‘You mean this is where we are to cross?’ Asayaga asked and Tinuva could sense the trepidation in his voice.
‘It’s either here or we try and fight our way across the bridge,’ Dennis snapped, pointing back downstream.
‘We haven’t looked there yet,’ Asayaga replied. ‘You drag us off a clear open trail, run us through a freezing stream for more than a mile, and we wind up here.’
‘The bridge will be guarded,’ Tinuva replied patiently. ‘In the old times there was an entire moredhel village there; fishing was abundant, as was hunting in this region. Clan Raven once ruled this region; they were always cautious of enemies, from the south and the north. They erected barriers at both ends of the bridge, and constructed a blockhouse. Those who pursue us are Clan Raven, so we must assume the moredhel are back at the bridge, and they are up there in strength.’
‘Then we attack and sweep them aside,’ Asayaga announced. ‘We did it last night.’
‘That was evening, in the fog, and we had surprise on our side,’ Dennis snarled. He gestured to the swirling clouds overhead. Coming out of the pass they had dropped below the storm, so there was no longer a concealing fog. ‘There is no guarantee that someone didn’t get out when we took the pass. They might have been warned. Even if it’s open ground for bowshot’s distance all around the bridge.’ He fell silent, then added, ‘And if Tinuva is correct, it won’t be a small company waiting for us, but a full war camp.’ He looked at Asayaga. ‘I know you Tsurani to be fearless, but even you wouldn’t charge sixty warriors across an open field at a fortification of three hundred warriors who are waiting for you.’
‘Then follow the trail up the river,’ Asayaga argued.
‘Why don’t you want to cross here?’ Dennis asked.
The Tsurani bristled. ‘That water is freezing. You might be cold-blooded, but my men are not. It will kill them.’
‘Then stay here,’ Dennis retorted. ‘Follow that trail up the river. It will give out above the falls half a day’s march from here. Then jump off the damn falls for all I care, but my men are crossing here.’
‘We threw them off our track only for a little while,’ Tinuva interjected, ‘but they will be back on it soon enough. Wait here and we are pinned. But if we get across here they’ll have to back-track for at least ten miles or more to get over the bridge and by then we will be gone.’
‘Madness,’ Asayaga sighed.
Dennis grinned. ‘Afraid, Tsurani?’
Asayaga turned, and his hand fell to the hilt of his sword.
Dennis said nothing but Tinuva could see his barely-suppressed desire to have it out.
‘Asayaga. Would you let it be said that Kingdom troops dared something that the Tsurani could not do as well? I know you are made of sterner stuff,’ said the elf.
Asayaga looked over at him, obviously not sure if the elvish scout was taunting him as well.
‘I speak to you with respect for your prowess,’ Tinuva went on. ‘The crossing will be hard but it can be done. We run a rope across to hold on to. All men strip naked, bundle up their clothing and weapons, securing them to staves which they hold out of the water as they cross. The first across build a fire to warm the rest. Dennis and I shall go first, bearing the rope.’
Asayaga seemed to hesitate.
‘It is the only way, Tsurani,’ said Dennis in a calm tone, having suddenly lost the desire to taunt his enemy. Slowly, he repeated, ‘It is the only way.’
At last Asayaga nodded reluctantly. ‘I shall tell my men.’
He stood up and started back up the river bank to the edge of the forest where the two forces waited.
‘Tsurani?’ Dennis shouted.
Asayaga turned.
‘Let me guess. You can’t swim. Is that it?’
Asayaga turned away with an angry snarl and Dennis smiled. ‘Perhaps we could drown them all,’ Dennis whispered, even as he started to pull off his cloak, trousers, boots and tunic.
‘We will still need them on the far side,’ Tinuva replied. ‘Sixty additional swords will be the difference between life and death in the days to come. We still have to outrun the moredhel and then circle around to an open pass. I doubt if we can achieve that without a fight.’
‘And then what?’
‘Worry about that later.’
Tinuva stripped down, drawing his short sword to hack a sapling and trim it into a staff to which he tied his bundle of clothing.
Sergeant Barry came down, looking a bit absurd in his nakedness, already shivering from the cold. He carried a heavy coil of rope, the thirty-foot lengths carried by every fifth man in Dennis’s unit having been knotted together.
‘I hope it’s long enough. Got the end tied to that tree up there,’ Barry said, as he tossed one end to Dennis, who tied it around his waist.
Tinuva looked over at Dennis. It was one of the few times Tinuva had seen him naked and once again he was astonished at just how many scars a human could acquire in such a short life. A nasty white slash traced across his chest and just below the left collarbone was a knot of pink flesh from the arrow he had taken in an ambush the summer before. Both arms were cross-hatched with lines and his left calf was twisted and gnarled from a blow that had nearly taken off his leg three summers past.
Without comment, Dennis waded into the river, staff over his shoulder, and Tinuva could hear his sharp intake of breath. Tinuva followed, closing his thoughts, silently chanting the ‘Isluna’, the meditation to block pain, to disconnect the flesh from the mind.
Nevertheless he could feel his heart constrict and thump over as the icy chill swirled around him. Within seconds he was up to his waist, angling his steps against the fast-moving current, pushing aside a chunk of ice that eddied around him. He leaned against the staff, bracing himself as he nearly lost his footing in a hole, the water going up to his chest.
Dennis was beside him, cursing with every step, damning the weather, the gods who sent it, the Tsurani, and the moredhel.
They reached mid-stream and Tinuva could sense that the river was beginning to rob him of his strength, as if it was a malevolent spirit that had sunk its fangs into his soul. He stumbled and nearly went under but Dennis reached out, grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back up.
‘Come on,’ Dennis gasped, teeth chattering.
The river finally shallowed out, and the steam rose from their bodies as they floundered up to the reed-covered bank. Stumbling, they gained the far shore. Dennis untied the rope from his waist and, pulling hard, managed to secure it to a stunted tree on the river bank.
Looking back, Tinuva saw dozens of men standing along the river, all of them naked. In spite of his pain he had to chuckle at the sight.
Dennis, himself still naked, threw his pack down and tore it open, reaching into his haversack for flint, steel and tinder. Tinuva tore up an armful of reeds and piled them high, busting open the dry, fluffy seedpods. Dennis quickly had a smouldering wisp of flame which he blew to life as Tinuva carefully fed in the fluff from the seedpods, then began to break up the hollow reeds, laying them on top of the tiny wisp of flame. Dennis ran to the nearest pine tree, broke off several dead branches and brought them back and soon the fire sparked to life. Finally, with the fire alight, they struggled clumsily to get their clothes back on.
Tinuva looked back to the river. The first men, all of them from Dennis’s command were nearly across, spluttering and cursing, led by Sergeant Barry.
‘Gregory just came in with the rearguard,’ Barry blurted out. ‘They’re on to our trail.’
‘Damn.