The Burning Bridge

For a long time after she’d dropped below the horizon, the sodden figure sat there, his horse chest-deep in the rolling waves, staring after the ship.

And his lips still moved, in a silent promise only he could hear

Halt was so near and yet now so impossibly out of reach. His eyes stung with tears and, faintly, he heard Halt’s voice.

“Will! Stay alive! Don’t give up! I’ll find you wherever they take you!”

Choking on tears, the boy raised his arm in farewell to his friend and mentor.

“Halt!” he croaked, but he knew the Ranger would never hear him. He heard the voice again, carrying over the sounds of wind and sea.

“I’ll find you, Will!”

Get down, you fools! That’s a Ranger!”

even at this distance, Halt recognized the small figure in the middle as his apprentice.

“Will!” he shouted,

The fens,” he said. “Through the fens to the ships.”

He smiled when he said it. He’d wanted to help the stranger and he had. And this time, when the warm softness crept over him, the stranger didn’t shake him. He was glad about that.

Halt stood up from the body of Nordal.

“Thank you, friend,” he said simply.

Boy,” he repeated thickly, and Halt couldn’t help himself. He shook the dying man.

“Will!” he said, his face only a few centimeters from the other’s. “A Ranger. A boy. Where is he?”

A small light of understanding and memory burned in Nordal’s eyes now as he recalled the boy. He’d admired his courage, he remembered. Admired the way the boy had stood them off at the bridge. Without realizing it, he actually said the last three words.

“At the bridge…” he whispered,

Meanwhile, Halt shoved his way through the harmless Wargals. They gave way without any resistance or resentment as he searched desperately for Will

Horace wondered if the shouting was going to continue for much longer. If it were, he could almost wish to be back facing Morgarath.

Others sat down and sang quietly to themselves. Without Morgarath’s direction, they were like little children

Morgarath’s sword clanged into the X formed by the two blades.

Horace’s knees buckled, then held, and for a moment Morgarath and he stood locked, chest to chest. Horace could see the puzzled fury on the madman’s face. Then the fury turned to surprise and Morgarath felt a deep, burning agony pour through his body as Horace slipped the dagger free and, with every ounce of his strength behind it, drove it through Morgarath’s chain mail and up into his heart.

Slowly, the Lord of Rain and Night sagged and crumpled to the ground.