“Serves him right,” someone in the crowd said. “Took too much weight over the bridge.”
“Didn’t wait, either. Travellers aren’t supposed to cross more than one cart at a time,” someone else argued. “Lord Gilar said so.”
“How’re we supposed to know that?” another said. “If your lord knew the bridge might break, he should’ve fixed it.”
“Have to now,” the first speaker said quietly.
“Won’t,” said a short, stocky man who had come up to peer at the metal worker. “Too miserly. He’ll make us use the southern bridge.”
Groans came from several onlookers, and a few muttered curses. The crowd had crept forward, drawn by curiosity and the conversation.
“This road is the most direct route for Lord Dakon to take to the city,” Tessia told them. “If Lord Gilar is resistant to local voices, maybe my master’s need for a safe bridge will persuade him.”
The crowd fell silent and she guessed they were wondering whether she would repeat what they’d said to Lord Dakon. Expressions became wary. She could not help wondering if people living on Dakon’s land spoke as resentfully of him. Would he leave a dangerous bridge in place? But Lord Gilar had left instructions to prevent the bridge’s fall, and perhaps he was in the process of dealing with the problem. Perhaps he was waiting for materials or skilled workmen to arrive, or for safer weather to be working in.
A distant thud drew everyone’s attention to the forest. She felt it in the ground, through her soggy boots. People turned to stare expectantly. Small trees quivered as something disturbed them, each one closer to the road. Finally the undergrowth parted and a huge log slid forward onto the mud.
It was as thick as a man was tall, and longer than three wagons and their horses standing end to end. The bright pale fresh wood where branches had been cut away stood out from the darker, wet bark. Dakon and Jayan stepped out of the forest. They paused in discussion for a moment, then Dakon moved closer to the trunk. He stared at it intently.
A crack split the air, and the log fell into two halves, split down its length.
Tessia heard gasps from all around. Possibly from her own mouth as well. Well, that was impressive, she thought.
All watched as magician and apprentice slid the log halves forward, curved side down like the hulls of boats. They pushed them across the bloated stream to settle beside each other, making a flat platform with a small gap between. Dirt around the end of the logs swelled outward, allowing the new bridge to sink into the ground and raising the road surface to meet the flat top of the logs.
Jayan crossed the new bridge and balanced on the other end as he repeated the embedding process on the other side.
One day I’ll be able to do that, Tessia thought. Clearly they used their power to shift the log, but what sort of magic did they use to split it? Or cut it down in the first place? The ends of the trunk hadn’t been split or burned. Clearly, she had a lot to learn. Suddenly the knowledge that she would one day be able to use magic in such impressive and useful ways was exciting and appealing. It’s not all about fighting after all.
Jayan returned to Dakon’s side, then the pair turned to look at her. Dakon nodded towards the wagon meaningfully. She realised he intended to cross the new bridge first, to demonstrate that it was safe. People had begun to head for their carts, and soon a queue would form before either end of the bridge.
She looked down at the metal worker. With magic she could dry him out and warm him up, but in the state he was in it would only terrify him further. She looked up at the man who had volunteered to return him to his home.
“Have you got any blankets?”
The volunteer met her gaze, and nodded. “I had better get my cart.” Then he grimaced and looked at the river. “And I suppose I’d better fetch the boy, too,” he added.
She gave him a grim smile of thanks. “Do it quickly and I might be able to arrange for you to follow us across the bridge.”
He hurried away. Tessia headed for the wagon. Though she would have preferred to accompany the metal worker to his home and make sure he was treated properly, he appeared to be in good hands. She was not the local healer and the man had no serious injuries. Her father always knew when to insist and when to let people take care of themselves.
Still, if Dakon was willing to wait a little, the metal worker might get home sooner. And if his helper crossed the bridge after them, he would probably remain behind them until he turned off the road. If the sick man took a turn for the worse, she would be close by and still able to assist.
The only objects Tessia could see were the sphere of light floating above them, the wagon, its occupants, the horses that pulled it, and a circle of constantly shifting ground below them. Nothing broke the darkness on either side, though occasionally a tiny pair of eyes flashed in and out of sight. If it weren’t for the endless flow of rutted road surface passing below them, she’d have wondered if they were moving at all, or simply bumping up and down on the spot.
Dakon’s games had ended hours ago. Much earlier they had said farewell to the metal worker’s helper, as he pulled up before a shop in a small village. The incident at the bridge might have happened days before, it felt so long ago.
Travelling was not as exciting as it ought to be, Tessia decided. It involved long stretches of discomfort and boredom. And hunger. The delay at the broken bridge meant travelling in darkness, well past their usual mealtime.
The evenings were usually much more pleasant. They’d stayed with a village master the first night. Every village and town had a master who oversaw the work of the locals, and the houses they lived in contained a few extra rooms for when their own or any passing lord visited. The next night they’d stayed with a town master of Lord Gilar’s, and tonight they would be staying with Lord Gilar himself.
Suddenly Jayan straightened in his seat. Moments before he had been snoring softly, in danger of slumping against Dakon – she had been half hoping he would, just to see his embarrassment, but also hoping he wouldn’t as it would embarrass Dakon. Now his eyes widened with hope.
“A light,” he said. “We’re nearly there – at last.”
Tessia turned to see a single, lonely light ahead of the wagon. It flickered in the misty air. As they drew near she saw it was a simple oil lamp hanging from a pole where another road intersected with the main thoroughfare. Tanner directed the horses onto the side road.
Watching the light shrink behind them, Tessia wondered whether they would have found the turn if it hadn’t been sign-posted so effectively. She figured their host must have sent a servant out to light it.
The new road was less rutted and bumpy. The horses slowed as the road slowly and steadily rose along the side of a hill. She was looking forward to reaching their host’s house, but was not looking forward to meeting the man himself. What if the bridge had failed out of neglect? She had been steeling herself these past few hours, expecting she would have to show a respect she didn’t feel, and resist the urge to speak her mind.
The wagon turned a sharp corner, leading them into a treed valley. Turning around, Tessia saw that, at the far end of this valley, a wide stone façade glowed with the light of many, many lamps.
It was bigger than the Residence. Bigger than any building she’d seen before. A high wall stretched between the two arms of the valley, broken by two towers. The only windows were tiny slots in the towers, high up. In the middle of the wall was a huge pair of wooden doors.
“Lord Gilar’s Residence,” Lord Dakon said. “It was built before the Sachakans conquered Kyralia, when there were few magicians and fortifications like this, which can only really repel non-magical attack, were worth the time and expense of construction.”