Ferrian's Winter

The city waits, it spans the deeps

The light invades; the Bridge, it sleeps.

Ferrian and Lady Araynia found the others camped on the ridge, beside The Line on the western slope, well out of view of the city. Tander had set a fire on a flat ledge of rock overlooking the vast ivory expanse of the Bone Sea. The orange flames flickered forlornly, surrounded by tall, stately white-barked eucalyptus trees and piles of snow. They all sat hunched and shivering around it, immeasurably tired, cold, thirsty and starving.

They were all surprised to see the two young sorcerers return.

Ferrian told them remorsefully that he had had a change of heart, exchanged a meaningful glance with Araynia, but left it at that, for now.

Explanations were complicated, and could wait.

He sought out Ben and apologised, asking if he was hurt, but the boy just hugged him, saying nothing.

No one felt much like conversation, so they attempted to sleep, while dawn gathered amongst the forest trees in shades of brightening silver.

The Winter stilled itself, the wind dropping away, and the snow rapidly began to melt. Ferrian grabbed handfuls of it while he could to throw in a pot and boil – the Sky Legion carried some basic supplies with them.

He was tending to the drinking water when the Dragon called him away.

Half an hour later, he strode back into the camp with two frozen white wallabies, which he dumped onto the rock.

The Dragon had hunted for them.

Flint and Ben cheered.

The Sky Legion and Li, however, were dismayed, for they did not eat meat.

Araynia was just offering to go and find some edible vegetation to make a broth, when there was a tremendous crash in the trees on the hilltop above them, startling everyone.

Ferrian, Tander and Flint raced up the embankment at once, weapons drawn, to find the White Dragon hovering above the canopy, her huge wingbeats swaying the trees and sending leaves and bark flying.

She had deposited an entire cart full of goods there.

They found everything from bread, cheese, cakes, biscuits, exotic dried fruits and salted fish and pickled vegetables to candied nuts and boiled sweets and wine, and some small bottles of strong liquor. There were entire casks of water and ale.

It was a supply cart for the outposts.

This time, the whole group cheered, even louder. Even Nix expressed his thanks to the Dragon.

"So, this is the plan," Ferrian said.

They were gathered on the lichen-speckled rocks of the hillside, back in the shade of the trees. The sun was low in the west, now, setting their rocky ledge aglow and washing it with heat blown up off the desert. The Winter had long since dissipated, the sky deep and smooth and blue. The Dragon dozed on The Line where it cut a wide flat swath through the ridgetop, her massive, gleaming white body like a crystalline mound blocking the passage, her tail snaking along the worn cobbled road, though thankfully the highway was utterly devoid of travellers.

They had all eaten and drunk their fill, and rested the day away. They saw no one else, and none of them dared take so much as a peek at the city behind them.

"Lady Araynia and I are going back to Meadrun to retrieve the Sword of Healing," Ferrian announced. "After that, we'll find Mekka." He shook his head. "Gods know how, but it can't be that hard: he's flying around in a giant Black Pyramid.

"Then we'll come back here and capture Hawk. The Watcher should be able to contain him inside itself, hold him in place with trigon, and suppress the effects of the silvertine while Araynia uses her Sword on him.

"If that doesn't work…" he took a deep breath. "Then…" he swallowed, "then I'll use my own Sword and… banish him." He shook his head. "But first I'm going to do everything I can to make sure it doesn't come to that."

Everyone was silent, looking apprehensive. "That sounds… incredibly risky," Tander pointed out. "And will take a considerable amount of time."

Ferrian nodded. "Yeah, I know. But the only alternative is that I go down to the city right now and end his existence."

"They've closed the gates," Nix commented. The Angel lounged on the ground against a tree, eyes closed. He seemed to have recovered from his ordeal with the Watcher, leaving him, while still taciturn, considerably less hostile towards everyone.

Both of the Legionnaires had removed their silvertine armour, piling it in a heap in the bushes. They were reluctant to give up their spears, however.

Ferrian eyed him. "Not a problem for me; my Sword can cut through anything. This is a good thing, though. It means that someone down there is still alive, with their wits about them, or at least they lived long enough to recognise that Hawk is dangerous, and sealed off the city. No one's getting in or out, including Hawk."

"Except if he can walk through walls," Ben suggested, with unnecessarily gleeful enthusiasm. "Or, y'know, punch right through them, like Carmine did!" He made an accompanying gesture with his fists.

Flint grunted at that – apparently still a point of indignity for the Freeroamers.

Ferrian sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Well, let's hope that he can't. And anyway, silvertine wraiths are unlikely to be violent. He's probably just standing there."

"While people throw themselves at him in adoration." Tander frowned, disturbed. Ferrian knew he was remembering the wraith they had encountered in Arkana.

"Right," Ferrian affirmed.

In the awkward silence that followed, Ferrian regarded the Lieutenant. "Tander… I know you want to find your Commander," he hesitated. "If Mekka has found him, then he should be with the Pyramid. So you're welcome to come with us."

Tander was silent. Nix went pale.

"Yes," Tander replied finally, nodding. He turned to his companion. "Nix. You should return to Sundown Peak. The rest of the Legion need to be informed of what has happened."

Nix looked uncomfortable. "And tell them what? That our Commander went insane and abandoned us in the desert?"

"Exactly that."

Nix frowned.

Tander held his gaze. "I am second in command," he said quietly. "That means if something happens to Reeves, I am to assume all of his duties." He swallowed, closing his eyes. "That includes carrying out his mission. I intend to see it through. You can tell them that."

Nix breathed through his nose. "We don't even know what the mission is."

"We know an important part of it." Tander gestured to Ferrian. "And that book should tell us the rest."

Nix stared at him, then glanced at the rest of the group, then shrugged. "Suits me." Getting to his feet, he picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder, then gathered up his spear. He started to walk away, then hesitated and turned back to look at Ferrian.

He regarded the sorcerer for a long moment, green eyes searching, then gave him a lopsided smile. "You're not so bad," he said. "For a Human." Inclining his head in something that could almost be interpreted as a nod of respect, the Angel turned away, spread his wings and leapt into the air, and was quickly gone.

"You're not going with him?" Ben said.

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Tander shook his head. "No. I have to find Reeves." Something glimmered, deep in his eyes, for just a moment. He looked at the ground to hide it.

"Okay…" Ferrian let out a breath. "That's settled, then." He turned to Ben and Li, scratching his head. "What am I going to do with you two?"

Ben grinned back. "What do you think?"

Ferrian sighed, frowning. "Maybe Flint can—"

"I ain't goin' nowhere."

The Freeroamer stood with his back to a tree. His face was lowered, hidden by his large, tattered hat, which still bore the scorch marks from his brush with death four years ago.

It bore a lot more than that.

"The Eliminator's down there," he said simply, without looking up. "I came here to get it."

They all stared at him, stunned. Araynia's eyes went wide. "Flint," she breathed. "No!"

Ferrian put his face in his hands. All of his clever, carefully constructed plans suddenly shattered into a million pieces at his feet.

Why does EVERY single person I know have a death wish?! he thought furiously. I can't protect them all!!

"Flint," he said, without removing his hands from his face. "Don't do this."

The Freeroamer said nothing. When Ferrian lifted his head again, he was carefully rolling up a cigarette.

"It's the Eliminator," he replied, as though that were reason enough for anything.

"The damned crossbow is made of silvertine," Ferrian said through gritted teeth. "You will die."

Flint just shrugged. "It's me crossbow," he said, "and I ain't leavin' without it."

It was useless. Nothing on Arvanor could dissuade Starshadow Flint from abandoning the Eliminator.

Ferrian stared down bleakly at the orange streaks of sunlight patterning the rocks at his feet, at the tiny ants scurrying to and fro, a whole different world away, oblivious of the drama of Gods playing out above them. He tried to think of something, anything that would convince Flint to change his mind, already knowing that he could not.

"The gates are closed," he pointed out, with some measure of relief. "You can't get in."

Flint stuck the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, but didn't light it. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'll figure somethin' out."

Ferrian glared at him. "Lady Araynia saved your life, and you're just going to throw it away again, over a stupid crossbow?!"

Flint had the decency to look guilty. He shook his head, looking away. "Shoulda let me die, then," he muttered. Pushing himself off the tree, he started to walk away.

"Flint, wait."

The Freeroamer hesitated, but did not turn.

"There's something you should know, at least," Ferrian told him, "about the Sword of Healing."

He swallowed, and took a deep breath. "Lord Requar's spirit is trapped inside it. A part of him still exists."

Ben bounded excitedly to his feet. "I knew it!!"

Flint was very still. He did not move.

Ferrian looked at Araynia, who gave a small nod.

"You could talk to him, Flint," the Lady offered quietly.

Flint remained with his back to them for a very long moment, frozen in place like a statue, dappled with tree shadows and dying sunlight. Finally his hat shook, slowly. "Tell him…" he hesitated, voice wavering slightly. "Tell him that bolt with his name on it was the worst thing I ever did. Worse than killin' me own sister."

Then he strode off into the trees, without looking back.

They watched him go in dismay.

Ben sat back down on his rock beside Li, fidgeting with a piece of grass. "Can I talk to—"

"No!" Ferrian and Araynia cut him off together.

Damn it all, Ferrian thought, heart sinking with dread. Looks like I'm going into that cursed city after all…

* * *

In the narrowest, grimmest, darkest, dingiest alley in Bridgetown, Gastan the thief cowered in terror.

The entire city had fallen into chaos, in what seemed like the blink of an eye.

He couldn't comprehend how it had happened. He had seen no sign of panic as he nervously paid his toll, nothing amiss as he raced through the Golden Gates and onto the Bridge. He had been forced to slow his pace along the main street, as the Redwick Guards looked suspiciously at anyone running about.

The Bridge itself consisted of a single, straight, fairly narrow street lined on both sides with tall, opulent mansions four or five stories high, some topped with towers. Expensive shops clustered along the pavement, with gilded signs, marble facades and polished redstone pillars inviting rich customers into establishments selling jewellery, fine clothes, delicate cakes and pastries, art and other such fineries. Silvertine was currently all the fashion, with nearly every window displaying some such shining object for sale: necklaces, pocket watches, even shoes.

Gastan walked quickly past, keeping his gaze fixed determinedly ahead, though it all twinkled unnervingly in the sides of his vision.

The people on the street were well-dressed and ambled about leisurely, admiring the goods or standing in small groups, chatting. Fancy carriages were parked everywhere, impeding progress.

Due to the confines of the street, traffic was permitted only one way at a time, changing every hour. Fortunately, when Gastan was there, it flowed east, or he would not have been allowed through the Golden Gates.

It is all irrelevant now, he thought in despair.

Gastan had arrived at the Eastern Gate in time to witness a grand procession pass through.

Trumpeters came first, their long golden instruments pealing out a striking melody which rang off the buildings and canyon walls.

They were followed by a blue-liveried white horse bearing a quietly brooding but dignified man, with a stubbled beard and handsome brown-skinned, blue-eyed Sirinese features. He was clad in magnificent silvertine armour that would have been a wonder if the thief had not already laid eyes upon the wraith.

The horse was surrounded by a contingent of similarly well-fitted soldiers and followed by an entire town's worth of retainers. Blue banners with an emblem of four black wings and a twining rose fluttered atop poles carried aloft by the standard-bearers.

Gastan sucked in a breath, taken aback.

It was General Corvus Pine, leader of the Imperial Majestic Army.

The Twin Emperors had begun moving the army across the border, to claim their new territory following the Darorian Queen's accession.

All traffic on the main road and the Bridge had been halted and moved aside. Gastan had been one of the last to pass the second set of Golden Gates.

Now he was trapped in the Eastern Quarter, amongst a throng of onlookers.

He had shouldered his way closer to the gates, apologising and smiling profusely with every step, but it was hopeless. The way was blocked completely, and looked like it would be for some time.

They are ALL wearing silvertine armour! he thought in distress.

Some part of him wanted to do something terribly noble and heroic, like throwing himself in front of the General, screaming at him to stop. But his self-preservation instincts were strong, and he knew that to do so would see him seized at once as a madman and tossed off the Bridge like a piece of refuse.

Only after Gastan's poor body was shattered on the canyon floor would they belatedly understand his warning…

The sun flew high in the sky, beaming full upon the city now, so dazzling on the soldier's armour and weapons that it hurt his eyes, and Gastan could do nothing but watch, sweating, full of the awful knowledge that something profoundly dreadful was happening at the other gate.

Still, no alarm had been raised.

Someone walked a few yards behind the General's horse, a little scrap of a winged woman engulfed in rags and trailing a rose-coloured scarf. She was so slight that Gastan almost missed seeing her, only catching a glimpse between the columns of soldiers. Her strange pink eyes roamed about, as though seeing everything and nothing.

Gastan was oddly distracted by her, perplexed. Why is General Pine dragging an Angel vagabond around with him?

And then she screamed.

It was so unexpected that all those assembled in the square – including all of the soldiers, and the General himself, and his horse – jumped in fright.

The Angel woman clasped her hands to her face and fell to her knees, as though shot in the eye.

Every soldier in the vicinity drew their weapon, searching for an archer, or an assassin, but none could be found.

General Pine regained control of his spooked horse, whirled and galloped back to her, while soldiers closed around them both protectively. A few words were exchanged between Pine and the Angel, though all that reached Gastan's ears was a pitiful wail.

Then the General was shouting orders, and suddenly everyone was running in all directions at once. Soldiers gathered up the Angel woman and ushered her hastily out of the gates. The General spurred his horse and followed close behind.

There was mass confusion. Gastan made a run for the gates, shoving people out of his way indiscriminately, but the portcullis rattled shut in his face.

He joined about fifty people throwing themselves against the iron bars, yelling; most were irate merchants and others whose travel plans had been thrown awry.

They were ignored.

Pine and the Angel woman had disappeared. The highway beyond the barbican was swarming with Imperial foot soldiers and cavalry.

Extricating himself from the crush of bodies, Gastan fled into a side street, panting and glancing around wildly, but no one appeared to have recognised him or was looking in his direction.

Somehow, that woman saw the wraith! Gastan thought in disbelief.

Further up the street, people were arguing with the Redwick Guards, demanding to know what was going on.

Gastan backed away down the lane he was on, then turned and attempted to lose himself in the back alleys.

Now night had fallen, and Gastan crouched in the darkest bit of shadow he could find; on the stoop of an old, disused doorway, green cloak wrapped around him, cornered like a frightened rat. Hours had passed and the city had gradually become very, very quiet.

An intense pale glow suffused the night sky. Gastan had tried to convince himself it was just the moon, but no moon was that bright, and it seemed to have invaded the entirety of Bridgetown, lighting up the surrounding buildings like daylight. A beam of it fell upon the curtain wall opposite him in a long, slanted line, and every time he looked at it, his heart leapt with an excited urge to bound to his feet and run out into the street, overcome with a maddening need to see.

He fought it, desperately, keeping his eyes squeezed shut in denial, but somehow that only made the terror and the sense of wonder worse, made his skin crawl up his spine.

The face of the wraith kept appearing in his mind's eye.

Forcing his eyes open, he concentrated furiously on the rotten wood of the doorframe beside him. It had originally been painted red, and there was a nail hammered into it, for some long-forgotten purpose, bent and crusted with rust.

Beyond his inadequate hiding place, there was nothing to be heard.

Nothing at all, save the lonesome moan of wind chasing itself down the Chasm.

A mouse came and sniffed at his boots, then darted away again.

The air was chilly, and the silence was horrific.

But so was the unknown.

What has happened to everyone? Gastan thought feverishly. Are the streets out there littered with bodies? What is the wraith doing? Is it moving? Does it stalk and hunt, like a predator? Does it know I am here?!

Am I the only person left alive in this doomed city?

Gastan shrank further back into the corner, as though trying to become one with the grimy stones of the wall. Someone will come, he told himself. Someone will have to open the gates, eventually. General Pine is out there, planning… something. Presumably. The Army needs to move through this city. Bridgetown is too important; it cannot be abandoned! The Redwicks, if they are not dead, will not allow themselves to be prisoners in their own city. Someone will open the gates.

Someone will come.

The face of the wraith smiled at him encouragingly.