“That’s a lot of smoke,” Sergan said as he sidled alongside Antonil, showing he’d noticed the same.
“If Bram’s there, it’d make sense for him to have an escort.”
Sergan shrugged and stared at the sky.
“Big escort then.”
Despite their apprehension, there wasn’t much else for them to do but continue on. When the bridge came in sight, the army gathered there did little to improve their mood. Just as when they entered Ker through the Bloodbrick, Bram had gathered his ten thousand men and set up camp before the bridge. Antonil was too exhausted to feel anything more than mild irritation.
Must we go through this again? he wondered, thinking of the tireless back and forth squabbling, the vague threats and posturing. Of course he would. These were his men. They’d risked their lives for him, for a land many had never been to before, and most likely would never see again in their lifetimes.
“Keep the men calm,” Antonil said, glancing back at the rest of his army. “I don’t want anyone trying to rush across. Bram will want some sort of payment, I’m sure of it, and I want to know what that payment is before we cross.”
“Yes, milord.”
His five thousand slowed, then came to a shuffling stop before the entrance to the bridge. Antonil rode ahead, not bothering with an escort. He saw Bram dismounting from his own horse and walking out to meet him.
“Friend!” Antonil cried, widening his smile. “It is good to see you.”
Bram stopped just outside the bridge, and he slowly shook his head.
“I dare not say the same,” he called out. “What is it you come here for?”
Antonil hid his frown as he gestured to his army.
“Did I not say as much in my letter?” he asked. “My men are hungry and thirsty. An orc army ambushed us, their numbers greater than we ever thought possible. I…we…all of us require aid as we travel toward Mordan, and I will gladly pay you back a hundred times if need be.”
Bram stared at him, and the lingering silence made Antonil unconsciously reach for his sword. What was it that the man so clearly debated?
“No,” he said, his sudden words slicing through the silence. “You will not be entering my lands.”
Antonil stood frozen, with only years of training keeping his voice calm despite his inner furor.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“When you last came here, you mocked my right to enforce my borders,” he said, shaking his head. “In doing so you mocked the right of my sovereignty. You scorned the power of my crown. The nation of Ker is not your servant, nor your slave, nor your child. If you would return to your home, then go another way.”
“Another way?” Antonil said. “There is no other way. Please, Bram, let me make up for my pride, but do not punish these men.”
“This has nothing to do with your pride. Your angels flew into my lands under cover of night. They killed my guards, all so they might capture a man under my protection.”
The words hit Antonil like a sledge.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“Ask them, should they come for you,” Bram said. “But I was promised freedom from your angels’ tyranny, and I was not given it. I warned you, yet you would not listen. Already your angels kill my men, and now you would have me feed an army allied with such beasts. No, Antonil, I will not let you through. If this is the only way for you to understand the dangers you court with Avlimar, then do this I must.”
Briefly Antonil pondered an attack, but he was outnumbered, and when previously crossing the bridge he’d seen firsthand the extensive defenses they’d built into it. There would be no forcing his way across, not in the state his men were in.
“Please,” he said, his voice softer. “Bram, don’t do this. Don’t punish my men like this. They’ll starve.”
Bram crossed his arms and looked away.
“I am not without mercy,” he said. “I’ll send across some wagons containing food, and there is plenty of water to boil from the river. It will tide you over for a time, perhaps long enough for you to think on your many errors. Oh, and Antonil, don’t try to have anyone swim across. I assure you, we’ll be watching.”
Bram turned, cloak flailing behind him as he crossed the bridge. Antonil heard the first of many fearful cries filter through his army, yet there was nothing he could do. He clutched his sword tighter, teeth clenched, and cursed Bram in every way possible.
“So what are our options?” Sergan asked as they settled down for the night around a small campfire. The two were separate from the rest of the army, the other generals scattered throughout to ensure order. Antonil wanted to be alone with his friend, to speak his mind without fear of panic or scorn.
“I’m not sure what other choice we have,” he said. “It seems Bram is determined to humiliate us, but I don’t think it extends beyond that.”
“You don’t know that,” Sergan said. “What was that nonsense about the angels?”
Antonil shook his head.
“Supposedly some of them attacked Bram’s castle. I don’t know any more than that. If it is true, then I don’t blame Bram for his fury. Such an action breaks every promise I’ve ever made him since the Gods’ War.”
“Anger or not, the man’s still acting like a bastard,” Sergan said. “We can’t just sit here, can we? The food he gave us will tide us over for a week, but no longer than that. If we don’t do anything we’ll be at his mercy, holding out our hands like lowly beggars.”
“Which is what he wants,” Antonil said, poking his fire with a stick. “He wants his power over us acknowledged. No one in Mordan will expect our return so early. He’ll keep us here, helpless, frustrated, and then make some sort of outrageous demand I’ll have no choice but to agree to.”
“We still might have a shot at crossing farther upstream,” Sergan said. “You have friends at the Citadel, and I know they have their boats.”
“We don’t have the food to travel that far north. Besides, the Citadel houses thirty people, maybe forty. They won’t have enough supplies to feed five thousand.”
Sergan grunted, accepting the rejection.
“Well, what about the wizard? Perhaps he can do something, get a few of us across the river with an ice bridge or something.”
“Tarlak’s too weak for that,” Antonil said, shaking his head. Still, something about what he’d said sparked an idea in his mind, and he looked around, feeling a sudden surge of excitement.
“A map,” he said. “Where is my map?”
“What for?”
Antonil ignored him, instead hurrying into his tent and throwing open his strongbox. He came back out, unrolling the paper and laying it out on the seat he’d been sitting in.
“Wizards,” Antonil said. “I completely forgot about the wizards.”
Sergan leaned over to look at what Antonil pointed to. There, halfway between Ashhur’s Bridge and the Citadel, were the twin towers of the Council of Mages. Sergan saw it and immediately paled.
“Forgive me, my liege, but you’re insane.”
“Why? With that many wizards, surely they would know a way to supply us, and they have a bridge spanning both sides.”
“But…but they’re wizards. And more importantly, they’re reclusive, unpredictable wizards that hate being bothered by anyone, kings or not.”
Antonil stared at the two little towers, one marked with red chalk, the other coal.
“That’s where we’re going,” he said. “I know it’s a risk, but we can’t stay here. I refuse to let Bram lord over us in such a way.”