I’d warn you,said Gerant, after the third time she’d turned over,long before any threat approached. You know that.
“I do,” she muttered, hoping she spoke too quietly to wake Amris. It made some difference, but only enough for her to try and sleep, not nearly enough to make it easy.
This, the edge beyond civilization, had been her place for a long time. She’d known its paths and delighted in what she didn’t know—the mysteries that lay inside caves, the treasures of the ancient world.
That world had come back, in two different forms. Now the ground beneath Darya felt far less solid, and the patterns of tree and sky were alien.
Even Amris, ally who was rapidly becoming friend, changed things, and not only by his presence and his news. She’d never had to explain the Order and its customs before, never had to put into words why she was happy and how she could go on without worrying about her death more than the most unshakable instinct forced her to.
She kind of liked doing so.
That was another change.
And it was all better thought of over a bottle of wine and a long talk with friends from the Order, when she was safe and the war was won and she wouldn’t have to wake up in four hours to try and overtake monster scouts.
Darya closed her eyes, listened to the sounds around her, and propelled herself downward toward sleep like a diver going after pearls. In the end, it was the slow, steady breathing of Amris that pushed her down over the edge into darkness.
Chapter 15
A little before midday, as far as Amris could estimate through the canopy of trees, they came to the bridge.
He knew the shape, and the blue-purple stone, from his time. Then it had been sturdy: not newly cut, but constantly renewed and maintained, with polished wooden railings to keep travelers safe. A hundred years of disuse had weakened the mortar and pitted the stones. Several had fallen down into the ravine below; they stood out of the running water in broken chunks.
“It wasn’t this bad when I came out,” Darya said.
Of course not. One woman is a good deal less strain than an entire scout pack.
“A pity,” Amris said, “that it didn’t collapse under them. Even if it would have been harder for us—and even now I have my doubts about us crossing.”
“I don’t know of another way over, and we don’t have time to go looking. But I’ll go first, and I’ll throw the rope back to you after.”
That had to suffice. Amris watched Darya, measuring every step of her light boots against the stone, and prayed to Sitha, who kept the world in order and loved the works of men’s hands.
Darya went slowly and with care, but she never stopped until she’d planted her feet firmly on the solid ground of the other side, and Amris had changed his prayer to one of thanksgiving. Then she threw him the end of the rope: a well-practiced overhand toss that sent yards of glittering silk soaring through the air before falling solidly into Amris’s outstretched hands.
“I can pray for you, if you want,” she called to him, tying the other end of the rope to a tree, “but I’m probably not as good at it.”
“Intent matters most,” Amris said.
And if the gods have ever been inclined to answer prayers, this would be the moment most in their interest.
“You either make a good point or you’ve doomed us all with overconfidence,” said Amris, and set foot on the bridge.
He was not such a strain as he had feared. The stones shifted occasionally, and he was very glad that he had the rope to hand, if only for his own peace of mind, but he never felt himself to be in real danger. It was almost a pity, Amris thought as he walked forward, coiling the slack rope over an arm. The weaker the bridge was under him, the more likely it would fall apart under the scouts as they returned, not only killing those creatures but delaying the army. Feeling the stones under him, though, Amris thought they’d hold together fine under more weight from above—
—and he didn’t stop when he had the idea. That was never wise. But as soon as he reached the other bank of the ravine, he stepped to the side, shaded his eyes, and took as close a look as he could manage at the bridge’s underside.
“You have a plan,” said Darya, when he turned back to her.
“I have an idea,” he said. “And a risky one.”
“My favorite kind.”
* * *
“You’ll tell me,” Amris said, looking over his shining-if-somewhat-battered pauldron at Darya, “if your gift gives you any warning, yes? One of us must live to take word back.”
“Yes, I’ll save my own neck purely for the greater good,” she said, rolling her eyes, “what with you twisting my arm about it and all.”
