The knights halted as a sudden snow squall enveloped them in white, obscuring their vision. When the snow lessened and they could see the bridge again, Aran started to urge his horse forward. Derek raised a warding hand.
“Hold a moment,” he said.
“Why?” Aran halted. “Did you see something?”
“I thought I did, before that last squall. I saw people moving on the other side of the bridge.”
“No one there now,” said Aran, rising in his saddle and gazing ahead.
“I can see for myself,” said Derek. “That’s what bothers me.”
“This would be a good place for an ambush,” observed Brian, loosening his sword in its scabbard.
“We could find another place to cross,” Aran suggested. He was one of the few knights skilled in archery, and he reached for the bow he wore slung on his back.
“They’ve seen us. If we turn back, it will look suspicious. Besides,” Derek added coolly, “I’d like to see who is lurking about this bridge and why.”
“Maybe it’s trolls,” Aran said, grinning, recalling the old child’s tale, “and we’re the billy goats.”
Derek pretended he hadn’t heard. “The bridge is narrow. We’ll have to cross in single-file. I will go first. Keep close behind me. No weapons, Aran. Let them think we haven’t seen them.”
Derek waited until another flurry of snow descended on them then touched his horse lightly on the flanks and started forward at a slow pace.
As his horse reached the bridge, Aran said in a low voice, “‘It’s only I, Billy Goat Gruff!’”
Derek half-turned in the saddle. “Damn it, Aran, be serious for once!”
Aran only laughed and urged his horse forward, falling in behind Derek. Brian, keeping watch over his shoulder, brought up the rear.
The knights rode slowly across the bridge. Though the snow concealed them, the horse’s hooves clattered on the wooden planks, effectively announcing their coming. They kept their ears stretched, but could hear nothing. Brian, peering behind them through the intermittent flurries, saw no one following them. He might have concluded Derek was jumping at shadows, but he knew the man too well for that. Derek might be a prize ass at times, but he was an excellent soldier—intuitive and keenly observant. Even Aran, though he’d joked about billy goats, was not joking now. He had his hand on his sword’s hilt and was keeping close watch.
Derek was about halfway across the bridge. Aran was coming along behind him, his horse clattering over the wooden slats, and Brian’s horse was behind Aran’s, when three strangers suddenly reared up out of the snow and began walking toward them. The strangers were enveloped in long cloaks that trailed over the snowy ground. They kept their hoods drawn over their heads, making it impossible to see their faces. Large leather gloves covered their hands, and they wore heavy boots.
Whoever they were, the horses didn’t like them. Derek’s horse snorted and laid back its ears. Aran’s horse danced sideways, while Brian’s nervously backed and shied.
“Well met, fellow travelers!” one of the strangers called out as he ambled toward the bridge. “Where are you bound in such foul weather?”
Brian stirred in the saddle. The stranger spoke Common well enough and was trying to sound friendly, but Brian tensed. He had detected a faint sibilant hissing at the end of the word “travelers.” Thus might a draconian speak the word. And draconians had been known to try to disguise their scaly bodies in long cloaks with hoods. Brian wondered if his companions had heard the hiss too and if they were likewise on their guard. He didn’t dare turn to look at them or act as if anything was out of the ordinary.
Then Aran, riding ahead of him, said softly in Solamnic, “Not trolls. Lizards.”
Brian shifted his hand beneath his cloak to grasp the hilt of his sword.
Derek eyed the strangers warily, then said, “Since we are on the road to Tarsis and that city lies directly ahead of us, it would seem safe to say that Tarsis is where we are bound.”
“Mind if we ask you a few questions?” the draconian inquired, still friendly.
“Yes, we do,” said Derek. “Now stand aside and let us cross.”
“We’re looking for some people,” the draconian continued, as if he hadn’t heard. “We have a message for them from our master.”
Brian caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A fourth draconian was off to the side of the road, half-hidden behind a signpost. Hooded and cloaked like the others, the draconian was far shorter than his three companions. He was moving about inside his cloak, and Brian thought perhaps the creature was about to draw a weapon. Instead, the draconian brought forth a document of some sort. The creature consulted the document, then called out something to his comrades and shook his head.
The leader glanced over at the draconian with the paper and then, shrugging, said affably, “My mistake. A good journey to you gentlemen,” and turned to walk off.
The knights stared at each other. “Keep riding,” Derek ordered.
The knights rode on. Derek’s horse made it across the bridge, and Aran’s was close behind when a gust of wind swirled down the gully, seized the corner of Derek’s cape and blew it back over his shoulder. The rose of his Order, embroidered on his tabard, flared bright red, the only color in the white, snow-covered landscape.
“Solamnics!” The word hissed from the short, squat draconian by the sign post. “Kill them!”
The draconians whipped around. They flung back their cloaks, revealing themselves as baaz draconians, the footsoldiers of the dragonarmies. Snatching off their gloves, they drew long, curve-bladed swords. Their bodies might be covered in scales and they held their weapons in clawed hands, but they were fierce and intelligent fighters, as the three knights had reason to know, for they had fought against them in Vingaard and at Castle Crownguard.
Sword in hand, Derek spurred his horse directly at the lead draconian, trusting that the beast’s stamping hooves would force the attacking draconian to retreat or be trampled. Unfortunately, Derek’s horse was a hired nag, not a trained war horse. The horse was terrified by the strange-smelling lizard-man and it reared back on its hind legs, whinnying frantically and nearly dumping Derek out of the saddle.
Derek struggled to calm the horse and keep his seat, and for the moment he could pay attention to little else. Seeing one knight in trouble, a draconian came at him, sword raised. Aran rode his horse between Derek’s plunging steed and his attacker. Slashing at the draconian with his sword, Aran cut the monster across the face.
Blood sprayed. A large chunk of bloody flesh sagged loose from the creature’s jaw. The draconian hissed in pain, but he kept coming and tried to jab the curve-bladed sword into Aran’s thigh. Aran kicked at the blade with his booted foot and knocked it from the draconian’s hand.
Brian spurred his horse off the bridge, heading to block off the third draconian, who was running to join the others. As he rode, he kept an eye on the short, squat draconian near the signpost and saw in amazement that the creature appeared to be growing! Then Brian realized the draconian was not growing; he was merely standing upright. A bozak draconian, he had been squatting comfortably on his haunches. Now he rose up to his full seven-foot height.
The bozak did not reach for a weapon. He lifted his voice in a chant and raised his hands, fingers extended toward Aran.
Brian bellowed, “Aran! Duck!”
Aran did not waste time asking why but flung himself forward, pressing against his horse’s neck. An eerie pinkish light flared through the falling snow. Balls of fire shot from the draconian’s fingers. The missiles whistled harmlessly over Aran’s back, showering sparks as they passed.
Shouting challenges, Brian drew his sword and galloped his horse toward the bozak, hoping to stop the creature from casting another spell. He heard, behind him, the clash of steel and Derek yelling something, but Brian did not dare lose sight of his enemy long enough to see what was happening.