BECMI Chapter 169 – A Bridge over Troubled Waters

Everyone promptly started adding up Casting costs in their heads, at least among the wizards, intellectuals being predictable that way. The spells alone soon had them muttering under their breaths, as it was a Valence VIII, and not a single Colorajo elf had access to the spell.There were dozens of incidences of use of the spell here, and carefully-Cast as we swept past the places that had them extant revealed eye-watering Caster Levels that only the most powerful Wizards in Zanzyr had a hope of … and actually did not, as the Girding Mastery was one I’d insisted that Princess Brittabelle learn. Only Grandmaster Jean-Arc had a chance of the magic here, at base 35 as it was. Sure, mischievous opponents could try to hire an Overmagus from Siricil or something, to something Belle could put back up rapidly and easily.

I certainly wasn’t going to put MY Caster Level out there and really shock the Hell out of them, after all. Everyone here still thought I was a gifted Seven with a fat sugar daddy in Transyvia, and my gave them nothing to go on.

“By Lord Macedon, what is that?” Braun, the big axeman from the Sablestone area blurted out, actually rising to his feet on his . The whiteness in the distance was different from that of the trade road… and it was extending across the waters of the Wynxias as the formerly placid and smooth-flowing waters were increasing in speed as the hills narrowed and began mounting rapids as stones jutted more and more frequently out of the river.

This stretch was one of the reasons that water traffic was not possible down the Wynxias river to Federyn. The long channel of fast waters and rough rocks would tear any trade ship to pieces, and only the smallest of nimble single-person craft that could survive a white-water rapids could possibly navigate it.

I said nothing, staying silent as everyone rose to see what was coming ahead. Duum, still on escort duty, skimmed by overhead, and informed me that there was excitement happening ahead, too.

Well, that was not going to go well for someone.

We came fully around the bend in the river, now fully in the mountains of the Bleaklands, and my entourage cried out in astonishment.

Someone had built a sweepingly beautiful, wonderfully-engineered, and gracefully-designed bridge across the Wynxias River and its frothing whitewaters. Unperturbed by the waters below, it rose above them on strong and beautifully carved pillars, connecting the two shores.

If you were smart, you could instantly tell that the trade road on the south side had basically evened out over a hundred feet of difference in elevation, too, but that was a distraction.

“Erendyl did this?! WHEN?!” protested Laurentine, aghast at having heard nothing of it.

“A few days ago? Word probably hadn’t reached Zanzyr City,” I finally said, my voice as ever unperturbed and unmoved by the awe-inspiring sight. “The caravans we passed were among the first to go over it, I believe.”

And the fact they chose to go over it, rather than the rough and chopped normal trade road on the north side, was very telling, indeed.

That Belle and I had put it up in one night was not something I was going to mention, nor that it had been there for a solid month, , as a circle of elven mages worked on enspelling it and its Wards.

Duum called down to me that there were orcs up in the hills on the south side, slunk down close enough to watch what seemed to be a confrontation going on.

“What’s going on? Is that a Colorajo patrol? Are they trying to prevent that caravan from using the bridge?” Nico blurted out in rapid succession.

“Oi, that’s an Erendyl patrol there. This could be getting ugly quick,” the Mick said for the benefit of the other warriors.

The rasp of steel sliding out actually made some of the students jump, suddenly realizing how serious this could end up being.

“Aye, didn’t think this through, we didn’t. They didn’t make a trade road through to Federyn, they needed to cross over at some point,” Izzi muttered fatalistically, familiar with such games of nobles. “The Colorajo don’t want to lose the caravan traffic.” He glanced at me. “And the Erendyl knew that, aye, m’Lady?”

“You’ll find that Princess Belle can be remarkably prescient at times!, Izzimaior!” I answered him evenly, utterly unconcerned at the implications ahead of us. “I believe we might arrive just in time to watch the festivities.”

At our speed, the couple of miles only took a few minutes to travel.

The bridge wasn’t even at the narrowest point, or done perpendicular. It was a diagonal across one of the most jagged and dangerous parts of the river, rising out of chaotic rocks and frothing waters unperturbed in a gentle sweep and ride across the river. It was a covered bridge giving some welcome shelter from the sun, lit by , swept clean by , and even with a sightseeing area near the middle of it where a caravan might stop and look out at the view, as if this wasn’t nifloid territory.

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The far end was over a hundred-foot climb to get up to the road itself, a sheer cliff that orcs and goblins on the far side were going to have to struggle to use. That it was also the most convenient place to cross the river for dozens of miles was apparent, but actually getting off or onto the south side was going to be quite difficult, if not impossible.

That it exposed the north side to potential raiding tribes coming from the south was a given. The new trade city of Launcel effectively wasn’t in any different position from before, although a horde coming from the north could join the southern tribes in an assault here… and the city was totally ready for it.

The Colorajo trade village of Tantrin was emphatically not.

There was indeed a dusty and irritated smallish Federyn caravan waiting there, held at bay by a full patrol of mounted flamenco dark elves and humans in green and yellow livery on russet and black steeds, keeping them from entering the beginning of the fine road extending off the wide and inviting bridge there.

Opposite them, on the bridge proper, was a mounted patrol of Erendyl troops, mixed Sidhe fair elves and humans in blue and gold livery, on steeds of pale gray, white, and tan, all of them looking considerably more dangerous than the Colorajo opposite them. That was partially because Sim Ilysa a fine Horse a day as part of her duties for Princess Brittabelle, and so those were some damn dangerous Horses, there.

The Colorajo were clearly nervous, not the least because there was a line of workers bearing pickaxes with them, who had clearly been working on the bridge and the road, tearing it up and attempting to cut it off from the tradeway. The humans behind were protesting the maneuver, while the Erendyl forces just looked on calmly… although all of the elves had their famous elven composite bows in hand, fully capable of using the things from horseback.

We were naturally noticed coming, I guess bright scarlet isn’t the best for stealth maneuvers under an open sky. The bridge was as nice and wide as the road was, so there was plenty of room as I glided up with all the behind me, and all the students and their guards on their feet.

The elves of House Zorozo over there blanched to see more spellcasters coming, especially in so many different regional garbs.

“Lieutenant Earmithil,” I greeted the officer in charge, a more flaxen-haired Sidhe of a lesser family under the Erewan, tall, strong, and well-respected on the border here. He was sitting there watching with an expectant look on his face as the pickmen hesitated upon seeing us. Then insults, commands, and even a snapping whip from a heated flamenco officer on the other side got them back to working, the Colorajo troopers tensing up after seeing us there.

“Lady Edge,” he replied dryly, blue eyes glancing over those behind me. “You look like you are going south, Lady,” he continued with only a little amusement.

“All the way to Siricil, in fact,” I confirmed to him. “I see the Princess’ expectations of House Colorajo have been met.” I also took up an expectant stance as I hovered there above the bridge a few inches, those on behind me towering over me, an array of bows, crossbows, and spells at the ready all visible in case fighting broke out.

The picks crashed down, reinforced stone cracked, was levered out, pushed out to the side and over the edge into the river at barked orders. Clearly unwilling, the demolition crew continued at the slow job.

“They tried some spells and magic first, trying to crack the rock, break it, shape it, and the like. That did absolutely nothing, of course, hence having to go back and strongarm some stevedores into manual labor,” the handsome lieutenant informed me.

“The fools. Do they think the Princess incapable of thinking of that?” I had to shake my head. “Two minutes to go, I expect.”

“Oh? I was warned the bridge could defend itself, but not exactly how.” He gave me a curious glance.

“I came up with the initial Formations used in the Rituals for this particular aspect. It is rather cruel.”

“I… see,” Earmithil responded slowly, looking me up and down once. “Not just self-repair, then?”

“Oh, my, no. Where would the fun in that be? It would simply inspire the simple-minded and temperamental to keep their lessers at the task until the magic ran out. It will trigger once about ten cubic feet have been pried up and out.”

Reassured by the fact we were too cowardly to confront them, the sneering officer in his ornate hat continued waving his rapier, urging the laborers to keep at it and heaping scorn upon us, joined in occasionally by a couple of the rougher human sergeants doubtless used to acting as bully-boys for him.

Until the moment they went silent.

The picks slowly stopped as the workers and the flamenco elves all turned to stare at the three fellows frozen in mid-tirades, turned to stone with expressions of contempt somehow altered to sudden panic.

They were too heavy for their horses, of course, which bucked and shied and threw the heavy petrified bodies from their saddles. There were shouts of alarm as the statues fell, limbs breaking off as they crashed to the stone of the rough trade road and tumbling away.

And they kept tumbling.

Oaths were sworn as the laborers jumped back, staring with everyone else as the petrified humans and elf parts slid right past them along the ground, right towards the cracks and gouges torn into the road.

There they melted into the white stone fluidly, merging in to completely fill the damage that was done… with stone that looked much like tanned human skin and deep brown flamenco elf.

The sounds of the miners and the Zorozo patrol swallowing seemed to carry right over the roar of the rapids going by below.

I did not smirk, I promise.

Earmithil casually nudged his mount forward, and this time the miners backed up, and the Colorajo troops only stirred uneasily, tensing in great fear as the lieutenant pulled up right before the colored gash in the white stone.

He looked down at the miners. “You are the boss of these men?” he asked calmly to a brawny, graying human of short and stout build, his face and body streaked by the demands of labor.

The man chewed at his mustache warily as he looked up at the clean, polite, and rather shiny elf on his white horse. “I, I am, sir!” he replied in rather accented elven. “Pedro de Vansualez, if it pleases the sir!”

“I am Lieutenant Earmithil, Headman Vansualez,” the elven officer replied cordially. “I have a simple question, Headman. Do you and your men want to go home?” His blue eyes were intent, but calm, with no threat of implied violence.