Burning Bridge (11 page)

F
OLLOWING THE
W
ARGALS WAS EASIER THAN THEY EXPECTED
. The creatures were single-minded, concentrating only on the task in hand, which was to take the Celt miners to their end destination. They feared no attack in these parts, having already driven the occupants out, so they posted no forward scouts or sweepers. Their constant chanting, ominous as it might sound at first, also served to mask any sounds that might have been made by their pursuers.

At night, they simply camped wherever they might find themselves to be. The miners remained chained together and sentries were posted to keep watch over them while the rest of the group slept.

By the beginning of the second day, Will began to have an idea of the direction the Wargals were heading. He had been riding some thirty meters in the lead, relying on Tug to sense any danger ahead. Now he dropped back a little, waiting for Horace and Evanlyn to come level with him.

“We seem to be heading for the Fissure,” he said, more than a little puzzled.

Already, in the distance, they could make out the high, brooding cliffs that towered over the other side of the massive split in the earth. Celtica itself was a mountainous country, but Morgarath’s domain reared hundreds of meters above it.

“I wouldn’t care to come down those cliffs on ropes and scaling ladders,” Horace said, nodding toward them.

“Even if you did, you’d have to find a level space on the other side to cross from,” Will agreed. “And apparently, there are precious few of them. For the most part, the cliffs go right down to the bottom.”

Evanlyn looked from one to the other. “Yet Morgarath has done it once,” she said. “Maybe he’s planning to attack Araluen the same way.”

Horace brought his horse to a halt, considering what she’d said. Will and Evanlyn stopped beside him. He chewed his lip for a few seconds as he thought back over the lessons that Sir Rodney’s instructors had dinned into him. Then he shook his head.

“It’s a different situation,” he said finally. “The attack on Celtica was more of a raid than an invasion. He wouldn’t have needed more than five hundred men for that and they could travel light. To attack Araluen, he’ll need an army—and he wouldn’t get an army down those cliffs and across with a few ladders and rope bridges.”

Will regarded him with interest. This was a side of Horace that was new to him. Apparently, Horace’s learning curve in the past seven or eight months had gone beyond his mere skill with the sword.

“But surely, if he had enough time…?” he began, but Horace shook his head again, more decisively this time.

“Men, yes, or Wargals in this case. Given enough time, you could get them down and across. It would take months, but you could manage it. Although the longer it took, the more chance word would get out about what you were doing.

“But an army needs equipment—heavy weapons, supply wagons, provisions, tents, spare weapons and blacksmith’s equipment to repair them. Horses and oxen to pull the wagons. You’d never get all that down cliffs like those. And even if you did, how would you get it across? It’s just not feasible. Sir Karel used to say that…”

He realized the others were regarding him curiously and he flushed. “Didn’t mean to go on and on,” he mumbled, and urged his horse forward again.

But as Will followed, he was shaking his head, impressed by his friend’s grasp of the subject. “Not at all,” he said. “You’re making good sense.”

“Which still leaves us the question, what is he up to?” Evanlyn said.

Will shrugged. “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” he said, and urged Tug forward to take up the point position once more.

They found out the following evening.

As before, they heard the first hint as to what was taking place: the ring or thud of hammers striking stone or wood. Then there was another noise as they drew closer—a constant but irregular cracking sound. Will signaled for the others to stop and, dismounting, he proceeded carefully along the last stretch of the road to the final bend.

Shrouded in his cloak, and moving carefully from one patch of cover to the next, he moved off the road and cut across country to find a vantage point from which to view the next stretch of road. Almost immediately, he saw the top of the massive wooden structure that was being constructed: four wooden towers, linked by heavy rope cables and a timber framework, reared above the surrounding countryside. His heart sinking, he already knew what he was looking at. But he moved closer to make sure.

It was as he feared. An immense wooden bridge was in the final stages of construction. On the far side of the Fissure, Morgarath had discovered one of the few places where a narrow ledge ran, almost level with the Celtic side. The natural ledge had been dug out and widened until there was a sizable piece of level ground there. The four towers stood, two either side of the Fissure, linked by massive rope cables. Supported by them, a wooden roadway was half completed—capable of taking six men abreast across the dizzying depths of the Fissure.

Figures recognizable as Celt prisoners swarmed over the structure, hammering and sawing. The cracking sound was made by the whips used by the Wargal overseers.

Beyond them, the sound of hammers on stone came from the mouth of a tunnel that opened onto the ledge some fifty meters south of the bridge. It was little more than a crack in the cliff face—only a little wider than a man’s shoulders—but as he watched, the Celt prisoners were hard at work at its entrance, gouging at the hard rock, widening and enlarging the small opening.

Will glanced up at the dark cliffs towering on the other side. There was no sign of ropes or ladders leading down to the ledge. The Wargals and their prisoners must access it via the narrow crack in the rock, he reasoned.

The party they had been following was crossing the Fissure now. The final fifteen meters of roadway was yet to be constructed, and only a temporary timber footway was in place. It was barely wide enough for the Celts to cross, tethered in pairs as they were, but the miners of Celtica were used to awkward footing and dizzy drops, and they crossed without incident.

He’d seen enough for the time being, he thought. It was time to get back. He wriggled his way backward into the cover of the broken rocks. Then, bending almost double, he ran back to where the others were waiting.

When he reached them, he slumped down, leaning back against the rocks. The tension of the last two days was beginning to tell on him, along with the strain of being in command. He was a little surprised to realize that he was physically exhausted. He had no idea that mental tension could sap a person’s strength so thoroughly.

“So what’s going on? Did you see anything?” Horace said. Will looked up at him, wearily.

“A bridge,” he told him. “They’re building a huge bridge.”

Horace frowned, puzzled by it all.

“A bridge?” he repeated. “Why would Morgarath want a bridge?”

“It’s a huge bridge, I said. Big enough to bring an army across. Here we’ve been discussing how Morgarath couldn’t move an army and all its equipment down the cliffs and across the Fissure, and all the time, he’s been building a bridge to do just that.”

Evanlyn picked at a loose thread on her jacket. “That’s why he wanted the Celts,” she said. When both boys looked at her, she elaborated. “They’re expert builders and tunnelers. His Wargals wouldn’t have the skill for an undertaking like this.”

“They’re tunneling too,” Will said. “There’s a narrow crack—sort of a cave mouth—in the far side that they’re widening.”

“Where does it lead to?” Horace asked, and Will shrugged.

“I don’t know. It might be important to find out. After all, the plateau on the other side is still hundreds of feet above this point. But there must be some access between the two because there’s no sign of ropes or ladders.”

Horace stood and began to pace back and forth as he considered this new information. His face was screwed up in thought.

“I don’t get it,” he said finally.

“It’s not that hard to ‘get,’ Horace,” Will told him, with some asperity. “There’s a barking great bridge being built over the Fissure—big enough for Morgarath and all his Wargals
and
their supply wagons
and
their blacksmiths
and
their oxen and Uncle Tom Cobbley and all to come waltzing over.”

Horace waited until Will had finished his tirade. He was outwardly calm, but Evanlyn could see a slight flush of anger on his face. He let the awkward silence stretch between them for some time, then said, in a deceptively quiet voice:

“You’re quite finished, are you?”

Will shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, realizing that he might have gone too far.

“Well…yes,” he said, making a vaguely apologetic gesture for Horace to continue.

“What I don’t
get…
” Horace said, enunciating very carefully and with heavy emphasis, “is why it was never mentioned in those plans you captured.”

Evanlyn looked up curiously. “Plans?” she said. “What plans?”

But Will gestured for her to wait for an explanation. He realized that Horace had made a vital point, and the sarcastic response he had been planning was instantly dispelled.

“You’re right,” he said softly. “The plans never mentioned a bridge across the Fissure.”

“And it’s not as if it’s a small undertaking. You’d think it would be in there somewhere,” Horace said. Will nodded agreement. Evanlyn, her curiosity thoroughly piqued by now, repeated her question.

“What are these plans you keep talking about?”

Horace took pity on her. “Will and Halt—his Craftmaster—captured a copy of Morgarath’s battle plans a couple of weeks ago. There was a lot of detail about how his forces are going to break out of the Mountains via Three Step Pass. There was even the date on which they were going to do it and how Skandian mercenaries were going to help them. Only there was no mention of this bridge.”

“Why not?” Evanlyn asked. But Will was beginning to see what Morgarath had in mind, and his horror was growing by the second.

“Unless,” he said, “Morgarath
wanted
us to capture those plans.”

“That’s crazy,” Horace said instantly. “After all, one of his men died as a result.”

Will met his gaze evenly. “Would that stop Morgarath? He doesn’t care about other people’s lives. Let’s think it through. Halt has a saying:
When you can’t see the reason for something, look for the possible result—and ask yourself who might benefit from it.
”

“So,” said Evanlyn, “what’s the result of your finding those plans?”

“King Duncan has moved the army to the Plains of Uthal to block Three Step Pass,” said Horace promptly. Evanlyn nodded and continued with the second part of the equation.

“And who might benefit from that?”

Will looked up at her. He could see she’d reached the same conclusion he had, and at the same time. Very slowly, he said:

“Morgarath. If those plans were false.”

Evanlyn nodded agreement. Horace was not quite so quick to see the point.

“False? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” said Will, “Morgarath wanted us to find those plans. He wanted the Araluen army assembled at the Plains of Uthal—the whole army. Because Three Step Pass isn’t where the real attack will come from. The real attack will come from here—a surprise attack from behind. And our army will be trapped. And then destroyed.”

Horace’s eyes widened in horror. He could envisage the result of a massive attack from the rear. The Araluens would be caught between the Skandians and Wargals in front of them and another army of Wargals in their rear. It was a recipe for disaster—the kind of disaster every general feared.

“Then we’ve got to tell them,” he said. “Right away.”

Will nodded. “We’ve got to tell them. But there’s one more thing I want to see. That tunnel they’re digging. We don’t know if it’s finished, or half finished, or where it goes. I want to take a look at it tonight.”

But Horace was shaking his head before he even finished. “Will, we’ve got to go
now,
” he said. “We can’t hang around here just to satisfy your curiosity.”

It was Evanlyn who solved the argument. “You’re right, Horace,” she said. “The King must know about this as soon as possible. But we have to be sure that we’re not taking him another red herring. The tunnel Will’s talking about could be weeks away from completion. Or it could lead to a dead end. This whole thing could be yet another ruse to convince the army to divert forces to protect their rear. We have to find out as much as possible. If that means waiting a few more hours, then I say we wait.”

Will glanced at the girl curiously. She certainly seemed to have a better grasp of strategy than one would expect from a lady’s maid. And there was an unmistakable air of authority about her as well. He decided that Gilan’s theory was correct.

“It’ll be dark in an hour, Horace. We’ll go across tonight and take a closer look.”

Horace looked from one of his companions to the other. He wasn’t happy. His instinct was to ride now, as fast as he could, and spread the word of this bridge. But he was outvoted. And he still believed Will’s powers of deduction were better than his own. He was trained for action, not this sort of tortuous thinking. Reluctantly, he allowed himself to be convinced.

“All right,” he said. “We’ll look tonight. But tomorrow, we leave.”

Wrapped in his cloak and moving carefully, Will returned to his former vantage point. He studied the bridge carefully, thinking that Halt would expect him to be able to draw an accurate plan of the structure.

He hadn’t been in position for more than ten minutes when a horn blast rang out.

He froze, terrified. For a moment, he thought it was an alarm and that an alert sentry had spotted him moving among the rocks. Then he heard more cracking of whips and the grunting cries of the Wargals and, as he raised his head, he saw that they were driving the Celts off the bridge and back toward the half-finished tunnel. The prisoners, as they went, downed their tools in stacks. Wargals began reshackling them to a central leash.

Glancing up to the west, Will saw the last curve of the sun dropping behind the hills and he realized that the horn had simply been sounding the end of the working day. Now the prisoners were being returned to wherever it was that they were kept.