And still Roel’s mare cried out, and Roel, knowing that the herd instinct was strong, mounted the horse and heeled her. And now the animal, though her sides heaved with fright and her eyes rolled white and she snorted in terror, entered the roaring water as well.
Ahead, Celeste finally reached the ledge, and up onto the broad shelf she rode, up into the mist, and Roel’s mare with his gelding in tow soon followed.
Roel’s mare calmed when she came up out of the water and onto the flat, for once again the herd was whole.
Roel dismounted and looked straight up the sheer stone wall. How high it went-a hundred feet or a thousand or more-he could not tell, for the fog shrouded all. He turned to Celeste and said, “The path looks steep, the way narrow. Best we lead the horses.” She nodded.
Roel took the reins of his mare in hand and said,
“Ready?”
“Ready,” replied Celeste.
And with Roel in the fore, afoot they began leading the horses higher into the swirling mist.
Whiter it got and thicker, and the roar of the river diminished, for sounds seemed muffled in the vapor’s grasp. Wetness clung to everything: animal, man, gear, path, and sheer-rising stone. The way narrowed, and in places Celeste feared for all of their safety, and she wondered how she and Roel would cope had they to unlade the packhorses, for there was not space to do such.
Up they went and up, along the slender and twisting path, and the higher they got, the more nervous became the horses, even the geldings.
“Roel, is your mare reluctant?”
“Oui, but I know not why. Surely they do not fear heights.”
“Ever since we entered this gorge, the horses have been edgy,” called Celeste. “I thought it the water and the noise, yet now I am not certain, for that is far below, and should by now be forgotten.”
“Mayhap ’tis the narrowness,” said Roel.
“Perhaps, though I doubt it.”
In spite of her reservations, it seemed to be true, for the animals continued to grow more uneasy along the constricted path. But then the way widened, yet even so, still the horses snorted and huffed, as if sensing an un shy;seen danger, and both Roel and Celeste had to murmur soothing words to somewhat calm the steeds. Finally they came to a broad flat, though the walls of the bluff yet rose on high.
“A bridge,” called Roel, still in the lead, but stopping.
“I can make out a bridge straddling the gorge.” And still the mist swirled, obscuring here, revealing there, and then shifting anew.
The flat was wide enough for Celeste to pull her unwilling mount forward until she stood next to Roel.
And through the swirling mist she could see glimpses of a lengthy stone span reaching from one side of the gorge to the other. “Ah, perhaps that’s what the Br in WdBr means: bridge.”
“Mayhap,” said Roel. “But what does the Wd mean?
Surely it can’t be ‘wide,’ meaning ‘wide bridge.’ ’Tis a bit too strait for that.”
“It matters not, love,” said Celeste, “for, in spite of this fog, somewhere just ahead must lie the twilight bound.”
“Well, then,” said Roel, and he started forward, Celeste following.
And as they moved toward the near end of the span, Roel could see along the length of the bridge short poles jutting up from the stone railings to either side, round objects affixed thereon.
Within ten strides he reached the stone structure, and there his mare flattened her ears and refused to take another step and pulled back on the reins. The gelding as well drew hindward, and together they hauled Roel back to where Celeste and the other animals stood.
“They sense something, love,” said Celeste.
“Let me go forward and see what I can find,” said Roel, and he handed the reins to Celeste, and then took his crossbow from its saddle scabbard and cocked and loaded it.
“Take care,” said Celeste, as he moved toward the bridge.
No sooner had Roel set foot on the pave than at the other end a giant of an armored knight-a great two-handed sword in his grip-stepped onto the far end of the span.
A crimson surcoat he wore, and the mist swirled, shrouding him and revealing him only to veil him again.
“Friend, we would pass,” called Roel.
He received no answer from the fog.
“Then we will hold and you may pass,” Roel cried.
Yet the armed and armored man, now vaguely discernible, did not respond but stood waiting.
Roel sighed and turned to Celeste. “WdBr means
‘warded bridge.’ ”
“Why would someone stand athwart this span?” asked Celeste.
Roel shrugged. “For toll? Perhaps that’s it.” Then he called out, “What be the toll?”
The giant of a man, some nine feet tall, made no response.
“Perhaps the Changeling Lord set him here to keep interlopers from his lands,” said Celeste.
Roel walked back to his horse, and unladed and un-cocked his crossbow and slid it into its saddle scabbard and the quarrel to the quiver. Then he slipped his helm on his head and took down his shield and drew Coeur d’Acier from its sheath.
“Cheri?” said Celeste.
“I must accept his challenge,” said Roel.
“I’ll simply feather him,” said Celeste, reaching for her bow.
“Were the air currents still and could you see him clear enough, perhaps,” said Roel. “But, non, my love,
’tis something I must do, for a gauntlet has been flung.” Celeste shook her head. “Men.”
“Nay, love. Knights.”
He tenderly kissed her and stepped onto the span and strode into the churning vapor. The moment he moved forward, so, too, did the massive warrior.
Her heart hammering with fear for Roel, Celeste strung her bow and nocked an arrow, not one of the blunts but a keen point instead.
Roel then passed a pike jutting up from the wall of the bridge, and now he could see the round object affixed thereon: ’twas the spitted head of a knight, helmet in place, rotted flesh dangling from bone. To left and right Roel looked as he trod onward. More pikes came into view; more knights’ helmeted skulls gaped at the passing warrior.
Oh, Laurent, Blaise, let none of these be you.
On he went through the clinging vapor, the huge knight coming toward him, mist eddying about.
“To first blood?” called Roel.
In response the Red Knight swung his huge sword up and ’round and brought it across in a crashing blow, only to meet Roel’s shield; yet the shock of the strike benumbed Roel’s left arm.
Again the giant swung his great sword up and ’round, but this time the massive blade met Roel’s Coeur d’Acier.
Clang! Chang! Blade met blade and metal screamed.
And Roel feinted and parried and struck, and the blades whistled through the air as back and forth knight and knight struggled, the fog churning about them. The giant of a knight hammered at Roel, his blows mighty, and of a sudden Roel reeled hindward and fell, for he had been struck upon the helm, the bronze and padding and a partial parry all that saved him from a crushing death. And the huge knight sprang forward, his great blade whistling down, only to strike stone, chips flying, for his target had rolled away. Roel gained his feet, and as the next strike whistled past, he stepped inside the reach of the knight of the bridge, only to be flung aside by the backhanded sweep of a mailed fist.
At the end of the span, horses danced and snorted and huffed in fear, yet Celeste paid them no heed. As the mist cleared she could see struggling figures, closing,
leaping apart, whirling about one another, blades swinging, the sound of their strikes like that of hammers on anvils. And Celeste drew and aimed, yet she could not loose her shaft, for in the blowing white vapor she could not be certain of her target nor the flight of her arrow given the swirling air.