Red Gold Bridge

by Sarath, Patrice

  Now he had a ringing in his ears. He shook his head impatiently and edged forward so he didn’t have to stay near the rock. Anyway, it looked as if his quarry had gone ahead. He led Hero forward, looking for sign, but there was little to be seen in this wood. There was a trail, but no sign of hoofprints. He looked around, trying to make sense out of the woods, knowing he was taking too long. The horseman would have him in his own sights if he was armed as well.

  High god, don’t let that dog be a bear hound or boar-hound. He’d have to use a bolt on it to stop it, and there would go his shot.

  There. He saw a patch of chestnut. The telltale horse was imperfectly hidden, far back into the woods. And closer to the trail, barely visible through a patch of cloudy brush, clothing and a glint of something else, something small and metallic. Crae pushed back at Hero, seeking cover, his blood surging. That was neither sword nor crossbow. A knife—or did the man have one of Bahard’s weapons?

  Lynn watched from her vantage point in the cloud of vines. She could see him hesitate. He had moved his horse into cover, much as she had, and waited, crossbow loaded and cranked, ready to fire. She ducked down, waiting, willing him to give up and go away. She kept her breathing quiet, meditative. I’m not here. I’m not here. She could barely make him out through the woods.

  He hesitated, still peering at her cover.

  Then, bless his heart, as Mrs. Felz would say, Red Bird neighed again. The man looked that way and raised the crossbow. Lynn counted to five and stood, her hands shaking a little.

  “Hold it.”

  He froze.

  He remained obscured by the brush and the trees, but from what she could tell, he was tall and skinny, wearing standard Aeritan gear, a long sword at his side, a long knife in the other hilt. Hard to see anything else about him. She kept the gun steady, supporting it with two hands.

  “Set down the crossbow,” she said.

  After a moment, he did. Those things were on a hair trigger, she knew. She breathed a sigh of relief when it was placed gently on the ground.

  “Keep your hands away from your belt. Raise them.”

  He did.

  “Now what?” he said. His voice sounded odd. He sounded as if he were—smiling? Laughing at her? She felt a wash of rage. What a jerk. I have the gun, asshole. And wait. Why did he sound . . . familiar?

  “Why are you following me?” she said, her voice short.

  “I would follow you anywhere.”

  She couldn’t say anything for a long moment. Her breath came short. She thought it would be best to put the safety back on the gun, and so she did, and for good measure she set it on the ground, too. When she could talk, it took her a moment for her voice to work. Finally she managed.

  “Crae?”

  It came out as a whisper, but he still heard. He dropped his hands. She pushed through the woods, the vines and brush scratching at her and trying to hold her back, but she just pushed harder until she was in his arms and he folded them around her as if he would never let her go.

  She tried to keep from crying. “Crae,” she sobbed once more. He smelled of sweat and dust and leather and cloth, of the faint metallic scent of sword and knife and chain. She stayed in his arms, letting him hold her tight, their breathing coming together.

  When they kissed, it was like the secret kiss they shared in Hare’s camp, slow and sensual. Her knees weakened, and she tightened her arms around his neck. He pressed his whole length against her, and she remembered how tall and lean he was, every inch of him hard muscle, how good it felt when he wrapped his arms around her the few times they had shared an embrace. His hands were hard yet gentle. She remembered when he had bound her broken arm, taking as great care as he could. She remembered how she would watch him out of the corner of her eye on their long journey across Aeritan, attracted to him physically and liking him more and more, even as she missed Joe. And falling in love, finally, only to know that she would never see him again.

  He ended the kiss, and they drew apart. He was so skinny. His beard had come in mostly gray. His clothes hung off of him. His smile was the same, though, the rare smile she thought she would never see again.

  “High god, I never thought I would see you again,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  Lynn felt a bittersweet pang. Oh God, what am I going to do? How can I tell him?

  One crow drove her mom’s car to the trailhead, and the other one sat in the back with her parents, and Kate was crammed in between the driver and Marthen. She shivered with revulsion at his nearness, at the smell of him. He didn’t try to touch her, but they were pressed together, and she had to take deep breaths now and again to keep from throwing up. The ride was silent. Her parents were so frightened they had given up. They had lost hope. Kate wanted to tell them that they would be all right, that Colar was waiting for them, but she could only sit still and quiet, hoping they wouldn’t do anything foolish in their fear.

  When they pulled in to the little graveled lot, the crow turned off the car and got out, leaving the door open and headlights on. The car chimed softly. Only then did Marthen touch her. He put his hand on the back of her neck, immobilizing her. She heard her mother gasp at the familiarity, and she swallowed. Keep still, she told herself. Just keep still.

  “Do not move until I say so.” His hand was hard, gripping her as if she were an animal to restrain. Then he moved his thumb to stroke the nape of her neck, and she knew it was a caress. Tears leaked from her eyes, and she almost sobbed out loud.

  No. Find anger. Anger. To her relief it came blazing up. She kept still, all of her muscles gathered, waiting for her moment.

  The back door opened, and her parents were hauled out, their backseat guard following them. One of the crows came around and opened Marthen’s door, and only then did he release her. He slid out. “Come,” he said, and she followed.

  She didn’t look around for Colar. She kept her eyes on Marthen.

  “You have me,” she said. “Let them go now.”

  “We aren’t at the gordath, and I know Terrick is here somewhere. Call him out.”

  “I told you, he’s at the barn. I drove back to the house alone.”

  “Call him, Kate Mossland, or your parents die right here and now.”

  There was a loud thunk, and the crow guarding her parents dropped his rifle with a hoarse curse, holding his eye. Another rock came out of the woods, hitting the windshield of the car with an enormous crash. The car’s alarm began whooping, the sound ripping at the peaceful woods.

  Kate didn’t wait. She rammed herself into Marthen, sending him off balance, and grabbed his rifle. They wrestled for it as the little parking lot exploded into chaos around them. He was much taller and stronger than she, but she held on to the gun with the grim determination of a Jack Russell terrier.

  A war cry came from the woods. No, two war cries. She saw two bodies bursting out from among the trees. Marthen tried to bring his weapon to bear, but Kate screamed in his ear and backed her body up against his. He stretched his arms up over his head, and for a second her toes left the ground as she kept her hold on the stock. As he tried to bring them both around so he could shoot, she found his finger on the trigger, tilted the barrel up, and squeezed, shooting into the trees. Marthen roared with frustration. Kate jumped off her toes and swung her foot back, her heel catching the man in the shin. This time he roared with pain.

  She heard gunfire and her mother screaming. Kate screamed herself, more in anger than in fear. The scream cleared her lungs, gave her strength. She let go with one hand and grabbed the handgun in his belt, wrestling it free.

  Marthen finally pried her fingers off the rifle and threw her from him. She landed hard on the driveway, clutching the handgun. For a moment the breath was driven from her lungs. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t make a sound, could only watch as Gary dove for the loose rifle the crow had dropped, scooping it up and turning it on the other crow. For a moment the two homeless men faced off, weapon to weapon, and then the
crow toppled, Colar’s sword protruding through his belly.

  One down, she thought. Two to go—and there were her parents, restraining the other crow, the one with blood running down his face. She wanted to yell in triumph, but her lungs still couldn’t get air.

  Marthen turned now, training his weapon on Colar. In the headlights the chain and leather armor gave the boy bulk. He pulled the sword free and held it up as if it could ward off bullets.

  “No!” Kate found her voice. She lifted the handgun, aiming at Marthen, her hands shaking.

  “Sword down, boy,” Marthen called. “You can’t win here.”

  “I challenge you, General, in a fair fight.”

  Oh, Colar, no. Even as she thought it, Marthen said, “Fighting is not about fair, boy.”

  “Don’t call me boy.”

  Marthen laughed. It sounded surprisingly carefree. “Is that what this is about, Terrick? You think you are the one for her? She has the soldier’s god in her, boy, and she wants a real warrior, not a child playing at soldier.”

  Time slowed. Marthen raised his rifle, and Kate shot him, the single crack reverberating in the night air.

  Marthen staggered back a step, his arm flying up and blood spraying, as the rifle fell from his hands. He grabbed his arm, panting hoarsely. His eyes were wild but also, for the first time, uncertain. She stepped forward, ready to fire again.

  “Kate, no!” her mother screamed, and she hesitated long enough for Gary to lunge for the fallen rifle, blocking her shot.

  It was all Marthen needed.

  The funny thing was, she knew what Marthen was going to do even before Gary got within reach. She could see it in his eyes and the way he held his body. She wanted to shoot him again, to kill him this time, but Gary was in the way, one rifle in hand, bending to pick up the other one. With a quick movement, Marthen kicked him backward, grabbed the rifle from him, and shot at close range. Gary cried out and fell to the ground with a grunt.

  “No!” Kate pulled the trigger, but she did something wrong, and the gun didn’t fire. Marthen sprayed gunfire over them, and everyone dropped.

  He reached down and grabbed her by the arm, hauling her to her feet. She struggled, but he held the rifle close to her head, the barrel burning against her hair, and his arm was around her throat, so she couldn’t breathe again. Her hand loosened, and the useless handgun fell to the ground.

  “Quiet,” he said, and his voice had gone soft with rage. Somehow, everyone in the parking lot heard. The only sound was harsh breathing and Gary’s dying cries. “Weapons down, or she dies.”

  No, Kate tried to say, but she couldn’t breathe. Her vision was starting to fade. Marthen dragged the both of them back into the woods, and she could hold on no longer. She let the darkness take her.

  As soon as Marthen and Kate disappeared, Colar picked up his sword, sheathing it and heading toward the woods after them. Allegra was the fastest, but he already knew he would need to take one of the sturdier horses. Then he heard a gunshot from the woods and the scream of a horse.

  Soldier’s god. There was the sound of crashing hoofbeats, and his heart sank. Marthen had taken two of the horses, it sounded like, and killed the third. He could see it all in his mind’s eye. Put them both up on one, and lead another for when Kate came to.

  “Oh God, oh God,” Mrs. Mossland stammered, and he wondered for the first time which one she meant here. Her eyes and hair were wild, but she knelt by Gary and held his hand, checking his pulse. “Where are the police? They have to find her!” Her voice rose into a scream, but even in the background they could hear the sound of approaching sirens. “Oh thank God,” she breathed.

  “The police can’t find her,” he said. “But I will.”

  He would be on foot, but he could track, and Marthen would have to ride carefully to avoid laming the horses. And he could not help but leave plenty of sign.

  “Where is he taking her?” Kate’s mom whispered.

  “Back through the gordath. But I won’t let him. I’ll stop him.”

  Mr. Mossland said, “I’ll go out to the road and flag them down. Cole, wait here. Tell the police where they’ve gone. Don’t go after them by yourself.” He limped off to the driveway entrance.

  Mrs. Mossland looked at Colar. “What happens if he takes her through?” Her voice was very quiet.

  “I’ll follow him.” He was itching to get moving, eager to get on the track.

  “Can you bring her back?”

  “I don’t know if I’ll be able to.” He said it as honestly as he could. “I’ll try.”

  She nodded. “Go. Bring her back if you can, but if you can’t—just stop him.”

  He nodded. “I will. I promise.” He leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, a guerdon of son to mother. He would have knelt, but she wouldn’t have understood, and they didn’t have time. “If I can’t bring her back, I will take her to my parents, and they will never let her forget who she is and who her people are.”

  As the emergency vehicles turned in to the little parking lot, their lights strobing and their sirens blaring, Colar ran off into the woods.

  The horse on the ground was poor Cinnamon, blood pouring like black ink from across his neck. Colar ran past him up the rocky hill. Behind him he could hear the chaos of the rescue, and then the sounds were lost in the deep woods. Soon all he could hear was his own breathing as he ran as hard as he could up the trail toward home.

  Sixteen

  Crae waited with Hero and watched Lynn as she fetched her horse and dog, leading them back out onto the trail. She was as thin as he remembered, the angles of her face pure and sharp. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, and she wore a strange billed cap that shaded her face and dark spectacles unlike anything he had ever seen. He didn’t like not being able to see her eyes. All he could make out of her was her mouth, her lips chapped and broken from lack of water, and the tip of her nose, reddened from the sun. The horse was a sturdy chestnut, not nearly as tall as the big gray she had ridden the last time, and her saddle was tied down with supplies and a bedroll. This time she had come prepared for her journey through the gordath, including the weapon. She checked it once more and put it in the small saddlebag.

  She tightened the horse’s girth with the same competency he remembered and flipped the split reins over the horse’s neck. She mounted with fluid ease and glanced at him.

  “I was worried that you might have died. Those soldiers on the road that night—I should have stayed and helped.”

  “It was better that you fled. It would have all been for naught, had you been captured.” And he would not have been able to fight as well if she had stayed and he’d had to protect her.

  She nodded. “So what happened?”

  He shrugged. What could he tell her? “We fought. Stavin was cut down, and then there was a great earthshaking from the gordath, and the rest fled.”

  “Cut down?” Her voice failed her as she saw from the expression on his face the worst news. “Oh, Crae. I am so sorry. He was your friend. He was a good man.”

  “Yes,” he said roughly. “And before he died, he gave me his chain of command and bade me take care of Jessamy and Tevani. I was made lord of Trieve upon his death. Jessamy and I are married.”

  And then I killed her brother, and so it is truly a marriage in name only. He didn’t say any of that. She was thunderstruck, as he meant her to be. Hoped she would be. “Oh,” she said at last. “I—congratulations.” She turned away. “Oh God. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m sorry.”

  “All our kisses end in sorrow,” he said, bitterness lacing his words.

  She looked back at him, and even with her eyes covered, he could see she was crying. “Crae, I never wanted to hurt you. I never meant to—let myself—” She broke off.

  “Was it true, when you said you loved me?” He meant when he had kissed her on the snowy road outside Red Gold Bridge and watched her ride up the ridge into the woods.

  She bit her lip and t
hen said, “Yes.”

  High god, why wouldn’t she let him see her eyes? “Uncover your eyes,” he said, furious. He startled her. Her mouth dropped. For a moment she waited, chin up, and then she took off her spectacles and met his gaze. “Yes,” she said again. “I meant it. I still do.”

  Her eyes were as he remembered, dark and direct. She did not look sidelong the way an Aeritan woman would but met him head-on. We would have done well together. He let himself think how it could have been, the two of them. He would not be a lord, but would be a captain still, and she his wife, and they would have lived in Red Gold Bridge or at any House that would have had them.

  “Is that why you returned?” He kept his voice rough to hide his emotion. If she had come back to him, what would he do? But he needed to know, even though it would hurt both of them to have to say it and for him to have to turn her away.

  She shook her head the tiniest bit. “I’m sorry,” she said, and her voice was quiet. “The gordath had opened, and it looked like the guardians were in trouble. So I crossed, because I needed to try to help.”

  It stung, and he welcomed it because he knew he had deserved that, just for asking. “I know,” he said. “I was just at Red Gold Bridge; they told me the guardians were kidnapped by Brytherners.”

  “Oh, I knew something bad had happened. I just didn’t know what.”

  He frowned. “What news had you gotten of their trouble?”