Illunia 20 - Road to Edgewater

The next morning I woke to find a burlap sack over my head. The sunlight shone through the cloth—revealing its rough woven threads. The Seeker has kidnapped me! That Riloth cursed flooding bastard! Damn him to the Fauell! I knew his act was false!

In my panic, it took me a moment to discover that I was not bound. I removed the sack from my head to find that it was just a piece of burlap cloth, and that I was lying on a cot in the midst of a bustling camp.

"Morning sleepy head." Trish greeted me, sitting at the foot of the cot eating an apple. "The big guy told everyone to let you sleep so you were topped off in the morning and ready to burn some miscreants. I'm paraphrasing."

Still groggy, I asked, "How late did I sleep?"

Trish pointed up to the sky, where the sun was directly overhead, "Late."

I sat up, stretching, and she sidled close to me and continued in a whisper, "I did some recon, it looks like Landing was attacked by a white dragon and its cult of sorcerers. Can you believe that? It's like a trashy novel, but tragic in a bad way. The whole city burned and the locks that feed the river on cliffs above the town were frozen completely solid. Tall, dark, and sexy over there," she gestured to Daulf, "rallied the defense of the city watch after his charge died fighting the dragon."

Her speech grew more animated as she continued, "They say he killed two dozen sorcerers leading this group to the gates of the city. And that their magic bounced off him like I imagine a coin would bounce off his ass. That last part was also paraphrased. Then when they got to the gate he stayed behind and fought a demon so they could escape! Only to valiantly come to our rescue last night."

She stopped to recover her breath and added, "So it's a good thing you fooled him with your dirty novel there. You’re welcome."

"That's a lot to take in. A dragon. Like, a real one?"

"Yeah, it wasn't as big as the legends say, but it was big enough to swallow Lord Dabian whole. Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that part." She stood up and shooed me off the cot. "Anyway, Illunia's Chosen over there told me to let you sleep and fetch you when you woke. I forgot to mention that too didn't I. He's the flooding chosen of Illunia. I didn't even know she had one! Good luck!"

She took my cot and left me standing there—somehow with the core of her apple in hand.

I looked around for something that could save me from having to approach Daulf. Everyone was busy repairing wagons, sorting through their contents, and preparing stretchers for the wounded. Daulf was at work securing his warhorse to a cart meant to be drawn by a creature half its height. He turned to look at me, as if sensing my eyes on his back, and gave me his possibly-earnest smile. “Good morning, I hope you feel rested. I thought you could use the rest, I have some tasks you can help with.”

Reluctantly, I walked to his side, wondering what I could possibly do to help. Daulf gave his horse a reassuring pat on the neck and whispered something into its ear before leading me off. “We fixed up most of the wagons. They were in poor condition last night and the attack did not help. We were able to get six together in working order, but two had broken axles. I was hoping you could do something to help with that.”

Years of hiding almost lead me to say, “Why would you think I could help with that?” but I stopped myself. Why did he think I could help with that? Could he read my mind? Is he reading my mind now? Your codpiece is undone. I am a sorcerer!

Daulf watched me patiently with no reaction to my mental taunts.

Alright, he probably can’t read my mind. I should probably say something.

“Uh, yeah. I can probably help with that. I can cast Knit three times but anymore and I’d be on empty till the evening.” I decided the best policy was to be as honest as possible in case he did somehow know what spells I could cast.

“Splendid, go over and give Davin a hand, he's the wheelwright working on those two wagons.” Then he walked off to see to more aspects of our departure.

Up close, I recognized Davin as one of the wounded I had tended to the night before. Gone were the slashes and bite marks he had sustained defending his family from the goblins’ attempt to eat them.

When he saw me, recognition lit up his face. “Master Theral! I wanted to thank you for tending to me last night. Daulf told me that you may have saved my life when you cauterized my wounds,” he emphasized the statement by wiggling a now three-fingered left hand. “Illunia be praised Daulf was able to fix me up, I still lost the fingers though.”

“But he assured me that was not because of your work, it was just beyond him.” He added quickly, reading my face for any signs of offense.

I gave him a smile. “I’m glad I was able to help, and that Daulf was there. I feared you wouldn’t make it to morning. So, where is this broken axle?”

He brought me to the axles, and I Knitted them one after another as he held them in place. Each one took about a minute, during which I felt extremely exposed. My mother and I would walk half a day out of town whenever we wanted to do any significant training. Casting in this camp, with a Seeker no less, would have given her a heart attack. The thought of my mother reopened a wound that had not even begun to heal. When the work was done, I busied myself checking the harness on our appropriated donkey that had miraculously survived the night.

The repaired wagons were loaded with the injured who had not yet been healed by Daulf, and the now diminished group set off towards Edgewater. Funerals had been performed while I slept, which contributed to the late start. We traveled along the dry riverbank. In the night, Trish and I had stumbled upon the road that led from Landing to Edgewater and followed the edge of the river.

I traveled in silence, reflecting on the past week. In the chaos of the previous night I had been able to forget; but then, alone with my thoughts, I returned to my silent trudge, a grim expression deterring any company. The journey was uneventful until we reached the Trident Bridge. The name was slightly dramatic, implying it was some grandiose work, when in reality it was a simple bridge with a strange shape. The bridge crossed the river at the fork where the rivers from Landing and Edgewater met to form the Kreetos River. As was typical of the structures that predated the settlement of The Continent, it was of dwarven construction and was a seamless piece of stone. A stone pillar rose from the center of the fork, and from each bank a half arc rose to meet in the center. Each was wide enough for two wagons to pass abreast and had chest high walls that were a foot thick. The most impressive feature was the sheer height of the bridge. At its center, the bridge was over one hundred feet, tall enough for sailed ships to pass under. With the water gone, it was possible to see the base of the central pillar, which rose straight from the mud of the river’s bottom.

When the group was at the top of the river, a commotion broke out among the refugees. Looking to where all eyes were pointed, I saw that the cause of the commotion was a massive tide of water rushing down the muddy bank. When Daulf saw this, he shouted, “Everyone, continue off the bridge in an orderly and brisk manner!”

And to their credit, they complied with minimal panic. We didn’t all make it off the bridge before the wave struck, but the dwarves must have known what they were doing, the bridge didn’t even tremble. The brown wave of debris roared towards us, colliding with the pillar in a mighty crash.

Snapped from my stupor by the events, I scanned the water for signs of what might have caused this. The water was filled with what looked to be malformed and twisted tree trunks, but I could also make out the telltale signs of a sailing ship. Sailcloth, ropes, and crates of goods were also floating in the water; and to my surprise, I saw a man clinging to one of the branches, still alive.

“There’s someone down there!” I shouted. I grabbed a coil of rope from the back of a wagon and ran back up the bridge. The storm front of debris had continued on past the bridge, the flow turbulent and full of detritus. Somehow the man was clinging to the pillar. On closer inspection, he was stuck to the side, like an insect clinging to the sheer surface.

I reached the top of the bridge, winded. Half the soldiers and Daulf were trailing behind me. The solid stone bridge had nowhere to secure a rope to.

"Hand that here." Daulf said as he reached me. Grabbing the rope, he tied it around his waist and threw the other end over the edge. Below I heard a splash and I leaned over to see the man swimming for the rope amidst the still debris filled rapids. He reached for the rope but was pushed under by a massive log, resurfacing a dozen yards downstream. He made a valiant attempt to jump to the rope. My heart sank. There's no way he can get to the rope, it's a miracle he made it this far.

As I watched the doomed man, trying to think of a way to save him, he began to slowly make progress towards the rope. A dozen yards became ten, then five, before he was once more knocked back by debris. Each foot he clawed through the water elicited cheers from the watching soldiers and refugees. After an agonizing minute of halting progress, he grasped the rope in his hand. The refugees on the bank broke into celebration and the rope went taut, dragging Daulf to the wall.

"Brace! Help me pull!" Daulf shouted to the soldiers.

The men jumped at his command and held him, preventing him from falling. Before they could get better grips to begin pulling in the rope, the shouts of the refugees grew even more excited. I leaned over the wall to see that the man was already halfway up the hundred-foot distance.

Hand over hand, the man climbed the rope as if pulling in a fishing line. In less time than it would have taken me to walk the distance, the man vaulted over the wall, revealing his giant eight-foot form. He was shirtless, wearing only a brown fur cloak and leather pants. His torso was covered in swirling tattoos in black ink, and sticking out above his shoulder appeared to be the hilt of a wooden sword.

He looked at each of us briefly before saying, "I'm debted," and collapsing to the ground unconscious.