Red Gold Bridge

by Sarath, Patrice

They shook hands, and Crae said, “You’ve got the place well in hand, I see.”

  Tal beamed. “I made a few changes—but you have urgent business, you say. I sent word to Lord Tharp and Lady Sarita, and I wanted to bring you in myself. Here, dismount, and we’ll have someone take care of your horse.”

  Crae did, with relief intermixed with wariness. “What news have you heard?” he said bluntly, shaking the reins over the horse’s head and leading him through the gate. It would be best to know exactly where he stood before he stepped into a den of trouble.

  Tal shrugged. “We have enough trouble of our own to be getting news from the rest of Aeritan.”

  The wariness increased, now with alarm. “What is happening, Tal?”

  The young man, barely older than Alarin now that he noticed, looked at him frankly, his expression hard. “I’ll let Lord Tharp tell you, lord to lord. It may be that your urgent matters mesh with his.”

  More likely, it only meant that with his own troubles, Tharp would be less likely to help him. In the courtyard, Tal had a boy take Crae’s horse. Crae stopped the boy from leading him to the stables.

  “Rub him down here, and grain and water him lightly,” he told the youngster. “Have him waiting for me after I speak with Lord Tharp.” He saw the way the boy checked in with Tal first, and the captain nodded his head slightly. Crae followed Tal to Lord Tharp’s Council chamber.

  Tharp had aged. The man had more gray in his hair and beard than brown, and he had gotten thick in the middle. His mouth drew downward disapprovingly at Crae’s approach, but then, Crae had never known the man to be anything but disapproving. Next to him waited Lady Sarita.

  Her exile had agreed with her. She had hardly aged. Her dark hair, uncovered, gleamed in the dim light coming from the window overlooking the woods, and her face still held the same youthful beauty, though she was no longer young. She was dressed in outlandish clothes, even more strange than Lynna’s garb when he’d first seen her. They showed off her figure in a way that no Aeritan woman would ever be seen. No wonder Tharp seethes, he thought.

  A strongholder came in with vesh, and they waited for the man to leave before setting to counsel.

  “What brings you to Red Gold Bridge?” Tharp began abruptly.

  “I have word of danger from Brythern. I’ve been told the lord of crows comes and intends to take on the Council, killing the lords and sowing chaos in his wake.”

  Tharp snorted. “You have been listening to kitchen tales.”

  “I wish that were true. But Trieve was beset by crows less than a half month ago, and I fear that this crow lord could bring upon Aeritan what my House faced.” His breath caught. One lord was already down. Was his killing of Favor a portent of the war that would break out?

  Tharp and Sarita exchanged glances. “So why Red Gold Bridge? Why not Kenery? Have you sent word to him?” Tharp said testily.

  Lady Sarita gave a displeased snort. “Knowing Kenery, he is probably counting out all the alliances he intends to break before he makes them,” she said.

  Crae wondered if Lord Kenery knew that last year’s games during Aeritan’s war had put him in a position where no lord would ever trust him again.

  Sarita wasn’t finished. “And you ride alone, Lord Crae,” she said. “A great danger comes, and yet you bring no men with you.”

  She would point that out. He looked from Tharp to Sarita. They were great lords, both of them, but Tharp had tried to take all Aeritan for himself, and Lady Sarita looked as if she had a foot still in her other world. And then there was Crae himself. A lord in name only, a brother murderer, led by a mad crow toward a destiny he didn’t desire. They were in this together, like it or not.

  “Well,” he said. “That’s quite a story.” He proceeded to tell it.

  To Crae’s vast relief, they did not throw him into prison upon hearing of his kin murder.

  “Lady Jessamy’s daughter—did she recover?” Sarita asked, when he finished.

  “She was on her way to recovery when they left for Favor.” She nodded as if that was all she required. Tharp cast a glance at his wife as if he could not understand her meaning but said only, “So the crow told you that this great danger was coming through Brythern, the lord of the crows himself. Why Brythern, do you know?”

  Crae shook his head.

  “You see, Lord Crae, we are having Brythern troubles of our own,” Lady Sarita put in. “Just more than a month ago, smallholders told us they saw a troop of masked Brytherners moving through the Wood. Not long after, our guardians disappeared. Our guards—your old command—tracked them to the border of Brythern but lost the trail.”

  Crae’s blood ran cold. If Brythern wanted guardians, it could only be for one thing. They had a gordath to control. But what did a gordath and a crow lord have in common?

  “I fear that Mark Ballard is up to his old tricks,” Lady Sarita pressed on, and she pronounced the name the same way Lynna had. Her face went hard. “He is likely trading with the same merchant as you did, Eyvig. I knew him. On the surface he was nothing but an innkeeper, though well-respected.” Her mouth became bitter. “Underneath he was very dangerous.”

  She didn’t have to say more for Crae to know that she had faced this man and knew firsthand what he was like.

  “So it’s curious that your danger comes out of Brythern, too, as well as ours,” she finished. She looked at her husband. “We will throw our lot in with yours.”

  “Sarita!”

  “Eyvig, we’re all outcast lords here. You because of the war you started last year, Crae now because of his stupidity. Yes, stupidity,” she snapped at him, when he made to protest. “Lord Favor was nothing more than a bothersome gnat, certainly not worthy of death. I always thought Lady Jessamy should have been the one summoned, but there is no accounting for the high god’s taste, or the Council’s. No matter. You’ve been told there is this great danger coming through Brythern, and we know there is a gordath and now guardians to control it. I don’t think it’s far-fetched to combine the two and know that some evil is coming through the gordath itself. And believe me, we want to stop it as soon as we may, or this time Mike Garson and Mark Ballard may get their way.”

  Her words came to a close in the small room. Crae and Tharp looked at each other. Sarita regarded the both of them, her arms folded and one elegant eyebrow raised as she waited for them to make a decision. No, Crae thought, she is waiting for us to give in. He lifted his shoulders and gave her a crooked grin.

  “You are as formidable as your mother, Lady Sarita.”

  She made a disparaging noise at the flattery, but he could tell she was pleased.

  “Yes,” said Tharp. He didn’t look happy about it. “But we are one House, and while we could fend off one crow, we cannot hold off an army of Brytherners, no matter where they come from.” He looked at Crae, disgruntled. “Since you didn’t bring your men with you, I suppose you want ours.”

  “No,” Crae said. “I will ride on ahead and scout out matters, and leave sign for your men to follow.” He had to trust the crow and his cryptic words. They had led him so far. He looked at Lady Sarita. “Your husband may no longer be able to call on old alliances, and as for me—”

  She nodded. “But my goodwill might not be completely in tatters. I will send word to my old friends and see what we can see.”

  “I’m sitting right here,” Tharp said, with some irritability. Lady Sarita cocked her head and smiled at him sleekly.

  “I know, Eyvig.”

  Crae pulled up Hero and looked down at the rough trail that led north and west. He had been following the sign for a day and a half, and it was clear enough. A company of men had come this way on foot, days earlier. Those were his Brytherners. He frowned. Tharp had said that his men had turned back after having lost the trail from Red Gold Bridge. He was no great hand at tracking, but he had found the trail easily enough. He clicked his tongue. Had Tal given up too easily? He would not have believed it of the man.

  Or ha
d the guard been drawn off at Tharp’s bidding, perhaps? Tharp had never liked his guardians, for all that he had lordship over the one stronghold that faced Gordath Wood. He never liked Arrim because the man had a power that he could not understand or control. Arrim had crossed Tharp last year by trying to close the gordath against his orders. Now there were two guardians, one from the other side of the Wood. Crae had never met the man, not even during the aftermath of last year’s war, but he knew the man had known Lady Sarita and had come back to Aeritan with her and Arrim.

  And so it would stand to reason that Tharp disliked this man also and might be jealous of him as well. So when they were taken, he might have thought good riddance and coun seled Tal not to look too hard. That was until Crae came, and they learned they faced a greater danger.

  Crae cursed under his breath. If that were the case, he lost all sympathy for the man. To be ruled so by jealousy . . . A thought struck him. If the new guardian knew Lady Sarita, had he also known Lynna?

  When he found him, he would be sure to ask. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer, though. He dismounted and grabbed the end of the Trieve banner he had been carrying and tore off another strip. He planted a small stake in the ground with the strip tied around it. He had been leaving the sign at intervals for the men Tharp had promised would follow. Now he trusted Lady Sarita more to come through on that account. Crae stood and swept his gaze over the trail one last time before remounting. His vision sharpened.

  Oh ho, he thought, looking down at another set of hoofprints.

  The Brytherners had another pursuer.

  It was hard to tell how fresh were the hoofprints on the hard, dry terrain, but they held their shape and did not look too old or too crusted out. They overlay the trail he had been following. What game was Tharp playing at? Or was this a wild card in the game? Crae’s curiosity was aroused. Whoever this man was, he was likely to be armed. Whether he was an ally or an enemy was less certain. Crae swung back into the saddle and pushed Hero after the horseman.

  If the old crow were here, he would ask him, but even before Crae made his plea for help at Red Gold Bridge he had not shown up for his share of morning vesh. On the one hand, Crae was relieved to be free of his cryptic and sometimes annoying company. On the other, he missed the old creature.

  He kept Hero to a walk, the better to watch for sign. The hoofprints became no fresher, but he came across two piles of dried horse manure and other scat. Crae pulled up alongside one pile and frowned, then identified it: dog shit.

  A horseman and a dog, following a group of around a dozen men. The whole thing grew more curious. But he wasn’t more than a half day ahead of Crae, if that. Crae made a decision and put Hero into a hand gallop. His horse snorted and bucked a little, then lit out, running strongly. The crow would just have to catch up as best he could, Crae thought.

  Lynn topped a small rise at a walk, the trail leading down toward grasslands. They headed toward a narrow canyon as far as she could tell, and the trail undulated through the terrain, a pale scar etched out on the dry and grassy hills. She and the horse were covered with dust and sweat, and the dog flopped down as soon as they reached the top of the rise and halted. The setting sun was unrelenting, and she was grateful for her sunglasses. She lifted them and squinted, the better to catch sight of any sign of Joe and whoever he was with.

  The land was empty except for herself and her beasts. Earlier they had passed a few homesteads, but they were tucked far off into the distance, and she hadn’t stopped in, preferring to make good time. And she didn’t trust Brytherners. Even though her encounter with Hare and his men last winter had been her only experience with them, she didn’t want to find out that ordinary Brytherners were her enemy, too.

  Something caught her eye, and she peered again toward the hills in the distance and the dark line of a canyon. A spark? It was hard to tell. Perhaps a bit of metal had caught some light. She looked hard, then remembered when she had closed her eyes and found the trail. Well okay, she thought. Lynn tried it again, closing her eyes and waiting.

  Red Bird snorted and shied, and Lynn grabbed hard with her legs and for the saddle horn. Her eyes flew open, and she looked around wildly.

  A man stood there, a skinny, scrawny man. A crow. Lynn grabbed for the saddlebag where she had stowed the gun, at the same time backing Red Bird away from the danger.

  “Stand back!” she ordered, keeping her voice as firm as she could, cursing herself for packing the gun so securely. Red Bird snorted and half reared, stamping onto the ground. The crow merely watched her, his cloak covering a body as skinny as a rail. He carried a walking stick but not a maul or a spear. “What do you want?” she said, her heart hammering.

  He merely watched her. His eyes were dark, narrow slits against the sun, and his skin was browned and scarred. Except for the tattered cloak he was naked. Finally, he nodded. He pointed with his stick and she turned to follow his direction. Straight toward the canyon, where she thought she had seen a flash of light.

  She turned back, and he was gone. Lynn stared. “What—” What the hell just happened?

  Hoofbeats caught her attention, coming faintly over the distance. She saw the tiny horseman in pursuit behind her. He galloped up over one rise and disappeared as the trail dipped down again.

  Oh no. What do I do now? Brazen it out, confront the rider, or make like a bat out of hell?

  He was maybe twenty minutes behind her, at the most. She didn’t wait. She gathered the reins, clucked to Red Bird, moved him into a gallop. Retreat first, ask questions later, she told herself as Red Bird took off, the dog racing after them.

  His quarry had seen him and broken into a run. Crae bent low over Hero’s neck, urging him on. Whoever the man was, he couldn’t let him get away. Whether he was the vanguard of his mysterious army, or whether he was an enemy of it, Crae needed answers. Hero answered his call for speed, giving him a burst, foam flying off of his sweat-darkened neck where it had been carved by the reins.

  The trail narrowed between two ridges, and the terrain began to rise. Red Bird faltered, and Lynn pulled him up, keeping him to a walk. The trees grew thick again, though these were not the tall trees of Gordath Wood but wind-blasted scrub. Red Bird breathed hard, and she winced for him, but she had to keep him walking. She ducked under low branches as the trail wound down from the ridge into another little woods. There. A tangle of vines cradled a massive rockslide. It jutted from the side of a cliff, and Lynn could see that it was supported by smaller stones, as well as the vines.

  A cold shiver of recognition went through her, even as a rattling of wind came to her, along with a burst of static in her head. She had found the mate to the morrim on the hiking trails back in Connecticut.

  The dog came trotting up, panting hard, and she shushed him, as if the morrim could hear and be woken. It’s already awake, she thought. Awake along with the gordath that had brought her here.

  The last time she was this close to a live morrim, she had jumped down a mountainside to get away from it. She began to back Red Bird away from the rock. The dog alternately growled and barked, its tail tucked between its legs. I know, I know, she thought. She had to get out of there, but Red Bird was spent, and the other horseman was right on her heels. She didn’t want to lose Joe’s trail, but she didn’t know how she was going to get rid of this other guy.

  The trees here were nothing like Gordath Wood, but they would have to do for cover. Lynn closed her eyes and tried to find the trail again. The spark was faint here in the woods, but she could see it. She turned to center it on her eyes and found her direction. Then she dismounted and led Red Bird and the dog off into the woods to find cover.

  They backed themselves into a little copse, far enough away that she could no longer see the morrim or the trail. Red Bird halted willingly, and her heart pounded for him. He needed to be walked cool, but they had no time for that. Some horses could take such abuse. Please be one of them, she prayed. As if it now understood the need for quiet
, the dog flopped down to the ground, panting tongue dripping. Lynn took the gun out of her saddlebag, unwrapped it, and edged forward as far as she dared, settling herself behind a green bush of thin, whiplike branches. She hoped it obscured her, but she knew she had to sacrifice cover for the ability to see her pursuer. She looked behind her; she could barely see the dog and the horse, and they were keeping still. Lynn thumbed the safety on the gun, then left it on. If she needed to shoot, it would take just a moment to flick it off.

  Now she heard trotting hoofbeats scraping up the slot. She couldn’t see her pursuer yet, and she took a deep breath, released it, breathed again, trying to slow down her heartbeat. If he went on ahead, she could reassess her situation.

  The horse slowed to a walk, and Lynn bit her lip, keeping herself from bobbing up to take a look. He had to be just on the trail right where she turned off. If he saw Red Bird’s hoofprints . . .

  At the approach of a strange horse, Red Bird lifted his head and neighed, his nostrils quivering. The bell-like neigh rang in the woods. Lynn turned to look at her horse, aghast at his betrayal, then whipped around again, thinking curses about horses and their social needs, and what had she been thinking not to anticipate that? She held both hands on the gun, braced herself in her bushes, and aimed at the way she had come.

  Whoever he was, he was being cautious. She heard a familiar sound, and it took her a moment to identify it. Of course. A crossbow was being loaded, its mechanism drawn back and locked into place. She knew what one of those could do; she had killed a man with one herself. At close range it was as lethal as her gun. So they were equally matched.

  With grim determination, Lynn thumbed the safety off. She could see him now, a patch of dull-colored movement through the trees.

  The neigh of the other horse still rang in his head. Crae swung his leg over Hero’s saddle and slid to the ground. He waited, taking his time. He had the crossbow at the ready. He had one shot, and then he would have to use his sword. He didn’t like the terrain. He was surrounded by woods and would have no clear shot for his crossbow. The trees were thick and squat, their branches a tangle reaching toward the sky. He glanced at the mess of rock and deadfall that cascaded down the side of the ridge. It made him uneasy, as if it could come loose and fall on him at any second. He scanned it carefully to see if the horseman was hiding in the underbrush, but he could see no sign of him.