide them," Gilan offered immediately, and his father nodded assent.

"I'd hoped you'd say that." He seized the King's arm, smiling with genuine pleasure at the relief on the tall man's face. "I can't tell you how pleased I am for you, sir," he said. The King looked at him, a little bemused. So recently, he had been privately mourning the loss of his beloved daughter Cassandra. Now, miraculously, she had been restored to life.

"My daughter is safe," he said, almost to himself.

Evanlyn crouched over the pile of wood beside the bridge railing. From time to time, she heard the dull thrum of Will's bow as he fired at the approaching enemy, but she forced herself not to look up, concentrating on the job in hand. She knew they had one last chance to get the fire going properly. If she got it wrong this time, it would mean disaster for the kingdom. So she carefully stacked and placed the wood, making sure there was sufficient air space between the pieces to allow a good draft. She had none of the shavings left to use for tinder this time, but only a few meters away, she had a perfect source of fire. The right-hand cable was still blazing fiercely.

Satisfied that the wood was stacked properly, she took Will's saxe and cut several one-meter lengths of tarred rope from the bridge railing-thinner lengths, not the massive cable itself. It would have been almost impossible to hack through that in time.

Taking the rope lengths, she came to her feet and darted across the bridge to the blazing fire on the other side. It was a simple matter to get the lengths of tarred rope burning, then she ran back to her fire pile and draped the burning rope around the base, trailing it through the gaps she had left in the wood. The flames licked at her fingers as she pushed the rope in between pieces of wood. She bit her lip, ignoring the pain as she made sure the fire was burning freely.

The tar-fed flames crackled at the wood, flickered, then took. She fanned them for a few seconds as they became established, until the lighter kindling strips were burning fiercely, then the heavier planks began to take fire as well. The handrail caught in several places and now tongues of flame were shooting up to the cable, beginning to lick at it, feeding on the tar, then running up to where it joined the wooden pylon structure.

Only now did she take the time to glance up at Will. Her eyes were dazzled by the fire and she could see him only as a dull blur, five meters away, behind a rock outcrop.

As she looked, he rose to a standing position and fired an arrow. She looked into the surrounding darkness but could see no sign of their attackers.

The bridge gave another convulsive jerk beneath her feet and the roadway tilted to an alarming degree as the second of the three strands of the right-hand cable burned through and the structure sagged farther to that side. They wouldn't have much time to get back across to where Horace and Tug waited. She had to warn Will.

Saxe knife in hand, she ran full pelt to where he crouched behind the rocks, his eyes searching the darkness for movement. He glanced quickly at her as she arrived.

"The other side's burning," she said. "Let's get out of here."

Grimly, he shook his head, then pointed with his chin to a jumble of rocks barely thirty meters from where they crouched.

"Can't risk it," he told her. "One of them has got behind those rocks. If we go now, he might have time to save the bridge."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a quick, darting movement to their left and pointed quickly.

"There's one!" she said. Will nodded.

"I see him," he replied evenly. "He's trying to draw my fire. As soon as I shoot at him, the one closer to us will have a chance. I have to wait for him to show himself before I can shoot."

She looked at him, horrified, as she realized the significance of what he was saying. "But that means the others can close in on us," she said. This time, Will said nothing. The incipient panic he had felt was now replaced by a calm sense of resolution. Deep in his heart, a part of him was glad-glad that he hadn't failed Halt and glad that he had repaid the faith that the older Ranger had placed in him when he chose him as an apprentice.

He glanced at Evanlyn for a long moment and she realized he was willing to be captured if it kept the enemy away from the bridge just a few minutes longer.

Captured or killed, she amended.

Behind them, there was a groaning crash and she turned to see the first cable finally give way in a shower of flame and sparks. It took the burned-through upper half of its pylon with it. That was the result they had wanted. They had discussed the idea of simply cutting the main cables, but that would have left the major structure of the bridge untouched. The pylons themselves had to be destroyed. Now the entire bridge was hanging, suspended by the left-hand cable, and flames were already eating their way through that. In a few more minutes, she knew, the bridge would be gone. The Fissure would be impassable once more.

Will tried to give her a reassuring smile. It wasn't a very successful attempt. "You can't do much more here," he told her. "Get across the bridge while you've still got time."

She hesitated, desperately wanting to go but unwilling to leave him on his own. He was only a boy, she realized, but he was willing to sacrifice himself for her and the rest of the kingdom.

"Go!" he said, turning to her and shoving at her. And now she thought she could see the glitter of tears in his eyes. Her own eyes filled and she couldn't see him clearly. She blinked to clear her vision, just in time to see a jagged rock curving down out of the firelit night.

"Will!" she shouted, but she was too late. The rock took him in the side of the head and he grunted in surprise, then his eyes rolled up and he fell at her feet, dark blood already welling from his scalp. She heard a rush of feet from several directions and she tossed the saxe knife aside and scrabbled in the dirt for Will's bow. Then she found it and was trying to nock an arrow when rough hands grabbed her, knocking the bow from her grasp and pinning her arms to her sides. The Skandian held her in a bear hug, her face pressed into the rough sheepskin of his vest, smelling of grease and smoke and sweat and all but suffocating her. She kicked out, lashing with her feet and tossing her head, trying to butt the man who was holding her, but to no avail.

Beside her, Will lay unmoving in the dust. She began to sob in frustration and anger and sadness and she heard the Skandians laughing. Then another sound came and they stopped. The arms holding her released a little and she was able to see.

It was a drawn-out, creaking groan and it came from the bridge. The right-hand support was gone, and the left-hand side, already weakened by the fire, was now holding the entire structure. It was never meant for such a load, even in perfect condition. With a final sharp SNAP! the pylon shattered at its halfway point and, cables and all, the bridge collapsed slowly into the depths of the Fissure, trailing a bright shower of sparks behind it in the darkness.