Beyond the Bridge

by C D Beaudin

  She looks into his eyes, summoning all her bravery. “I will not converse with the likes of you,” she spits.

  “Looks to me like you are.” A devilish smirk appears on his white face. “Now, tell me. How on earth did Rokal manage to bring me the Princess of Rohidia?”

  Brega’s lips tighten. “Why on earth would I tell you?”

  Karak chuckles, walking over to a table. When he turns, Brega’s eyes grow wide at the gleam of a knife. “Because I’ll kill you if you don’t.” His smile disappears. He puts the blade to her throat. “Now, how did he capture you?”

  Brega sighs, knowing she has nothing to lose by telling him. “I was out riding in Cannan, and was thrown from my horse by a man known as the Plainsman. He sold me to that ugly little dwarf.”

  “No need to be rude.” Karak’s smile returns.

  Brega rolls her eyes. “I was knocked unconscious, then dragged behind a horse for a week and half.” She looks into his eyes. “I counted.”

  Karak smiles, satisfied. “Well, you will be home by the end of the month. In the meantime, let’s have some fun.” He comes in for a kiss, only to gain a knee in the stomach. He doubles over, coughing. When he can stand, he looks down at her.

  “That was a bad idea,” he says, sounding like he has the devil in him.

  Brega swallows.

  Karak slashes the ropes, tying her wrists, grabs her legs, and drags her out of the room, sending a scream from Brega’s lips. “Stop! I order you to stop!”

  “I don’t take orders from you, Princess.” In the main room, Karak opens a round, heavy metal door, shoving her into a dark, cramped pit.

  “You’ll regret this, Karak!”

  He just smiles. “Sweet dreams, Princess.” He mockingly waves, shutting the door and locking it.

  Brega bangs on the door, but it doesn’t budge. Her breathing becomes frantic as she realizes what has happened.

  I’m trapped. I’m going to die.

  Brega bangs on the door. Her hands are sore from hours of trying to get free. Her eyes have adjusted to the darkness, but all she can feel is the hole she’s in, barely two of her across and one of her deep. And it’s hot. So hot. That’s not comfortable for one raised in the north, where it’s winter eight months of the year.

  Another bang sends Brega gasping, and she clutches her hand, feeling blood trail from a cut she has given herself. Infuriated by this, she screams, “Let me out, Karak! Let me out and I won’t tell my father to cut your head off and put it on a spike for all of Rohea to see!” She hears footsteps, and hope stutters in her heart.

  “Such bravery. And yet, such stupidity,” Karak’s voice taunts through the thick metal trap door above Brega. “I was going to give you food, but now I think I’ll let you starve.” His voice becomes quieter as he walks away from the cell. “Hope you like your accommodations. The maid prepared it specially for, Your Highness.”

  Brega slams her palm on the door, and Karak laughs evilly, leaving her alone in the darkness. She sniffles, tears falling down her cheeks.

  I’m alone. This is all because of her.

  The next morning, Aradon looks out onto a field of calm, still snow. The sky above is gray, but not a single flurry of snow or gust of wind is in the air. The plains are beautiful this morning, and an eagle peals above, the call high-pitched. It soars high, its wings skimming the air.

  A sudden gust of wind sends Aradon’s hair blowing, and he breathes in the cold air. Turning back into the cave, he grabs the whistle Kaniel gave him. At the edge of the alcove, he blows the wooden pipe. A neighing in the distance and four Everbreeds come galloping up the hill toward him.

  “You come from Thasoe.” Aradon pets the gray muzzle of the white horse. “Your call of duty is honorable.”

  “Aradon?”

  He turns as Awyn wakes from her sleep. She stands, walking over to him, and gently touches the black horse under the muzzle, stroking his face. “Do you still have Kaniel’s whistle?”

  “I didn’t think to use it until now, but we seem to be in need of them.” Aradon shows her the pipe, and Awyn sighs.

  “I wish Kaniel was here,” she says. “Maybe he’ll meet us in Tanea.”

  Aradon gives her a halfhearted smile. “Perhaps.”

  They ride along the snow-laden plains. The sky gray and weather dismal, but the blizzard has ended. Atop his horse, Eldowyn asks the wizard, “Master Dreema, how long will it take to travel to the Tanea?”

  “We are avoiding the roads. We will be going through Nomarah, and Eron, a country not part of the Treaty of the Five Kingdoms. It will be dangerous, and with Revera watching our every move, we must be discreet.”

  “Eron. I haven’t been there since I was just a little elf,” Eldowyn says, seeming caught in a memory.

  Awyn and Aradon ride in silence on the plains covered in freshly fallen snow. Aradon knows how many dangers reside in Nomarah with so many rogue Red Warriors living there. Not to mention the countless renegades and criminals that hide among the forests and countryside. And the worst of them all…the Plainsman.

  Aradon had a run in with him a few years back. He was strong, fast, clever, and charming. The ladies melted in his presence, and the men cowered. But he was a killer, a thief, and an outlaw. He thought the law was a rule set to hold men back from their true potential. At least, that’s what Aradon read on him. He’d never had an actual conversation with the guy.

  Of course, he could just be plain rebellious.

  No one knows him. His name was known to no one. He himself was a no one. And yet he had caused so much heartache and damage. Of course, Aradon has caused just as much, maybe more. Only he has a throne to worry about.

  “Aradon, do you hunt?”

  He turns his head toward the wizard. “What?”

  “Do you hunt? We are all getting hungry, and the horses need to rest.”

  “Um, yes.” He dismounts, grabbing his bow. “I’ll be back.” He runs through the snow, leaving the others to tie up the horses and hopefully start a fire.

  The forest is white, the branches bare. It’s not deep, but it’s wet and slushy. The snow crunches under his boots, and wind wisps through his hair. He hears a scuttle in the almost-bare bushes. Turning, he lets an arrow fly, it pierces a rabbit, a sharp squeal leaves its twitching muzzle before it falls to the ground, blood staining the snow. He picks it up, tying a rope around its legs, and hoists it over his shoulder.

  On his way back to the camp, he looks up at a bare tree, with its many thick branches. Aradon ties the rabbit to one of the branches and starts climbing. At the top of the tree, he looks over the forest. He can see the mountains that border Nomarah. Now, at this moment, he can imagine seeing all of his country. The ruins of the former capital Erendeth, Olway, and the forest where his family lived.

  His family.

  We’re close. Maybe half a day more, and we’ll be in Nomarah. I’ll be home.

  Back at the camp, a fire glows nicely, sending out welcome warmth. Aradon dozes for a while, and when he wakes, Eldowyn turns a spit, the rabbit cooking and sizzling. Aradon rouses himself, and the fire snaps as he adds more kindling. Dreema leans against a tree, his eyes are closed, and a gentle snoring comes from within him. A clay pipe is between his lips, the odd tendril of smoke still escaping.

  “Is that safe?” Awyn points at the pipe, ash falling on the wizard’s purple robe.

  Eldowyn looks up from the fire. “I find it amusing. But no, probably not.”

  Awyn sighs, taking the pipe from his mouth, sending the wizard into a flurry, and waking him up.

  “Oi!” Dreema exclaims, flustered.

  Awyn’s eyes widen, a small, guilty smile on her face. The wizard looks at her sharply. After a moment of uncomfortable eye contact, she says, “I didn’t want you to catch fire.”

  His eyes narrow.

  She scowls, and reluctantly hands his pipe back.

  He snatches it, putting it back into his mouth.

  Awyn tucks her knees to her c
hest, her blue cloak around her, and braids her hair, looking mesmerized by the fire as the sparks flutter in the soft wind.

  Lost in his own thoughts, silence slips upon the camp for a few precious moments, until Aradon feels a cold thud on the back of his head. He doesn’t blink—doesn’t move—as water trickles down his neck. What the—oh. Snowball.

  He turns in the blink of an eye and hurls a ball of snow at her face. All Eldowyn and Dreema can do is stare as Awyn sits there, looking stunned and awkward, her lips tight. Aradon feels smug, his lips curving into a smirk.

  She wipes off the snow, drying her eyes, and stares with a gleam in her eyes at Aradon.

  He’s trying to wipe the smirk off his lips—though, he’s failing miserably.

  Awyn raises an eyebrow, clumps up another snowball, and hurls it at him. While he’s distracted, she runs.

  The chase leads them into the forest. Awyn hides behind a rock, hurling snow at him as he stands in the open—he’s never had a snowball fight before.

  Aradon makes a ball, and lobs it behind the rock, missing Awyn.

  “You are not good at this!” she taunts. She stands up and throws another ball at him. “Come on. Hit me! Okay, here.” She opens her arms. “I’ll make it easy for you.” Awyn closes her eyes and clamps her lips together like she’s holding her breath.

  Aradon runs toward her, getting ready to throw a snowball, but trips, stumbling over the rock. Awyn opens her eyes, and Aradon is just above her, feeling awkward, a half-smile on his face.

  “You are really not good at this,” she says, only inches away from his face.

  “I’ve never played this game before. It’s very juvenile.” They lock gazes, and a moment of awkward silence follows.

  “Could you, um—”

  “Oh, yeah, right.” Aradon stands up, holding out a hand to help Awyn. “Sorry.”

  She gives him a small, shy smile as she brushes herself off. “We should get back to camp. Leave so we can get to Nomarah by nightfall.” The princess starts walking back, but Aradon tugs her.

  “It’s more dangerous in Nomarah at night than it is in Hadore.”

  Awyn looks back at him. “We have to go, Aradon. Today or tomorrow. You can’t avoid going home forever.”

  “Home?” he repeats.

  She tilts her head. “You know what I mean. Nomarah is your home, whether you’ll admit it or not. You should tell Eldowyn and Dreema. You should tell them that you are their king.”

  Aradon sighs. “Dreema knows.”

  Awyn gasps, but it’s mangled like…well, it doesn’t sound all that genuine. “How?”

  “He must have foreseen it with his magic,” Aradon responds quickly.

  Awyn gives him an understanding smile. “Well then, one less person to tell.”

  A small, halfhearted smile tugs at Aradon’s lips. “Right.”

  “Tamon!” Revera yells, which seems like the only thing she’s been doing lately. “Tamon!” She barges through two white doors, into Lord Tamon’s personal chamber. The short little man sits with a scantily clad woman, her brown hair done up and a pound of paint on her lips and eyelids. Revera’s heels thump loudly against the marble floor as she walks furiously toward them sitting on the white sofa, a fire crackling. “Tamon, send this harlot away! You can play around after we talk.”

  The woman scoffs, offended, but is sent away by Tamon. The plump man sighs, pulling his red silk robe taut over his too-big stomach and walks over to his shiny oak table, pouring a glass of red wine.

  “You know, Revera, I am the king now. You can’t just barge in here whenever you want,” he says, like he’s talking to a child.

  Revera, infuriated, walks up to him—and being much taller—she towers over him. “I made you king. I can unmake you king.” Her lips tighten, and she takes a breath, stepping away from the obviously scared middle-aged man. She consciously scrunches the softness of the purple velvet dress, the material soft in her hands and relaxes herself. “Now, I am not impressed with the way you have ruled Mera.”

  “But I rule just fine,” Tamon says in an ignorant tone.

  “Your people are hungry. They are weak, withering away like ears of wheat in late fall. I did not give you this kingdom to watch it die.”

  Tamon looks confused by this statement. “Why do you care?”

  Revera turns to him, surprised at the question. “Why do I care? Why do I care?” she scoffs. “I care because having an army who can barely walk won’t protect me, will it? If that wretched Awyn and that gang of degenerates infiltrate our walls with an army from either her cursed uncle Atta or that old friend of hers, we are done for. Done for.” She rolls her eyes, gritting her teeth. “If only you could see that.” She takes a deep breath, calming herself again. “Step up, Tamon. Take care of what was given to you.” She turns away from him.

  “I am the king!” Tamon calls out, rather childishly.

  She turns to him, narrowing her gaze. “Then why do your people call you ‘Regent’?”

  She walks out of his chambers. The brown-haired girl waits impatiently outside, and Revera looks at her in disgust. She waves her hand in dismissal, and the girl hurries into the room.

  Revera strides down the hallway, her shoes echoing through the corridors.

  You had better watch out, Lord Tamon. A smirk appears on her lips. You’re expendable.

  Awyn watches the skies grow dark with the coming night. In the distance, the sunset settles into shades of purple and blue painted across the sky, above which the stars start to dot the black blanket of night. Closer to earth, streaks of orange, yellow, and red dazzle and dance across the sun, which sinks into the sea, still too far away to see.

  The light reflects against the trees, the black branches glowing, seeming on fire. The snow below the Everbreeds’ hooves sparkle with the fire of the sunset. The mountains around the travelers cast shadows upon them, but their path is still lit by the illuminated sky.

  Awyn gasps as they emerge from the mountains. Plains, as far as the eye can see, glitter with the brilliance of the fallen snow. Hills roll through the fields, and mountains in the far, far distance appear as purple triangles, lining the border between No Man’s Land and Eron. It’s beautiful.

  A harsh thump and pain. Then darkness blinds her vision.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Awyn’s eyes flutter open. Pain fills her head and chest. She winces as she thuds against a hard surface. Her arms are tied over her head, and her legs are scraping against something jagged and sharp. She looks down, seeing dirt and rocks poking through the patches of slushy snow.

  What?

  She looks up, a rope is tied around her hands, stretching away from her. The sun is high and hot, beaming down on her. Leaning her head back, upside-down, a man sits on a horse. The rope is tied to his saddle.

  What happened? Where—

  “Hey, Gold. Nomarah sure is a pretty sight in the winter.”

  She gasps and squirms as a man walks past her in brown pants, heavy boots, and what looks like a jacket made for winter, fur lining the hood. A sword rests in its sheath at his side. He’s heavy and short, and has a large, light brown beard. Gruff with hard eyes—brown, she thinks.

  “You are such a romantic. Let’s just get these ones to the camp. The two men look good. But that girl and the elf haven’t worked a day in their lives, we won’t make too much money off them,” another one says, a bit higher pitched than the last.

  Money?

  “Right, right. Sorry, Gold,” the big man’s low, gruff voice says. Their accents are nothing like she’s ever heard.

  “But right you are, Stump. It is beautiful.” Those last words come out like a sigh.

  Gold? Stump? Who are these men?

  Awyn lets a noise slip from her throat, supposedly a word, but muffled by pain. Stump grunts, walking back toward her. He bends down, looking into her eyes.

  “Hey, Gold. This one’s awake.” He smiles and grips her chin. “She’s quite pretty. She might fetch mor
e than we thought.”

  Awyn’s nose flares at the putrid reek of his hands. She bites, sending a yelp up from the large man. “Oi! She bit me.”

  A high laugh comes from the man on the horse. “Serves you right.”

  Stump groans, rubbing his throbbing hand.

  “Water,” Awyn squeaks.

  Stump turns to her. “What was that, snake?”

  Awyn gulps, her throat raw and sore. “Water.” Speaking feels like stones being shoved down her throat. She breathes roughly, wheezing. “Please.”

  A low grumble of a laugh comes from Stump. “Why on earth would I give you, water, snake? Gold, do you hear this?”

  “Yes. Very amusing.” The sarcasm doesn’t seem to sit well with Stump.

  “Just give her the water, now!”

  Awyn cranes her head at the familiar voice. Aradon?

  Stump, looking angry, stomps over to him. The Red Warrior is tied, the rope attached to another horse. He’s dirty, tired-looking, and puffing. But he’s standing.

  Stump looks him in the eye. “What did you say?” Stump’s nostrils flare.

  “I said, give her the water. We won’t be any use to you dying of thirst.” He puffs, breathing hard. The sun is never this hot, especially in winter.

  “Give all four of them water. The big one is right,” Gold says on top of the horse. Suddenly two more horses and their mounts ride up. Tied to the horses are Dreema and Eldowyn, both walking.

  I’m not walking.

  Awyn tries to stand but falls down from the moving horse. “Hey. Stop! I want to stand,” Awyn yells painfully, still without water.

  Stump walks heavily over, grabbing her and pulling her up. He shoves the nozzle of his hard leather water pouch into Awyn’s mouth. Against her teeth, the wooden nozzle hurts, but when the water trickles down her throat she relaxes, feeling the rawness go away. When Stump pulls the water away from her, he leaves her wanting more.

  Awyn turns her head to look at Aradon. “Aradon. Where are we going?”

  The Red Warrior looks at her, despair in his eyes. “The illegal slave markets.”