Ranger's Apprentice 1 & 2 Bindup by John Flanagan
Satisfied that the wood was stacked properly, she took Will’s saxe and cut several one-metre lengths of tarred rope from the bridge railing – thinner lengths, not the massive cable itself. It would have been almost impossible to hack through that in time.
Taking the rope lengths, she came to her feet and darted across the bridge to the blazing fire on the other side. It was a simple matter to get the lengths of tarred rope burning, then she ran back to her fire pile and draped the burning rope around the base, trailing it through the gaps she had left in the wood. The flames licked at her fingers as she pushed the rope in between pieces of wood. She bit her lip, ignoring the pain as she made sure the fire was burning freely.
The tar-fed flames crackled at the wood, flickered, then took. She fanned them for a few seconds as they became established, until the lighter kindling strips were burning fiercely, then the heavier planks began to take fire as well. The handrail caught in several places and now tongues of flame were shooting up to the cable, beginning to lick at it, feeding on the tar, then running up to where it joined the wooden pylon structure.
Only now did she take the time to glance up at Will. Her eyes were dazzled by the fire and she could see him only as a dull blur, five metres away, behind a rock outcrop. As she looked, he rose to a standing position and fired an arrow. She looked into the surrounding darkness but could see no sign of their attackers.
The bridge gave another convulsive jerk beneath her feet and the roadway tilted to an alarming degree as the second of the three strands of the right-hand cable burnt through and the structure sagged further to that side. They wouldn’t have much time to get back across to where Horace and Tug waited. She had to warn Will.
Saxe knife in hand, she ran full pelt to where he crouched behind the rocks, his eyes searching the darkness for movement. He glanced quickly at her as she arrived.
‘The other side’s burning,’ she said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Grimly, he shook his head, then pointed with his chin to a jumble of rocks barely thirty metres from where they crouched.
‘Can’t risk it,’ he told her. ‘One of them has got behind those rocks. If we go now, he might have time to save the bridge.’
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a quick, darting movement to their left and pointed quickly.
‘There’s one!’ she said. Will nodded.
‘I see him,’ he replied evenly. ‘He’s trying to draw my fire. As soon as I shoot at him, the one closer to us will have a chance. I have to wait for him to show himself before I can shoot.’
She looked at him, horrified, as she realised the significance of what he was saying. ‘But that means the others can close in on us,’ she said. This time, Will said nothing. The incipient panic he had felt was now replaced by a calm sense of resolution. Deep in his heart, a part of him was glad – glad that he hadn’t failed Halt and glad that he had repaid the faith that the older Ranger had placed in him when he chose him as an apprentice.
He glanced at Evanlyn for a long moment and she realised he was willing to be captured if it kept the enemy away from the bridge just a few minutes longer.
Captured or killed, she amended.
Behind them, there was a groaning crash and she turned to see the first cable finally give way in a shower of flame and sparks. It took the burnt-through upper half of its pylon with it. That was the result they had wanted. They had discussed the idea of simply cutting the main cables, but that would have left the major structure of the bridge untouched. The pylons themselves had to be destroyed. Now the entire bridge was hanging, suspended by the left-hand cable, and flames were already eating their way through that. In a few more minutes, she knew, the bridge would be gone. The Fissure would be impassable once more.
Will tried to give her a reassuring smile. It wasn’t a very successful attempt. ‘You can’t do much more here,’ he told her. ‘Get across the bridge while you’ve still got time.’
She hesitated, desperately wanting to go but unwilling to leave him on his own. He was only a boy, she realised, but he was willing to sacrifice himself for her and the rest of the Kingdom.
‘Go!’ he said, turning to her and shoving at her. And now she thought she could see the glitter of tears in his eyes. Her own eyes filled and she couldn’t see him clearly. She blinked to clear her vision, just in time to see a jagged rock curving down out of the firelit night.
‘Will!’ she shouted, but she was too late. The rock took him in the side of the head and he grunted in surprise, then his eyes rolled up and he fell at her feet, dark blood already welling from his scalp. She heard a rush of feet from several directions and she tossed the saxe knife aside and scrabbled in the dirt for Will’s bow. Then she found it and was trying to nock an arrow when rough hands grabbed her, knocking the bow from her grasp and pinning her arms to her sides. The Skandian held her in a bear hug, her face pressed into the rough sheepskin of his vest, smelling of grease and smoke and sweat and all but suffocating her. She kicked out, lashing with her feet and tossing her head, trying to butt the man who was holding her, but to no avail.
Beside her, Will lay unmoving in the dust. She began to sob in frustration and anger and sadness and she heard the Skandians laughing. Then another sound came and they stopped. The arms holding her released a little and she was able to see.
It was a drawn out, creaking groan and it came from the bridge. The right-hand support was gone, and the left-hand side, already weakened by the fire, was now holding the entire structure. It was never meant for such a load, even in perfect condition. With a final sharp SNAP! the pylon shattered at its halfway point and, cables and all, the bridge collapsed slowly into the depths of the Fissure, trailing a bright shower of sparks behind it in the darkness.
Gilan watched impatiently as the company of cavalrymen remounted after a fifteen-minute break. He was itching to be away, but he knew that both horses and men needed rest if they were to continue at the killing pace he had set them. They had been travelling for half a day and he estimated that they should meet Will’s party sometime in the early afternoon.
Checking that all the troopers were mounted, he turned to the captain beside him.
‘All right, Captain,’ he said. ‘Let’s get them moving.’
The captain had actually drawn breath to bellow his command when there was a call from the lead troop.
‘Horseman coming!’
An expectant buzz ran through the cavalrymen. Most of them had no idea what their mission was about. They’d been roused out of bed in the early dawn and told to mount and ride. Gilan stood in his stirrups, shading his eyes against the midday glare, and peered in the direction the trooper had indicated.
They hadn’t reached the Celtic border yet, and here the terrain was open grasslands, with occasional thickets of trees. To the south-west, Gilan’s keen eyes could make out a small cloud of dust, with a galloping figure at the head of it.
‘Whoever he is, he’s in a hurry,’ the captain observed. Then the forward scout called more information.
‘Three horsemen!’ came the shout. But already Gilan could see that the report wasn’t quite correct. There were three horses, but only one rider. He experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
‘Should we send out an intercept party, sir?’ the captain asked him. In times like these, it wasn’t always wise to let a stranger ride full pelt into the middle of a group. But now that the rider was closer, Gilan could recognise him. More to the point, he could recognise one of the horses he was riding: small, shaggy, barrel-chested. It was Will’s horse, Tug. But it wasn’t Will riding him.
The lead troop had already fanned out to stop the rider’s progress. Gilan said quietly to the captain: ‘Tell them to let him through.’
The captain repeated the order with considerably more volume and the troopers separated, leaving a path for Horace. He saw the small group of officers around the company banner and headed for them, bringing the shaggy little Ranger horse to a h
‘They’ve got Will!’ the boy shouted hoarsely, recognising Gilan among the group of officers. ‘They’ve got Will and Evanlyn!’
Gilan closed his eyes briefly, feeling a lance of pain in his heart. Then, knowing the answer before he asked, he said: ‘Wargals?’
‘Skandians!’ he replied. ‘They took them at the bridge. They …’
Gilan flinched in surprise at the word. Surprise and horror.
‘Bridge?’ he said urgently. ‘What bridge?’
Horace was breathing heavily from his exertions. He’d alternated between the three horses, switching from one to the other, but not resting himself at any stage. He paused now to get his breath, realising he should start from the beginning.
‘Across the Fissure,’ he said. ‘That’s why Morgarath took the Celts. They were building a huge bridge for him to bring his army across. They’d almost got it finished when we got there.’
The captain beside Gilan had turned pale. ‘You mean there’s a bridge across the Fissure?’ he asked. The implications of such a fact were horrendous.
‘Not anymore,’ Horace replied, his breathing steadier and his voice a little more under control now. ‘Will burnt it. Will and Evanlyn. But they stayed on the other side to keep the Skandians back and –’
‘Skandians!’ said Gilan. ‘What the devil are Skandians doing on the plateau?’ Horace made an impatient gesture at his interruption.
‘They were the advance party for a force that’s coming up the southern cliffs. The Skandians were going to join forces with the Wargals, cross the bridge and attack the army in the rear.’
The group of cavalry officers exchanged looks. Professional soldiers, all of them could imagine how disastrous that could have been for the royal forces.
‘As well the bridge is gone then,’ said a lieutenant. Horace swung his tormented gaze on the officer – a young man barely a few years older than himself.
‘But they’ve got Will!’ he cried, his eyes welling with tears as he thought of how he had stood by and watched helplessly as his friend was knocked out, then carried away.
‘And the girl,’ added Gilan, but Horace dismissed her.
‘Yes! Of course they got her!’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry she’s been caught. But Will was my friend!’
‘You’re sorry she’s been caught? Do you know who …’ the captain interrupted indignantly, for he was one of the few who knew the true nature of their task. But Gilan stopped him before he could say more.
‘That’s enough, Captain!’ he said crisply. The officer looked at him angrily and Gilan leaned forward, speaking so that only he could hear.
‘The fewer people who know the girl’s name now, the better,’ he said, and understanding dawned in the officer’s eyes. If Morgarath knew that his men held the King’s daughter hostage, he would have a powerful tool to bargain with. He looked back to Horace. ‘Horace, is there any way they might be able to repair this bridge?’ he asked and the muscular youth shook his head vehemently. He was devastated at the loss of his friend but his pride in Will’s accomplishment was obvious as he described it.
‘No way at all,’ he replied. ‘It’s gone, well and truly. Will made sure that nothing remained on the far side. That’s why he was caught. He wanted to make sure.’ He paused and added: ‘They might get a small rope bridge across, of course.’
That decided Gilan. He turned to the captain.
‘Captain, you’ll continue with the company and make sure no bridge of any kind is thrown across the Fissure. We don’t want any of Morgarath’s forces, no matter how small, coming across. Get Horace to show you the location on a map. Hold the west side of the Fissure until you’re relieved, and send out patrols to locate any other possible crossing points. There won’t be many of those,’ he added. ‘Horace, you’ll come with me and report to the King. Now.’ He stopped abruptly as he realised that Horace was waiting for a chance to say something. He nodded for the apprentice to go ahead.
‘The Skandians,’ said Horace. ‘They’re not just on the plateau. They’re sending a force north of the Thorntree Forest as well.’
There was another buzz of comment from the officers as they realised how close their army had come to disaster. Two unexpected forces, attacking from the rear, would have left the King’s men very hard-pressed indeed.
‘You’re sure of this?’ Gilan asked and Horace nodded several times.
‘Will overheard them talking about it,’ he said. ‘Their forces on the beach and in the fens are a feint. The real attack was always going to come from behind.’
‘Then we don’t have a moment to waste,’ said Gilan. ‘That force in the north-west could still be a big problem if the King doesn’t know about it.’ He turned to the company commander. ‘Captain, you have your orders. Get your men to the Fissure as soon as you can.’
The captain saluted briefly and issued a few crisp orders to his officers. They galloped off to their troops and, after a quick conference while Horace pointed out the site of the fallen bridge on a map of the area, the entire company was on the move, heading at a brisk canter for the Fissure.
Gilan turned to Horace. ‘Let’s go,’ he said simply. Wearily, the young warrior nodded, then turned back to mount his own horse. Tug hesitated, pawing the ground as he watched the cavalry ride away – back towards where he had last seen his master. He trotted a few uncertain paces after the troop then, at a word from Gilan, he reluctantly fell in behind the tall Ranger.
Will’s head ached abominably. He could feel a constant, rhythmic thudding that pounded through his skull, setting flashes off behind his tight closed eyes.
He forced his eyes open and found himself staring at close range at a sheepskin vest and the back of a pair of leather-bound woollen leggings. The world was upside down and he realised he was being carried over someone’s shoulder. The thudding was the thud of the man’s feet as he jogged along. Will wished he would walk.
He groaned aloud and the jogging stopped.
‘Erak!’ the man carrying him called. ‘’E’s awake.’
And so saying, the Skandian lowered him to the ground. Will tried to take a pace, but his knees gave out and he sank to his haunches. Erak, the leader of the group, leaned down now and examined him. One thick thumb caught hold of his eyelid and he felt his eye being opened wide. The man wasn’t cruel. But he was none too gentle either. Will recognised him now as the Skandian who had come so close to discovering him when he was eavesdropping by their camp fire in the valley.
‘Hmmm,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Concussed, most likely. That was a good throw with that rock, Nordel,’ he said to one of the others. The Skandian he’d spoken to, a giant of a man with his blond hair in two tightly plaited braids that were greased so they swept upwards like horns, smiled at the praise.
‘Grew up hunting seals and penguins that way, I did,’ he said, with some satisfaction.
Erak released Will’s eyelid and moved away. Now Will felt a gentler touch on his face and, opening his eyes again, found himself looking into Evanlyn’s eyes. She stroked his forehead gently, trying to clean away the dried, matted blood there.
‘Are you all right?’ she said and he nodded, then realised that was not a good idea.
‘Fine,’ he managed, fighting back a wave of nausea. ‘They got you as well?’ he added, unnecessarily, and she nodded. ‘Horace?’ he said softly and she put a finger to her lips.
‘He got away,’ she said softly. ‘I saw him running when the bridge collapsed.’
Will sighed with relief. ‘We did it then? We got the bridge?’
This time it was Evanlyn’s turn to nod. A smile even touched her lips at the memory of the bridge crashing into the depths of the Fissure.
‘It’s gone,’ she said. ‘Well and truly.’
Erak heard the last few words. He shook his head at them
‘And no thanks you’ll get from Morgarath for that,’ he told them. Will felt a small chill of fear at the mention of the Lord of Rain and Night’s name. Here on the plateau, it seemed somehow more ominous, more dangerous, altogether more malevolent. The Skandian glanced at the sun.
‘We’ll take a break,’ he said. ‘Maybe our friend here will be up to walking in an hour or so.’
The Skandians opened their packs and produced food and drink. They tossed a water bottle and a small loaf of bread to Will and Evanlyn and the two ate hungrily. Evanlyn began to say something but Will raised a hand to hush her. He was listening to the Skandians’ conversation.
‘So what do we do now?’ asked the one called Nordel. Erak chewed a piece of dried cod, washed it down with a gulp of the fiery liquor he carried in a leather bottle and shrugged.
‘For mine, we get out of here as fast as we can,’ he said. ‘We only came for the booty and there’s going to be precious little of that now the bridge is gone.’
‘Morgarath won’t like it if we pull out,’ warned a short, heavily built member of the party. Erak simply shrugged.
‘Horak, I’m not here to help Morgarath take over Araluen,’ he replied. ‘Neither are you. We fight for profit, and when there’s no profit to be had, I say we go.’
Horak looked down at the ground between his feet and scratched in the dust with his fingers. He didn’t look up when he spoke again. ‘What about those two?’ he said, and Will heard a sharp intake of breath from Evanlyn as she realised the Skandian meant her and Will.