Halthak hastened forward to hear the discussion.
“It is not marked on Morland’s maps,” Amric was saying. “But the maps focus on trade and mining supply routes, and that ridge path looks unsuitable for wagons or large parties, so that could be why. I would wager that four riders on horseback can navigate it in a single column, however, with caution.”
“Do you see the bridge Bellimar mentioned?” Valkarr asked.
Halthak peered into the fading distance, and saw no such thing.
“I think so,” Amric said, after a moment. “It is difficult to tell for certain at this distance, but I believe I see something connecting the path and the fortress. Damn, but the old man has eyesight a hawk would envy to have seen that far in the poor light.”
The swordsman’s flat tone seemed at odds with his admiring words, and Halthak puzzled over it before Amric’s meaning sank in. Bellimar had startled them on the ground before the morning sun had crested the horizon. What the keen eyes of the warriors could barely discern now in dawn’s first light, Bellimar had somehow seen last night in near darkness. Halthak felt a growing chill as he considered the implications.
”If we are mistaken about reaching the fortress from the path, we could lose a day or more to backtracking,” Valkarr said.
Amric grunted. “Worth the risk. I find I am open to alternatives to the forest road just now.”
“We will be exposed to view,” Valkarr noted. “But we will see far as well, and attackers can only come at us one or two at a time on the narrow trail. A better route, if it connects.”
“Then let us hope this newfound path is as quiet as it appears,” Amric said. “And that Bellimar has indeed found us a way to bypass the last stretch of this infernal forest.”
It was late afternoon when the riders reached the end of the high pathway along the cliff wall. At its terminus, the path twisted away from the sheer face and gave way to a broad, tree-studded clearing atop a bluff that jutted over the valley. From its edge, a slender bridge leapt across the intervening chasm in a shallow, graceful arc to the foot of the mountain fortress, Stronghold.
Amric guided his bay gelding onto the plateau, and he felt some of the tension leave the horse’s knotted muscles in a brief, shuddering sigh. The swordsman gave the animal’s neck a sympathetic pat. After spending all day navigating the narrow, wind-clawed trail over a precipitous drop, this flat and spacious projection of stone seemed secure indeed. He waited as the others drew rein beside him, relief evident on their faces as well, and together they surveyed the bridge.
“What do you make of it?” Amric asked at last.
“It should not stand,” Valkarr replied at once.
Amric was forced to agree. He had been eyeing the structure since it hove into clear view around the curve of the cliff wall. Though the Sil’ath were wondrous crafters on a smaller scale, they seldom built large, elaborate structures. Perhaps it was evidence that their nomadic impulse yet remained. It was just as rare for them to employ siege tactics such as sapping or demolition, but their military training still encompassed something of basic engineering and materials. Furthermore, Amric had taken it upon himself to study at the university in Lyden and bring the additional knowledge back to his people to augment their skills.
And everything he had learned, in direct contradiction to what he was seeing, insisted that the bridge before them simply could not be.
He dismounted and let the reins drop, then approached the edge of the precipice where the bridge began. The structure was wide enough for two horses abreast and composed entirely of some strange alloy, but he could find no seams or bolts demarcating the component pieces. Instead, it appeared to be forged of one unimaginably long, continuous piece of metal. Where the span met the stone at his feet, the two disparate materials merged, and the one flowed into the other without interruption. Ribs of metal looped in high arcs over the walking surface, but there were none of the heavy supports above or below that he expected of a bridge spanning many hundreds of yards. Amric peered down into the gorge, at the dark green treetops far below shot through with bleached veins of rock. If this contraption gave way beneath them, their quest would come to an abrupt and ignominious end down there.
“The Wyrgens are reputed to be unparalleled craftsmen, producers of countless marvels,” Bellimar reminded him. “If any could produce a bridge that defies gravity, it is they.”
Amric gave a noncommittal grunt. It was also said that the masters of Stronghold guarded their privacy with ferocious zeal, and were known to make examples of unwelcome visitors. This precarious path through the air could collapse by fault of construction or by design to repel invaders, and either way the outcome for Amric and his companions would be the same. Still, the bridge led to an opening in the chiseled wall on the other side, and he did not relish the thought of turning back now to find another approach.
There was no visible activity on the far side, but this was somewhat expected since nothing had been heard from the Wyrgens for many months.
Bellimar had done much on the journey from Keldrin’s Landing to fill the gaps left in common knowledge regarding the reclusive Wyrgens of Stronghold. Like their base relatives, the savage Wyrgs of the lowlands, the Wyrgens were powerful and towering in stature, bestial in appearance and capable of rending a man limb from limb. Unlike their more primitive cousins, however, they were extremely intelligent, preferring science and clever manipulation of magical essences to warlike endeavors. Their inventions were highly sought after among the other nations, and with sufficient motivation the Wyrgens sometimes put aside their xenophobic tendencies to enter in trade arrangements with other races. Their feral cunning led to unease in their trade partners, but that discomfort was overlooked to garner the advantage that came with the Wyrgens’ technology, particularly in matters of war. As he heard all this, Amric could not help but ponder how selling machines of destruction to other races so they could destroy each other seemed like an arrangement in which the Wyrgens profited in two ways.
Establishing the military fort that would later become Keldrin’s Landing may have represented the first foothold of the civilized nations in the region, but as they expanded, men found the Wyrgens and Stronghold already here. No one could say whether the Wyrgens had built Stronghold themselves, or if they had merely appropriated it for their own. For their part, the Wyrgens were tight-lipped on the subject.
Keldrin’s Landing had established a trade relationship with Stronghold, and thus enjoyed more efficient mining and research equipment, with a dramatic effect on profits. With the spreading disruption, the city had been pressing for the Wyrgens to produce advanced defensive measures by which the town could protect itself and the surrounding countryside. Then contact with the Wyrgens was lost.
Subsequent envoys to Stronghold had not returned. Morland admitted to having formed his own surreptitious side arrangement with the Wyrgens, for purposes he refused to divulge; Amric was certain it was for some dark purpose, given the merchant’s soulless avarice, but even Morland’s considerable resources had not enabled him to reach his private contacts.
All of this left Amric facing the bridge and pondering the unknowable. It was possible the Wyrgens were hidden to view inside, unaware or uncaring of their approach, or that no other envoy had made it here or survived the return trip. It was possible, but the alternatives were of more immediate concern. Whether the Wyrgens had fled Stronghold, or remained there but shunned the outside world, the bridge could be a trap to ward off intruders. More sinister yet, if something strong enough to eradicate or drive away the Wyrgens had taken up residence in Stronghold, the riders faced an even more uncertain reception.