Part 15 (1/2)
”There's plenty of good firewood here,” he replied. ”If you know where to look for it.”
Evanlyn glanced at him, puzzled, then followed the line of his gaze. The frown on her forehead disappeared and she smiled slowly.
As dusk fell, the Wargals herded their weary, starving slaves back from the bridge and into the tunnel. Will noticed that by the end of the afternoon, the work of enlarging the tunnel seemed to have been completed. They waited an hour longer, until full darkness. During that time, there had been no sign of any activity from the tunnel. Now that they knew to look for it, they could see the loom of the firelight from the valley at the other end of the tunnel, reflecting on the low, scudding clouds.
”I hope it doesn't rain,” said Horace suddenly. ”That'd ruin our idea all right.”
Will stopped in his tracks and looked up at him quickly. That unpleasant thought hadn't occurred to him. ”It isn't going to rain,” he said firmly, and hoped he was right. He continued on then, leading Tug gently to the unfinished end of the bridge. The little horse stopped there, ears p.r.i.c.ked and nostrils twitching to the scents of the night air.
”Alert,” said Will softly to the horse, the command word that told him to give warning if he sensed approaching danger. Tug tossed his head once, signifying that he understood. Then Will led the way across the uncompleted section of the bridge, stepping lightly as he crossed the narrow beams above the dizzying drop. Horace and Evanlyn followed, more carefully, with Horace heaving a sigh of relief when they reached the point where the planking began. He noted that compared to the previous night, there was much shorter distance to traverse before reaching the completed section. He realized that Will was right. Another day would see the bridge finished and ready for use.
Will unslung his bow and quiver and laid them on the planking. Then he drew his saxe knife from its scabbard and, dropping to his knees, began to pry up one of the nearest planks from the bridge walkway. The wood was soft pine, roughly sawn, and perfect firewood. Horace drew his dagger and began prying up the planks in the next row. As they loosened them, Evanlyn moved them to one side, stacking them in a pile. When she had six planks, each over a meter long, she gathered them up and ran lightly to the far side of the bridge, stacking them on the far bank of the Fissure, close to where the ma.s.sive, tarred cables were fastened to wooden pylons. By the time she returned, Will and Horace were well on the way to removing another six. These she took to the other cable. Will had explained his plan to them earlier in the day. To make sure there was no remaining structure on the far side, they would need to burn through both cables and pylons at that end, letting the bridge fall into the depths of the Fissure. The Wargals might be able to span the Fissure with a small, temporary rope affair, but nothing substantial enough to permit large numbers of troops to cross in a short time.
Once they had burned the bridge, they would ride full speed to alert the King's army to the threat in the south. Any small numbers of Wargals who might cross the Fissure could then be easily dealt with by the kingdom's troops.
The two boys continued levering the planks free and setting them to one side for Evanlyn. In her turn, she maintained her constant ferrying back and forth across the bridge, until the stacks by each pylon were piled high. In spite of the cold night, both boys were sweating freely with the effort. Finally, Evanlyn laid a hand on Will's shoulder as he pried up one board and began immediately on another.
”I think it's enough,” she said simply and he stopped, rocking back on his heels and wiping his forehead with the back of his left hand. She gestured toward the other end of the bridge, where there were at least twenty planks piled up on either side of the road. He eased the cramps out of his neck, rolling his head from side to side, then stood up.
”You're right,” he told her. ”That should be enough to get the rest of it burning.”
Gesturing for the others to follow, he picked up his bow and quiver and led the way to the far side of the bridge. He looked critically at the two piles of wood for a moment or two.
”We'll need kindling,” he said, glancing around to see if there were any small trees or bushes in the vicinity where they might find light wood to help them start their fire. Of course, there were none. Horace held out his hand for Will's saxe knife.
”Lend me that for a moment,” he asked, and Will handed it to him. Horace tested the balance of the heavy knife for a moment. Then, taking one of the long planks, Horace stood it on end and, in a bewilderingly fast series of flas.h.i.+ng strokes, sliced it into a dozen thin lengths.
”It's not quite sword practice.” He grinned at them. ”But it's close enough.”
As Will and Evanlyn began forming the thin pine strips into two small pyres, Horace took another plank and whittled more carefully, carving off thin curls from the pine to catch the first sparks from the flint and steel they would use to light the fire. Will glanced once to see what Evanlyn was doing. Satisfied that she knew what she was about, he turned back to his own task, accepting the shaved pine from Horace as the other boy pa.s.sed it to him in handfuls and stacking it around the base of the kindling.
As Will moved across to Evanlyn's side to do the same with her pyre, Horace split a few more planks in halves, then snapped the thinner lengths in two. Will looked up nervously at the noise.
”Keep it down,” he warned the apprentice warrior. ”Those Wargals aren't exactly deaf, you know, and the sound might carry through the tunnel.”
Horace shrugged. ”I'm finished now anyway,” he said.
Will paused and studied both pyres. Satisfied that they had the right combination of kindling and light wood to get them going, he motioned the others to cross back to the other side.
”You two get going,” he told them. ”I'll start the fires and follow you.”
Horace needed no second invitation. He didn't want to have to run across the bare beams of the bridge with the fire licking around the cables behind him. He wanted plenty of time to negotiate the gap. Evanlyn hesitated for a moment, then saw the sense in what Will had said.
They crossed carefully, trying not to look down into the agonizing depths below the bridge as they negotiated the last ten meters. There was a wider gap now, of course, as they'd removed some of the boards that formed the road surface. Safe on the other side, they turned and waved to Will. They saw him, a crouched, indistinct figure in the shadows beside the right-hand bridge support. There was a bright flash as he struck his flint and steel together. Then another. And this time, a small yellow glow of light formed at the base of the piled wood as the pine shavings caught fire and the flame grew.
Will blew on it gently and watched the eager little yellow tongues spread out, licking at the rough pine, feeding on the flammable resin that filled the grain of the wood and growing larger and more voracious by the second. He saw the first of the thin stakes take fire, then the flames shot up, licking greedily around the rope bal.u.s.trade of the bridge and beginning to reach for the heavy cable. The tar began sizzling. Drops melted and fell into the flames, flaring up with a bright blue flash each time.
Satisfied that the first fire was well under way, Will ran to the opposite side and went to work with his flint and steel once more. Again, the watchers saw the bright flashes, then the small, rapidly growing pool of yellow.
Will, now silhouetted clearly by the light of the two fires, stood erect and stepped back, watching to make sure that they were both properly alight. Already, the right-hand pylon and cable were beginning to smoke in the heat of the fire. Satisfied at last, Will gathered his bow and quiver and ran back across the bridge, barely slowing when he reached the narrow beams.
Reaching their side, he turned to look back at his handiwork. The right-hand cable was now blazing fiercely. A sudden gust of wind sent a shower of sparks high into the air above it. The left-hand fire didn't seem to be burning nearly as well. Perhaps it was a trick or an eddy of the wind that stopped the flames from reaching the tarsoaked rope on that side. Perhaps the wood they had used was damp. But as they watched, the fire beneath the left-hand cable slowly died away to a red glow of embers.
24.
GILAN DROPPED HIS EYES FROM THE TORTURED GAZE OF HIS King. Everyone in the tent could see the pain there as Duncan realized that his daughter had been killed by Morgarath's Wargals. Gilan looked around at the other men, seeking some form of support from them. None of them, he saw, could bring themselves to meet their monarch's eyes.
Duncan rose from the chair and walked to the doorway of the tent, looking to the southwest as if he could somehow see his daughter across the distance.
”Ca.s.sandra left to visit Celtica eight weeks ago,” he said. ”She's a good friend of Princess Madelydd. When all this business with Morgarath started, I thought she'd be safe there. I saw no reason to bring her back.” He turned away from the door and his gaze held Gilan's. ”Tell me. Tell me everything you know...”
”My lord...” Gilan stopped, gathering his thoughts. He knew he had to tell the King as much as possible. But he also wanted to avoid causing him unnecessary pain. ”The girl saw us and came to us. She recognized Will and myself as Rangers. Apparently, she had managed to escape when the Wargals attacked their party. She said the others were...”
He hesitated. He couldn't go on.
”Continue,” Duncan said. His voice was firm. He was in control once more.
”She said the Wargals had killed them, my lord. All of them,” Gilan finished in a rush. Somehow, he felt it might be easier if he said it quickly. ”She didn't tell us details. She wasn't up to it. She was exhausted-mentally and physically.”
Duncan nodded. ”Poor girl. It must have been a terrible thing to witness. She's a good servant-more of a friend to Ca.s.sandra, in fact,” he added softly.
Gilan felt the need to keep talking to the King, to give the King whatever detail he could about the loss of his daughter. ”At first, we almost mistook her for a boy,” he said, remembering the moment when Evanlyn had walked into their camp. Duncan looked up, confusion on his face.
”A boy?” he said. ”With that ma.s.s of red hair?”
Gilan shrugged. ”She'd cut it short. Probably to conceal her appearance. The Celtic foothills are full of bandits and robbers at the moment, as well as Wargals.”
Something was wrong, he sensed. He was bone-weary, aching for sleep, and his brain wasn't functioning as it should. But the King had said something that wasn't right. Something that...
He shook his head, trying to clear it, and swayed on his feet, glad of Halt's ready arm to steady him. Seeing the movement, Duncan was instantly apologetic.
”Ranger Gilan,” he said, stepping forward and seizing his hand. ”Forgive me. You're exhausted and I've kept you here because of my own personal sorrow. Please, Halt, see that Gilan has food and rest.”
”Blaze...” Gilan started to say, remembering his dust-covered, weary horse outside the tent. Halt replied gently.
”It's all right. I'll look after Blaze.” He glanced at the King once more, nodding his head toward Gilan. ”With Your Majesty's permission?”
Duncan waved the two of them out. ”Yes, please, Halt. Look after your comrade. He's served us well.”
As the two Rangers left the tent, Duncan turned to his remaining advisers. ”Now, gentlemen, let's see if we can put some reason to this latest move by Morgarath.”