Several times his mount nearly lost its footing. Once he lost the trail completely and had to slowly backtrack, barely able to pick out the pathway as the snow continued to fall.
The third moon had risen an hour before and there was ample light by which to navigate if he kept to a slow and steady pace. He fought back the urge to pick up speed, but galloping down a mountain trail through the woods at night would be folly of the worst sort.
He could sense Roxanne falling asleep, her arms around his waist going slack, her head lolling on his shoulder, her warm breath on the back of his neck. He let her rest for a few minutes then slapped her lightly on the thigh.
'Stay awake, I need your eyes.'
She sighed, mumbled something and then sat upright.
'Where are we?'
'I don't know,' she whispered.
He sensed a narrow clearing ahead before actually seeing it where the trees thinned out slightly. He reined in and slipped out of the saddle, taking his bow, which had been resting across the pommel, and removing the oil-cloth draped over the string. Nocking an arrow he slipped forward, paused, then slowly dropped down onto the road. Even in the darkness he could discern its lines, a straight cut through the forest, wide enough for two carts to pass each other.
Bent low, he crept to the middle of it, crouched and carefully scanned the path. After several minutes he started to brush aside the powdery snow, probing down through the foot-deep fresh fall until he hit the hard crust below. He cursed silently. It was hard to tell in the darkness, especially by touch, but there were footprints: goblins and at least one horse. He reached into his haversack, pulled out some tinder and a precious springlock sparker, a gift from Wolfgar on midwinter's night, wound it up and held it close to the tinder, his cloak draped over his shoulders and head to shield himself. He pressed the trigger and a shower of sparks came spinning out, striking the tinder. Cupping the fluffy down and thin white bark shavings he blew them to life so that a tiny curl of a flame flared up – not much more than the light from a candle about to flicker out – but after hours of darkness the light seemed nearly as bright as day.
Keeping one eye closed in order not to destroy his night vision, he scanned the footprints, kicking back more of the powder and then let the flame wink out. Catlike he straightened up, opened his other eye and carefully scanned both ways: nothing moved.
'Roxanne,' he hissed and she came out of the edge of the woods and down to the road, leading their horse. 'He's sent someone around – at least four goblins and one rider. They passed here just before the storm started.'
'The bridge,' she whispered.
He stood up, brushing the snow off his trousers. 'Either hold it, or destroy it,' he sighed. He weighed the odds. Go back, get a few men, then come back again. An hour or more to do that. It was hard to tell how long before dawn. One man, in the dark, however, might catch them by surprise. 'I'm going,' he said. 'You wait here, guide the column onto this trail and tell Asayaga I've gone ahead and what's happening. Make sure he puts out scouts as he comes up to the bridge in case it doesn't work out.'
'I'm going with you.'
'Like hell you are.'
'What are you going to do, just gallop in on this old nag?' she snapped. 'You don't even know the ground before the bridge.'
'Then tell me now, girl, what will I see before approaching the bridge.'
'Like hell. You'll need someone to cover your back.'
He wanted to laugh but was too exhausted even to make the effort.
'I go, or you can just stumble into the trap on your own. There's no room for all that nonsense about protecting Wolfgar's daughter, Hartraft. If you fail here, we all die. I can put an arrow through a man at fifty yards. My father was a bard but he was also a damn good bowman and taught me well.'
Dennis sighed and shook his head. 'You do exactly what I tell you to do.' He mounted, fighting down the temptation to rake the flanks of the horse and simply gallop off. No, she was right. It was a blind attack – surprise and speed was everything, but an extra arrow might make all the difference. He pulled her up behind him. He urged the horse up to all that it could give, which was, at best, a laborious trot.
The poor animal gasped for air, legs rubbery, barely able to hold its footing. She protested once, begging him to let the dying beast rest for just a few minutes, but he pressed on. He had no idea as to the size of the bridge – even if it was still there – but if it was, and the centre span was wood, it might still be standing, especially if the goblins, arriving at dark and typical of their breed, had decided to settle down for the night and do their job come dawn.
They rode in silence for a while then finally Roxanne's head came up, and she looked off to the side of the trail. 'I remember that,' she hissed into his ear, and pointed. 'It's a side trail up to an old quarry. My father took me there to see the marble. The bridge is only a few minutes' ride ahead.'
Even as she spoke, he could feel that their horse was ready to give way. He tried to kick it forward but the animal simply stopped, its flanks shaking, and with a groan it settled to its knees. Cursing, he slipped off the saddle and uncovered his bow. 'We go in on foot.'
Roxanne dismounted, unslung her own bow and strung it. He waited impatiently and was about to speak when she reached out and gently scratched the horse's ear. 'I'm sorry old friend,' she whispered. 'Rest now.' She looked back up at Dennis and he could see that her eyes were bright with tears and that she was shaking, though whether from cold or fear he couldn't tell.
'Take the right side of the road, stay a dozen paces behind me: I'll be on the left. If I fall, you get the hell out. No heroics, just turn and run until you meet up with Asayaga.' She nodded. He realized that it was beginning to get lighter, that dawn was not far off. He patted her on the shoulder, a clumsy gesture, then withdrew his hand.
'Remember: get out.' Then he turned and set off at a lopping trot, not looking back.
The road turned in a long gentle curve to the right, cutting down and clinging to the flank of the hill. Off to his left he could now hear a low rushing thunder: the river cascading over a falls. Good, the sound would cover his approach. He could see nearly a hundred feet now: if not for the snow it would be a clear view all the way down to his goal. And then he saw it – a dull, pulsing glow of light. He picked up his pace, arrow nocked and bow half-drawn, the glow of light turning the falling snow ahead into a pool of pink. He could see a glowing swirl rising up as well and spreading out; then there was a flash of fire, an explosion of light, and dark demonic figures dancing and waving their arms as one of them hurled another pot of oil into the conflagration consuming the centre span of the bridge. He ran, powdery snow churning up, his sprint so quick that he nearly lost his footing on the ice underneath. He reached the edge of the bridge, the stone span arching up to the centre section of wood that was blazing from end to end. His first arrow caught a goblin in the middle of its back from not fifty feet away. The goblin pitched forward, shrieking, staggering out on to the burning beams. For a few precious seconds the dying goblin's four companions thought he was drunk, which he indeed was, and broke into gales of laughter at their companion's antics, until a second one spun around, an arrow protruding from his body. The other three finally began to turn, one of them pointing at Dennis. They were perfect targets, silhouetted by the fire and his next arrow gutted yet another, who sank down to his knees shrieking in agony, his cries heard above the roar of the fire.
One of them began to charge, but the second hesitated and looked around for a way to escape. Another arrow streaked in, piercing the charging goblin's heart, but he continued forward for a dozen paces, almost reaching Dennis before collapsing. The last survivor began to squeal and run frantically back and forth at the edge of the inferno, looking for a way out. Dennis, with cold brutality drew another arrow, carefully nocked it, and raised his bow.