Part 7 (2/2)

Amnir laughed. ”I'd not be the one to stop them.”

Stark looked across at Gerrith. ”What does the wise woman say?”

”That we should do what the Dark Man thinks best.”

”Well,” said Stark, ”if it's true that we can go our own way if we choose to later on-”

”Of course. Of course!”

”Then I think we ought to go with Amnir in the morning.”

They struck hands on it. They drank more khamm. They arranged final details, and the two men left. Stark gathered his maps and led his party upstairs. They crowded into one of the small rooms.

”Now what does the wise woman say?” asked Stark.

”That Amnir of Komrey means us no good.”

”It needs no wise woman to see that,” said Halk. ”The man smells of treachery. Yet the Dark Man has agreed to go with him.”

”The Dark Man is not above telling lies when he thinks they're called for.” Stark looked round at them. ”We'll not wait for the fourth hour. As soon as the inn is quiet, we go. You can do your sleeping in the saddle.”

In the star-blazing midnight, they rode out of Izvand. The cold ribbon of road stretched north toward the darklands, and they had it all to themselves. They made the most of it. Halk seemed to be consumed with a pa.s.sion for haste, and Stark was in no mood to dispute him. He, too, wanted to leave Amnir as far behind as possible.

The land had begun its long slope upward to the ice-locked ranges of the north, and from the higher places Stark could keep a watchful eye on the backtrail. He could also sniff the wind and listen to the silence and feel the vast secret land that encircled him.

It was not a good land. The primitive in him sensed evil there like a sickness. It wanted to turn tail and go s.h.i.+vering and howling back to the smoky warmth of Izvand and the safety of walls. The reasoning man in him agreed, but kept moving forward nevertheless.

Clouds hid the Three Ladies. Snow began falling. Stark disliked the inability to see clearly; anything might come upon them out of those pale drifting clouds. The party rode more slowly, keeping close together.

They came upon an inn, crouched over a crossroads. It had a tall roof like a wizard's hat, and one slitted yellow eye. Stark considered stopping there and instantly decided against it. By common consent they left the road and made a wide circle round the inn, walking the beasts carefully so as to make no sound.

Daylight was slow in coming, and when Old Sun did show himself at last it was only as a smear of ginger-colored light behind a blur of snowflakes.

It was in that strange bra.s.sy glow that they came to the bridge.

12.

The bridge, the rocky gorge it spanned, and the village that existed solely to administer to and extort for the bridge, were clearly marked on all the maps. There was apparently no way around that did not take at least a week, even without snow, and the toll seemed reasonable. Stark loosened his sword in its scabbard and dug some coins from the leather bag that hung about his neck underneath the bulky furs. The Irnanese checked their own weapons.

In close order, they trotted themselves and their pack animals toward the toll-house, a squat blocky structure commanding the southern end of the bridge. An identical structure was at the northern end. Each building contained a winch that raised or lowered a portion of the bridge floor, so that no one could force his way through without paying. You might take one toll-house but never both, and a part of the bridge would always be unreachably open. The drop below it was unpleasant, several hundred feet down past jagged boulders rimed with snow and frozen spray to a vicious little river that drained some glacier slope higher up. The village was built on the southern side, against the face of a low cliff, strongly fortified. Stark guessed that the convenience of the bridge outweighed the nuisance factor, and so generations of merchants had let it survive.

Three men came out of the building. Short, broad and ugly troll-like men, with many furs and too-wide smiles. They smelled.

”How much?” asked Stark.

”For how large a party?” Small eyes probed the snowfall behind them. ”How many beasts? How many wagons? The bridge floor suffers. Lumber Is costly. Planks must be replaced. This is heavy labor, and our children starve to pay for the wood.”

”No wagons,” said Stark. ”A dozen beasts. What you see.”

Three faces stared in disbelief. ”Six persons, traveling alone?”

Again Stark asked, ”How much?”

”Ah. Um,” said the chief of the three men, suddenly animated. ”For so small a party, a small price.” He named it. Stark leaned down and counted the coins into his grimy palm. It seemed, indeed, too small a price. The men departed chattering into the toll-house. They had some way of signaling to the other side of the gorge, and presently both sections of the bridge went creaking down into position.

Stark and the Irnanese rode onto the bridge.

The signaling was very effective, because before they could reach the other side the northern section of the bridge shot upward again, leaving a large cold gap to death.

”All right, then,” said Stark wearily, ”we fight.”

They turned, with the intention of bolting back off the bridge, but a flight of arrows came from slits in the toll-house wall and thumped into the planking in front of them.

”Stand where you are!” a voice shouted. ”Lay down your weapons.”

A whole band of trolls, furred and armed, came waddling at speed from the village. Stark looked at the nasty little slits in the wall, where more arrow-tips were visible. ”I think we're fairly caught,” he said. ”Shall we live a little longer, or die now?”

”Live,” said Gerrith.

They laid their weapons down and stood where they were. The villagers swarmed onto the bridge and took them, dragging them out of the saddle, pus.h.i.+ng, pummelling, laughing. The beasts were led off and tethered to a rack by the toll-house. The bridge-keeper and his friends came out ”Six persons traveling alone!” said the bridge-keeper, and lifted his hands to the bra.s.sy glow in the south. ”Old Sun, we thank you for sending us fools.” He turned and pawed at Stark's garments, searching for the purse.

Stark resisted a strong impulse to tear the man's throat out with his teeth. Halk, who was being similarly handled, got his hands free and fought. He was immediately clubbed down.

”Don't damage him,” said the bridge-keeper. ”All that muscle is worth its weight in iron.” He found the purse and slashed the thong that held it, then prodded at Stark's chest with his dirty fingers. ”This one, too-all strong big men, the four of them. Good, good! And the women-” He cackled, skipping on his thick feet. ”Maybe we'll keep them here for a while, eh? Until we're tired, eh? Look at them, lads, and their d.a.m.ned long legs-”

Gerrith said, ”I was wrong. It would have been better to die.”

And Stark answered, ”Listen.”

It was difficult to hear anything over the chattering of the villagers, and her ears were not as keen as his. But as the sounds swept nearer she heard, and then everybody heard; the rush of hoofbeats, the jingle of harness, the clash of arms. Riders appeared out of the falling snow. They came in strength, they came like the wind, their lances were sharp, and Amnir of Komrey was at their head.

The villagers turned and ran.

”Oh, no,” said Amnir, and the riders herded them back, jabbing them painfully so that they leapt and screamed. The bridge-keeper stood stock still with Stark's purse in his hand.

”You have broken the covenant,” Amnir said. ”The covenant by which we let you live, which is that once a man has paid fair toll for his pa.s.sage across your bridge, he shall pa.s.s without let or hindrance.”

”But,” said the bridge-keeper, ”six persons alone-such fools are doomed in any case. Could I spurn the gift of Old Sun? It is seldom enough that he sends us one.”

Amnir's hard eyes looked down upon him. Amnir's lance-tip p.r.i.c.ked his throat. ”That which is in your hand. Does it belong to you?”

The man shook his head. He let the purse drop with a small heavy clink at his feet.

”What shall I do,” asked Amnir, ”with you and your people?”

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