Free The Immortals of Myrdwyer by Brian Kittrell Page B

of Azura.”
    “The Arcanists? My, my.” A smile creeping across his face, Paldren gave her the arrow. “Keep that one. And good luck on your endeavors outside these walls.”
    “Thank you for letting us in for the night,” Laedron said. “If you’ll be so kind to open the gate, we’ll be off.”
    “One last thing. We used to send smaller shipments of lumber west when requested, but the last one returned and reported that the ancient bridge was damaged. We’ve sent word to Navarine, to the king, but with the fighting in the east, he’s yet to send aid.”
    “Ancient bridge?”
    “The valley makes a sharp turn west of here and has long marked the divide between the east and the west of Lasoron. The Uxidin built a bridge—well, they built most of the ones we still use today—but this particular bridge was quite long indeed, a marvel of ancient engineering by any standards. One of the sections has fallen out, so you’ll be forced to find a way across it or travel down the valley and up the other side.”
    “I think we can handle that. Thank you.”
    With little more than a nod, Paldren returned to the top of the wall and turned the crank to open the gate. Slamming shut behind them, the gate was a symbol of what Laedron anticipated for the rest of the trip. From this moment forward, we shall see no security, no shelter, until our journey has concluded, he thought, glancing one last time at Sir Paldren atop the palisade.
    Through sparse forest, they trekked until Laedron spotted the columns the knight had described, two marble pillars that had been there so long that they seemed to have sprouted from the earth. Only pine straw and undergrowth surrounded them, as if the trees refused to encroach upon the columns.
    Laedron climbed down from his horse. He crouched beside one of the stones and dug into the ground with his hands. A few inches down, he felt smooth rock against his fingertips. “Here it is.”
    Marac glared at Laedron from his saddle. “Must we crawl along the ground to find this road? There had to be another way.”
    Laedron cleared away more of the thick straw-dirt mixture. “No. If I go along and find a few more in a line, we can merely follow the spacing between the trees. The stone’s been placed with a tight fit, where trees can’t grow up between the blocks.” He searched the ground for another piece of the road. Finding one, he smiled and pointed to the west. He mounted his horse, then brushed his hands together, dusting off the bits of pine straw and mud. He pulled on the reins and led the way deeper into the forest, keeping an eye on the spacing between the trees as he went.
    Brice slapped his neck, then examined his palm, as if he had killed a mosquito. “How much farther do we have?”
    “We follow this highway until its end. At most, two days by Sir Paldren’s estimation.”
    “Two more days,” Marac said, then quaffed a mouthful of water from his canteen. “I’ll be glad to be done with this damned forest.”
    They rode on through the rest of the day and came to the start of a stone bridge late in the afternoon. Beneath the bridge, the valley extended deep and long, and Laedron couldn’t see the end of the vale no matter how hard he strained. Wide enough for five horses to cross walking side by side, the bridge was a sight to behold, a miracle of the ancient world still standing in the present. Neither nature nor age had been mighty enough to fell the stonework, but he remembered what Paldren had said about a section missing.
    “This should be interesting.” Laedron cleared his throat. “Ready?”
    Marac stood in his stirrups and stared at the river far below. “Is it sturdy?”
    “Only one way to find out.”
    “Do you think it’ll hold, Lae?” Marac asked.
    “A bridge that massive and thick? We’ll be fine. I’m sure of it.”
    Reluctantly, Marac and the others followed Laedron onto the bridge, all of them silent, as if even a whisper could rattle the foundations