The Death of a Swordsman 6

6

The sun finally set. Now the guards put aside their dice, and all five of them began kicking apart the old ruins for the lumber. This was mostly dry and burned well. They dismantled the docks first, tossing great, dry rotted beams into the fire. They followed with the deck boards. By now the blaze was taller than any of the men, and the crackle was growing towards a seething roar. It was louder than the relentless beat of the waves against the shore. Orok and a comrade tore down a shed and tossed its bones in. Beams vanished into the orange and crimson glow. It was bright enough to read fifty yards from the flames, and still they stoked the fire.

As the twilight darkened a fog began to roll in. The guards weren't bothering to save any wood, tossing everything immediately onto the fire, but some of the larger logs would burn for hours. They were just above the high tide line, blackening the sand, while the sea grew misty. Soon Varad couldn't see the stars, for the fog overhead threw the ruddy glow back down at us. Without needing instructions, Pug harnessed the team, and the messenger was saddling their horses as well. No one asked the Swordmaster to help, but he grabbed a timber Omat was lifting. Without exchanging a word they cast it into the blaze and went out again for more.

Now the bonfire was more than fifteen feet tall. It was hard to get close enough to toss additional wood in, even with the chilling mist, and the men stopped their efforts. Houses had been left untouched, out of respect for those who had dwelt within, but everything else was afire. Even the piers were dismantled as far out as a man could walk without wading. The Swordsman were standing together, looking out into the murk towards the sea with their horses at their shoulders. Everyone looked ready.

Varad did not know exactly when he saw the light. It was hard to distinguish it from the reflected glow of the signal flame, but soon it grew brighter, out to sea in the gloom. At first it looked like a ship, coming towards the shore with beacons lit on the bow. Quickly it grew brighter, and finally the light distinguished itself from the blazing red beacon as a small yellow dot. He realized it wasn't getting closer, nor was it a single light. Instead there were two lines of small flames, lighting one after another. Additional flames were catching on the near side of the rows. They looked like nothing so much as streetlights, being lit by lampsmen on either side of a long avenue. Then they were close, and out of the gloom there were black shadow between them. The Red Guards mounted, and Varad swung up onto the driver's bench with Pug. The team began to walk towards the sea.

Out of the gloom the shadow resolved itself into a stone bridge, with many deep set pillars that the hostile waves shattered against. The near side ran directly into the steep line of the beach, and two guardrails of aged stone stood on either side. They terminated in tall poles; at the top of each was an oil lamp. The lights were further such lamps, marching off along the bridge as it vanished out too sea in the gloom. The party rode down the shore onto the stone bridge, and the transition from of riding on sand to flagstones was marked by ringing hoofbeats. The sound was curiously mundane.

“Come,” urged Garin. “This will take us to Six King Point, less than a mile from Dylath-Leen, where the Baron's lighthouse marks the way for ships at sea.”

Pug looked at his employer. “But there was no bridge before. Did it rise from the sea?”

“They summoned it, most likely,” Varad replied. “No doubt that was what the bonfire was for.”

“But the seabed here is just sand. There's nothing for the pillars to find foundation on.”

The other shrugged. “There must be enough, if this bridge requires foundations at all.”

“It hardly seems possible.”

When he did not get a reply Pug urged his team along behind the riders, and in a clatter of horseshoes on flagstones, drove out to sea. The beacon dwindled behind them, and soon they were alone in the murk on a path lit by streetlights.

The horsemen set the fastest pace the wagon could match. Dylath-Leen was fifty miles away by shore, but perhaps half that directly across the sea. The shore went wide behind them, taking a long arc north around Green Silk Bay, named for the fish that used to spawn there. Garin constantly encouraged chided Pug to hasten, saying the trip had to be complete before sunrise. It was a smooth ride for the road was very well paved and the cracks between the flagstones were slight. Pug had team canting and rebuffed Svir'Garin's continued urgings.

"If they are to run all night, this is the fastest pace they can maintain." Pug told him flatly and refused to budge.

The Svir accepted this reluctantly. "At sunrise we lose the bridge," Garin said. "If we're in the middle of the bay, we'll drown."

"Then on all our lives, I'm telling you this pace will carry us twenty five miles by dawn. If you won't accept it, run."

Garin's face turned to flint. "I am the Red Guard. I don't leave comrades." His words were absolute.

"And that's special," Pug replied condescendingly. "I'm Pug, and I drive horses. We'll have gone fifty miles by morning."

Pug did not mark it, but Garin's eyes flashed with intensity. The teamster's words had flayed across his core. Yet the Svir did not retort. Instead he set the redcloaks to riding before and behind the wagon with Dyroom the messenger protected in their midst. They moved relentlessly, and only Pittin noticed that at the root of Garin's silence he was deeply offended.

The attack came without warning when they were miles from shore. One instant they rode along, the monotony of travel unobstructed, and another black shapes dropped from the gray fog above on leathery batwings. There were dozens of them with tiny emaciated bodies and spreading wings, bony arms and legs with bird claws instead of feet. Worst of all were the long spade-tipped tails that they used like prehensile lances.

Omat went down almost instantly as a leathery thing pounced on him, driving its bladed tail through his body from the back. The spade ripped out his chest, and two more fell on the horse. It had no time to go wild before their claws had torn out its throat. Four more went for each of the redcloaks and the messenger, but here they were foiled. Before he had time to draw his blade, Pittin threw himself from his saddle and tackled the small messenger from his mount. They crashed to the ground and rolled, but the claws and spades of the winged beasts found nothing but empty air. Another of the Red Guards, Ve'Rurous, was impaled through the throat as he drew, and his body was yanked aloft. Garin tore his sword free and defended himself desperately, trying to put his horse between the airborne horde and Pittin, where he lay near the guardrail.

A great swarm of them went for the wagon. Alerted by the deaths of the guards around the wagon, Varad rolled backwards out of his seat and landed on the casket, sweeping the Song of Winter free of its sheath into an overhead circle. Bodies and blood dropped out of the sky in a black rain. Hurling himself to his feet, he hacked at the cluster overhead. Their batlike wings were strong, but the leather sheared easily. Avian bones splintered before his sword.

There was a tortured scream, and Ve'Orok had his chest ripped open. His boots were no longer an issue. Pug had thrown the brake before tumbling out of the seat. The team was panicking, rearing and screaming while the portly driver tried to get away from smashing hooves. Garin was beset on all sides, and though he'd killed several, now his sword was hilt deep in the leg of a beast that was clawing at the sky, trying to get away. Two more grabbed him and bore him aloft. Pittin had his blade out and the messenger wedged into a crevice in the guard rail behind him.

Varad took a running leap and snagged a long tail just above the barb. The thing buckled in the sky and sank. Flailing mindlessly, the barbed tail scored his leather glove above the wrist until he sheared that off. After that it still continued its blunt stabbing. The Swordmaster climbed until he got his hands on Garin's leg, sliced the wings off one, and chopped the other one into pieces. With both their weights on Garin's blade, it tore free of the black leg, ripping the talon with it. They plummeted into the northern water.

When they broached the surface, the fluttering pack of dark beasts was clustered over the bridge. Pittin was running, keeping the messenger between him and the railing while he fought off his attackers. No one else on the bridge was moving. Garin and Varad swam for the pillars, finding them as well made as the road surface. Now that proved a horrible problem, for the stones were so close set that there were no good handholds between them and mist had made them slick. Without asking, Garin grabbed Varad by the leg and heaved him upwards, driving the Svir underwater. The Al caught the rim of the bridge, an ornamental gutter carved of volcanic stone. He threw himself over the side.

The wagon had been torn to pieces, and the bat creatures were picking at the coffin. Knowing Hysterai coffins were never meant to open, Varad ignored it and set upon the horde that beset Pittin. The old man was dragged Pug to the railing as well, and was holding off three attackers with desperation and fury. No one noticed Varad hit them from behind, and then everything nonhuman died.

"The others?" Varad asked.

"No. The Svir?" Pittin snapped angrily.

"Swimming," Varad replied, glancing around for a means to drag the other Swordsman back onto the bridge.

"Behind you!" Pittin interrupted, pointing.

The things were taking the coffin. A flock of them had distributed the restraints between them, and ponderously they heaved it into the air. It cleared the wreckage of the wagon, and began to lumber ponderously away over the sea. Varad went after it. He caught a trailing strap and swung wildly.

Once on the strap it wasn't hard to climb up to the nest of cords underneath the casket. By then they were rising out of the fog and into the clear, dark air. Below him the unnatural pathway of the fog ran across the bay in a line as straight as a plumber's. If dropped, the casket would hit the surface of the sea, and the thing would surely sink. Then there would be no way to retrieve it. As the beasts flew higher, the chance of Varad surviving the process grew remote. While he was wrestling with the choice, they simplified it for him by dropping it.

If their mission had been only to insure that the coffin could not be found, it was hard to imagine a better means to achieve that end. The thing rocked the water when it hit, sending up a huge plume of a splash. Varad managed to enter the water cleanly not far away and felt the surge as the thing sank, heading down to the bottom. Now his choices were getting simpler and easier. He went after the vanishing sarcophagus and snagged one of the ropes as it snaked down into the blackness. The coffin dove, taking Varad with it.

As it went deeper, the pressure on his ears kept building. It was like the first time he had gone swimming after coming down from the mountains. He held his nose and exhaled to equalize twice, and then felt more than heard the thud of the great casket hitting the sandy bottom of the bay. At least it was not infinitely deep.

Hand over hand Varad dragged himself down until an outstretched hand felt smooth wood. Blind and holding my breath he tugged hard on the rope, following it to the nest of its brethren. Pug had done his job well, and the ropes were tightly bound to the casket. The Swordsmaster grabbed a mainline and swam up, heading for the surface while tying them together. Yet the Bay was shallow, not more than fifty, perhaps sixty feet. He breached the surface like a whale, and in his hand was a cord that bound me directly to the submerged casket. At least he wouldn't loose it.

Of course Varad had no idea what to do now. He was alone in the middle of Green Silk Bay, and at the bottom was a thousand pounds of mahogany. He could tread water for a few hours, certainly, but not long enough for the Red Guards to ride the bridge to its end, ready a ship, and sail it back to find him, if that could even be done. Yet Varad was not yet willing to give up his errand. Somewhere along the way, it had crossed the line from duty to obsession.

The fog bank was not far off. The waves were pushing him around, breaking over his head as the tether kept anchored him to featureless point at the center of a vastness of water. He yelled and yelled.

Like a miracle, Garin heard the cries. Out of the dark he came swimming, a dim shadow against the rolling waves, but Varad kept yelling until he found him. They grabbed ahold of each other in the dark.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, when the waves weren't crashing over his head.

“No. But the coffin sank.”

“Then there's nothing to be done. Let's go back.”

“Not yet. I have a rope tied to it. It's in my hand now.”

It took Garin a moment to realize what the Al was saying. “You want to stay with it?” he exclaimed.

“There's no choice. Go back to the bridge, find something that will float. The wagon's made of wood, so some part of it should do. Bring me enough of it that I can stay afloat here at sea. I'll wait, and you can take the others to Dylath-Leen. Get a ship and come looking for me.”

“You're daft!” Garin yelled. “We'll never find you.”

“There's a chance. But there's no chance you'll find the coffin if I leave.”

“There's no chance if you stay!”

Varad discovered shrugging was impossible while swimming. “How's Ve'Pittin?”

“He's fine. He and Dyroom the messenger took a hard fall, but they can ride. Your man Pug hid under his wagon, and he's fine too. The creatures haven't returned since they flew away with you.”

“Pug's a smart man,” Varad told him. “How's the team?”

“Not good. The night-gaunts killed several of his horses and broke the wagon taking the coffin. It won't move. ”

"Good."

"The hell?" Garin asked.

“It should float,” Varad pointed out.

“Ah. We'll never get it off the bridge by morning,” Garin added. “Plus the current is pushing in this direction. It should be an easy matter to get it out here and secure it. Fine, stay here and I'll be back with the wagon."

"Like I'm anchored to the bottom," Varad concurred.

“Agreed!” replied Garin and left. He swam strongly for the bridge and soon vanished into the static fog bank.

Varad didn't know how Garin persuaded Pug, but the Svir could be very determined when necessary. The Al stayed where he was, treading water, until with a splash the wagon was heaved over the side of the bridge. From there it was a matter of little more than pushing while it floated with the current. He had a loop of the tether handy and wrapped it around the broken axle. The wagon floated with the waves, bobbing heavily in the water. It was a pale tan, and would be easier to see than Pug's original black carriage. Varad dove once more, checking the knots all the way down to the bottom. Water crushed his ears, and the terrifying obscurity of the dark water was all around. It was possible that any number of submerged monsters had come with the night-gaunts to ensure they succeeded in putting the casket forever beyond hope of retrieval. Yet nothing happened, and the ropes were firm. He breached the surface once more and joined Garin swimming for the bridge.

Pug was mad. Pug was beyond mad, and seemed in a state of halted volcanic eruption, just looking for an excuse. Garin must have been quite forceful when he'd explained the plan, and it had not been to the driver's liking. Beyond half, half of his treasured team had been killed. The entire bridge was littered with corpses, and the dark bodies of the slain winged creatures.

“Night-gaunts, you call them?” Varad asked Garin.

“Yes. I've heard rumors of them, but never seen them myself,” he replied, getting Dyroom into a saddle.

“A pity to meet them now, under such circumstances,” Varad agreed. “Pug, we need to ride. Help us put the bodies on your horses.”

“Well, if we had the wagon-” he began, but was interrupted forcefully.

“We don't. It wasn't going to make it to the far shore anyway. There's no time for that. We need to take the fallen with us, and we need to get off this bridge before sunrise. The Endless Bridge only exists during night. With the dawn, it will cease to be, whether we are still on it or not.” Svir'Garin spoke forcefully, and his words left no room for argument.

The driver turned his attention to the Al. “What about your precious cargo?” he asked angrily.

“We're coming back for that,” Varad told him.

“There is no time. We must hurry,” Garin interrupted.

Varad agreed and turned to the team. Pug didn't like doing it, but they stripped the harnesses from the three unhurt horses and bound the bodies of the fallen Red Guards to their backs. Then the remaining five took the mounts. Pittin's horse, as well as Dyroom's were unharmed. Garin's was unhurt as well. For some reason the night-gaunts had only killed the mounts of the dead riders. But that left five people and three horses. We doubled up the dead, and tried to put Dyroom in the saddle with one, for he was the smallest person and the easiest for a mount to carry double, but he flatly refused. There wasn't enough time to fight about it. In the end, Varad rode with a corpse, while Pittin and the messenger rode double. Then they set off, pushing as hard as we could. Matters had been close before, and now there was much uncertainty if the survivors would make it at all.

They didn't. The first rays of dawn broke the horizon when they were in the final stretch, riding hard for the shore. At once the bridge seemed to shimmer. At the next step the horses took the stone underneath shattered like spun sugar candy. Then all the horses were falling, and the streetlights winked out. They plunged down into the cold water and were nearly lost. On their own the horses got upright and broached. Then they swam for the shore, needing no encouragement. Dripping wet, they rode onto the beach, and the fivesome were met by a dozen red cloaked guards. Happy greetings died on their lips as they saw the grisly burden.

“Give me the reins,” one said, speaking coldly, like he was either furiously angry or hiding terrible grief. He took the bridle of Varad's mount. At once the Swordmaster slid off to the sand and relinquished the beast to him. Another Red Guard took the other horse. Then the Swordsmen gently lowered their dead brothers down and laid them on their cloaks in the sand. The bodies were already stiffening, and they lay unnaturally.

Six Kings Point was a narrow peninsula that reached out from the northern side of Dylath-Leen. It had a bony central highland, nearly a hundred feet tall that fell away sharply on either side. At the foot of the bluff was a rocky beach. On the furthest tip of the point there stood a great lighthouse, and it reached another hundred feet above the bluff. In the dawn it was the color of roses. The Red Guards had who'd come to meet their fellows had brought a carriage in case they were tired, but now that used to carry the dead with as much respect as possible. The rest rode behind with bowed heads. Garin and Pittin were offered dry cloaks by their brothers. They accepted and clean clothes were also donated to Pug and Dyroom from the backs of the mournful Swordsmen. Once they realized who Varad was no one made any motion to offer him anything.

“The short-timer is back,” one observed, looking over with hostility. Varad opened his mouth to respond but shut it silently. Instead he rode along behind the pack and said nothing.

Garin told his brothers of how they'd met, though said little of the Al's mission beyond it was important. So they came to the city, and the guards branched off to go to their capterhouse. It was a tall building of high walls, just outside the great keep of the Baron but within the curtain of the citadel. The house was a small castle itself, built in the style of the northern fortresses, and Varad knew it well. He'd spend almost all of his two years in the city there. Now he had no desire to see it again. He left without crossing the gateway.

Pug's hostility was partially mollified when Varad gave him almost all the money he had left. The fat man was still unhappy, of the opinion that he deserved more. Yet there was nothing Varad could do, and he had given him more even then the promised bonus. In the end the driver went away disgruntled. It had been days since Varad had slept, but he hied at once to the Baron's keep, and entered the official channels for getting a meeting with the lord of the city.

Soldiers awoke him when they burst into a waiting room. Varad nearly drew on them in his haze, but paused when he saw Garin.

“Dyroom has made his report to the Baron, and I told him what you had told me,” Garin explained, while men in the white and blue of the Baron's house watched with hands on their weapons. “He sends for you to tell him everything.”

It was odd that they came to arrest him and bring him before the Baron, when that was what Varad had spend all day trying to do. At the sight of their arms Varad nearly fought them anyway, but realized that in winning, he would only have prevented the meeting he wanted. Stifling his tired hostility, Varad fell in behind Garin and let the Svir lead him on.