<HTML> *** The badger surveyed the bodies, and noted that Fellen and the stoat were making a quick search of their garments.  However, aside from their patch-work armour and a few cutlasses, the Lutins possessed nothing to distinguish them from the tribal savages that they had been before Nasoj had united them against Metamor.  Angus pointed towards the sound of the laughter, and his roup nodded slowly.  He would trust that Garigan had met similar success, as no sounds of alarm had been raised.  Now, it was just a matter of dispatching the ten who stood at the bridge's end, and holding it against the forces on the other side. The woods had been cleared for a good twenty feet on either side of the bridge, and obviously not recently.  Most of the lumber from the felled trees had certainly been used to build the current bridge.  And it was not the first bridge to span the chasm before them either.  The old stone bridge had been fashioned in the days of the Suielman Empire, but it had crumbled a century ago from rot and neglect.  Many of the crumbling stones were still at the base of the chasm, and even now were holding the present edifice aloft, as the central support rested upon their remains far below, though most had been pilfered over the years by the locals who did not wish to pay to have stone shipped from the quarries to the South. Yet, as Angus peered out at the group of ten Lutins standing watch over the bridge, his concern was not so much for the history as for what his eyes now witnessed.  There was a man crossing that bridge, flanked by two humans, and a dozen Lutins, armed not with spears, but swords, and well-crafted ones at that.  With the foul taste of bile filling his throat, Angus could barely keep from spitting in disgust as he recognised the slender man as Baron Calephas.  What was he doing here? Holding his paws up, he motioned for his men to wait.  Clearly, Lord Avery and Garigan were also holding back, as the forest remained quiet and still.  In the distance, the hounds ceased their baying, as Alldis had undoubtedly lost them in his escape.  The badger gazed across the wide ravine to the other side, and began to count the number of Lutins he saw over there. The number had tripled form only moments before.  How had the Baron known of their attack?  He couldn't have, and they'd given no warning.  Unless of course they'd captured Burris, Charles, and Berchem, and forced them to confess.  That was an unpleasant, if unlikely thought. As there was little else he could do, Angus waited, alongside of his men, many of whom were anxious from spilling blood.  The black ichor slid from their sabres and daggers, staining the snow around them, darkening and melting it as it sunk down to the ground, as if even the Earth itself did not wish to remember it.  Absently, he wiped his own blade clean in the snow, even as he pressed his shoulder firmly against the bark of the nearest tree, watching between the leafless thickets as the Baron's party reached the other side of the bridge.  The Lutins there stood more firmly at attention, but as they were Lutins, that was hardly any better than a slouch, their spears pointing at odd angles. "Why were the hounds running down the road just now?" one of the men at Calephas's side asked in a hot voice, as the Baron himself just glanced about the woods, his dark eyes searching randomly.  Though Angus had nothing but contempt for the pederast's tastes, he had to confess that the man was tactically sound, and rarely made the same mistake twice.  He had to wonder what was going through the man's mind, and if their enemy knew or suspected that they were lurking in the woods not thirty feet away. "Ah, they were chasing a stupid deer," spat one of the Lutins, waving a negligent paw down the road. Calephas sucked in his breath and snapped his eyes to the other man at his side. "Get back across the bridge.  Now!" The Lutins at his side faltered for a moment, but began to run back the way they had come, surrounding the Baron and his two human companions as they bid a hasty retreat.  The ten Lutins standing guard stood dumbly for a moment, blinking, unsure exactly what had just happened.  And then, a volley of arrows descended from the trees about them, piercing eyes and throats, arms and legs, including that of one of Calephas's human soldiers.  Five of those Lutins ran, dropping their clumsy spears in their haste.  The other five lay dead or dying, clawing at the arrows in their limbs, even a the second round ended their last moments. Angus did not emerge from the trees, and he put up his paws for his men to wait, though with as many arrows descending into that bridge, they did not need to be told to do so.  He watched with a bit of surprise as Calephas and the other human stopped a moment to grab their fallen comrade by the arms and hoist him between their shoulders.  The Lutins that had been protecting them continued to flee, leaving them exposed, yet they still managed to make the rest of the journey back across the bridge.  Once on their own side, Calephas and his two human soldiers moved back into the woods, leaving only the Lutin guards to stand at the open, thirty or so, Angus figured from his rough count. "Why did they give us this side of the bridge?" Fellen murmured softly, mostly to himself. Angus shook his head. "Probably because he knew that they'd be decimated if they tried to hold it.  They have archers themselves on their side.  It does us no good to hold this side as long as they can shoot at us from across this chasm." "So what do we do?" the stoat asked, turning his short sword over in his paws. Angus nestled in closer to the tree, loosening his grip on his blade a moment to stretch his claws. "We wait.  We wait for Burris to set that bridge on fire.  Once they do that, they can have that side all they want.  They'll be stuck on it, and Nasoj's supplies with it.  We just have to keep them over there." His men nodded, hunkering down amongst the snow drenched trees, but not a single one of them relaxed.  It was never possible in a standoff.  They watched the woods about them, hoping that Calephas did not somehow get word to troops on their side.  It would be a disaster to be caught between Lutins and that chasm.  Angus though, kept his eye on the other side of the ravine, watching to see if Calephas would ever emerge from the trees again.  If the archers could just get one clear shot, a menace to their lives could be eliminated. Of course, Baron Garadan Calephas was not such a fool as to fail to realise that himself.  Sheltered amidst the pine, he helped the burly Northerner Andrig set his fellow Gaerwog against a tree. The latter was protesting bitterly, staring at the arrow that had plunged through the flesh of his thigh, completely through the scale of his hauberk.  Calephas grimaced, rubbing one hand up and down his smooth cheeks as he considered his sergeant. "The wound does not appear serious, we can probably pull the arrow once we saw off the tip. Do you think you'll be able to walk?" Gaerwog nodded as he gripped his leg tightly, squeezing the flesh of his thigh, which was nearly as wide around as the Baron's head.  Both of his men were from the region about Arabarb, and so bore the characteristic red beards at only eighteen, as well as the build more reminiscent of a bear than a man's.  Reaching over with one hand, he gripped the handle of his axe and held it before his mouth. "Get it over with," he said through clenched teeth, before biting down hard on the leather grip, his teeth chewing into the thick hide. At a nod from the baron, Andrig leaned over his companion and held his shoulders down, while Calephas leaned over the leg. Taking a sharp dagger, he pressed it firmly at the arrow shaft just above the feathers, and began to press deep into the wood.  After only a second it snapped and came off in Calephas's slender hands.  Depositing that in the snow, and giving his sergeant a warning look, he gripped the shaft firmly just above the man's thigh, and yanked hard. Gaerwog did not stir, but remained still, his teeth biting through the leather, spit dribbling into his beard as the blood coated shaft came free from the wound.  Blood suppurated into the mail, before the Northerner pressed down again, stanching the flow.   Andrig handed his friend a cloth to place over the wound, while Calephas tossed the bloodied shaft to the side. "Will you be able to stand and fight soon?" the Baron asked, turning to glance over at his Lutin armies amassed at the one end of the bridge.  He grimaced at their terrible formation, but was loathe to leave the safety of the trees to correct it. Gaerwog nodded, his thick beard ragged.  Pulling the axe from his mouth, he spat the bile onto the snow at his side. "Just give me a moment to tie this off." Calephas nodded once more and motioned for them to wait there. "I'll marshal the troops, though I doubt there is anything that can be done just yet.  We shall have to wait and see.  I just wonder how the Keepers could have gotten past the main body."  "Perhaps they aren't from Metamor, but from one of the outlying towns?" Andrig offered. The Baron shrugged, accepting the answer as the only that could make sense. "I knew we should have been more thorough when we pushed South, but I suppose they might have been able to get a message through to the Keep despite the blizzard.  Well, we shall never know now." With that, the Baron of Arabarb turned off and left the two humans alone together.  They gave each other quick looks, and then scanned the immediate area to be certain that they were alone. Lowering his head close to that of his friend's, Andrig whispered softly into his ear, "This may the opportunity we've been waiting for." Gaerwog nodded, his face grim, his lips drawing out a thick line upon his weather-beaten cheeks. "Perhaps, but there are too many Lutins for us to fight alone." "We have to get the Lutins back on the bridge again somehow.  If we an convince Calephas as well, it would be even better.  I imagine the Keepers would be delighted to have one of Nasoj's lieutenants to question." "We'll, let us keeps our eyes open then." Gaerwog looked up as he saw a small force of Lutins come trundling up the forest road towards them. "Quiet, we'll talk later." Andrig smiled down to his friends as he watched the green-skinned fiends move back into the woods after the Baron yelled at them a few times.  They would keep their eyes open indeed. *** What had begun as a simple down slope between two hills that rose on either side, rather quickly became a narrow ravine that twisted and wound its way through the Northern countryside.  The walls that held them varied in height from just twice as high as Jerome, to nearly the summit of the towers at Metamor.  Sunlight barely broke past the first few feet beyond the ground far overhead, leaving them walking through shadowed path, tripping over loose stones and bumping into each other when they got too close.  Snow littered the ground haphazardly, the confining walls of the gorge proven resilient against the storm. Burris was flying overhead, scouting along the ravine to see what lay ahead.  Berchem and he had worked out signals in advance to warn of Lutins in the area, but so far, Charles was glad to see that they'd not used any.  As the base of the ravine was sometimes os narrow as to only allow them to walk single-file, the three Sondeckis were interspersed between the archers, and Charles invariably found himself behind Baerle, who looked back over her shoulder at him the rat felt more often than she watched where she was going. While they were climbing over a pile of old rocks that had fallen from the hills above, he whispered, "Where did this gorge come from?  I mean, what made it.  It doesn't appear to fit with the rest of the Valley too well." Baerle shrugged her head, taking a moment to look over the rat's shadowed figure.  In the darkness, neither he nor she cast their own shadows, but relied upon the towers ridges along either side. "This is the first time I've been here, too." Anson, the arctic fox who had been giving Charles queer looks, a half-bemused smile usually, then spoke up from behind him, "An old earthquake some say.  I heard one tale that one of the old gods of myth was punished to dig while blindfolded for some transgression, I've forgotten what exactly it was." The rat let his eyes stray up to the crevice of light far above.  It was turning into a bright day now, the fog having long since rolled off to the South, leaving them with clear skies.  The deep blue above him appeared almost crystalline, as if it were only a dream that would shatter should he throw a rock high enough.  A tiny speck passed over the crevice, and he knew it to be Burris circling back to find them as he flew about.  Charles hoped sincerely that the Lutins did not take to using the woodpecker as an object of sport, for he could think of no worse way to go, than having been killed by those who thought him nothing more than an animal. Charles watched the avian mage circle the air a few times before dipping lightly at the lip of the ravine and heading East once more, before gazing back into the solemn gloom.  Baerle was climbing up a pile of rocks, scampering up their slippery sides.  The one constant at the bottom of this abyss was that it was damp.  If the snow wasn't covering it, then a slick of moisture coated its mouldy surface.  This made climbing up the piles of boulders tricky at times, and the morphs had to rely on their claws to chisel their way over. As his eyes made sense of the darkness, he realized that Baerle was holding her paw out towards him, urging him up.  Charles reached out and clasped it, her sharp little claws digging into his wrist as she hefted him up the incline.  Digging his toe claws into the rock, Charles brought himself up next to her, their chests alarmingly close.  Though it was too dark to be certain, Matthias suspected that the opossum was flashing her dimpled smile his way again. Turning, and trying not to blush, he helped Anson up that same incline.  A sudden spark filled him as he felt Baerle's tail curl about the tip of his, drawing it up, lifting it high as she continued on down the ravine.  His Sondeck was aflutter at his embarrassment, so much so that he doubted he could use it at that moment.  Anson was giving him that bemused grin again.  The rat wanted to snap at the archer, ask him what he found so amusing, but was afraid that he already knew. As they continued to walk along the ravine floor, it slowly began to widen, and straighten out.  The light from the noonday sun filtered further down, casting the littered ground in pale shadows and vague outlines.  Once there was room enough to walk side by side, Charles scooted up to Baerle's right, nd leaned towards her ear.  That dimpled smile was clear in evidence upon her muzzle, and she leaned back, her bright brown eyes warm. "Yes?" she asked rather archly.  Her tone set the rat of for a moment, and he began to blubber the first words that came to his mind rather nonsensically.  She continued to fix him a curious stare, but it only confused the rat more. Finally, Mathias grimaced, shook his head in disgust, and stepped back from her, shaking out his thoughts.  He couldn't tell if the girl was flirting with him or not, and it only made his head spin all the worse.  If she were just consistent about it, he could understand, but this back and forth was playing havoc with his mind. However, as they came around another bend, his eyes caught the red speckled shape of Burris descending past the ledges towards the skunk who was still powdered white.  Charles caught his breath as he watched, forgetting his opossum troubles for the moment.  His paw reached inside his thick tunic to the retracted shaft of his Sondeshike, feeling its cool surface and grain against his skin. The avian shifted back to his most human form and pointed one wing tip towards the bend just up ahead. "The bridge is only a few minutes more away," he said quietly. "And the Lutins?" Berchem asked, his voice gruff, weary from the hike. "They've retreated to the Northern side of the bridge.  Lord Avery has pushed them back across it.  Neither side is willing to take it back, as they both have archers." Burris then lowered his beak a trifle. "Calephas is with them, and he brought two dozen more Lutin soldiers." Anson snorted at that, drawing his bow from over his shoulder and notching an arrow.  Charles glanced past the arctic fox to Zagrosek who was thumbing his Sondeshike.  The black-haired Sondeckis nodded in return, casting his eyes warily to the left ridge.  Sucking in his breath, the Long waited for the skunk to make up his mind. "We continue on as planned. Ready your bows," Berchem drew his own, testing the string a few times before he continued on.  Charles followed closely after Baerle, being careful not to step on her tail as they made their way around the last bend in the chasm. The bridge itself, when he finally saw it for the first time, was hardly astonishing, but it did make him pause a moment to gaze.  It was made entirely from wood, with three supports holding it aloft, two on each ridge, and one directly in the centre.  The railing was at least five feet high on either side, and it was wide enough to hold two four-horse carriages side by side.  At present though, it was as Burris had said, empty. Crunching his feet through the snow, Charles followed after the opossum as they marched very close to the Northern ridge.  If the Lutins were watching, they'd have to be peering over the edge to notice them as long as they stayed flush with the wall.  Matthias drew his paw across the old stone, seeing the signs of age and mould corrupting its surface.  Faints cracks cobwebbed their way up the surface, until they were indistinguishable in the dim light.  He idly wondered if any creature lived down here where the sun refused to shine. Yet, as the bridge loomed closer and closer to his eyes, and growing even more gigantic with each stride, did the reality of the situation come to him.  They were going to destroy this bridge, send it crashing into the ravine so that the Lutins could no longer ship their supplies to Nasoj's army at Metamor.  Burris, whose specialty was working with wood, was going to convince the stressed timber to catch flame, which would be sufficient to do the job.  Only Burris was a bird and cloud fly away when the bridge began to collapse.  What about the rest of them?  What would they do when the structure came tumbling down about their heads? Also, as they began to draw near to the bridge's underside, they began to hear the cries and snarls of the Lutins far above them.  Most of them were unintelligible, but the rat did catch, "Come out, you bloody animals!  Stop hiding!"  The archers were watching that ridge, claws twitching on their bowstrings as they listened to the stream of invectives shot across the gorge.  Yet, the other side remained silent, a testament to the patience and surety the Glenners possessed.  Somewhere on the South ridge was Garigan, his student, waiting, possibly with blood already dripping from his daggers, waiting for the Lutins to finally charge across the bridge. He did breathe a sigh of relief as they finally passed under the structure, and back into the thick shadow.  Berchem sloly moved out along the ravine itself until he came to stand next to the centre support for the bridge.  Burris hopped along after him, his thin legs sifting the snow about him.  Anson and Ralph followed after them, their bows pointed up at either side of the North face about the bridge, their eyes bright.  After a moment, Baerle went after, her tail curling up around her ankles as she did so. Charles stood with Jerome and Zagrosek by the cliff wall, watching the five Glenners make their way into the path of danger, circling and covering the bird from any enemy attack.  Grumbling slightly, Jerome patted one of the supports abutting the North face, "Well, we made it this far." "This far, yes," Charles muttered sourly. "How are we going to get out from underneath this thing when it falls?" End part 58 </HTML>