The Burning Bridge- Character Reaction

PROLOGUE

Gilan picked up the second book on top and scanned the cover. The smile that had been on his face faltered slightly, Halt noticed, and then it was back, if a bit forced.

"Here, Crowley." The tall Ranger handed the book to the Commandant, who flipped through the pages.

"The Burning Bridge," he read aloud. Will didn't know whether to be excited to hear it or not.

Halt raised an eyebrow. "Burning bridge," he repeated. "I wonder what this one could possibly be about." Will exchanged a look with Evanlyn and Horace.

Halt and Will had been trailing the Wargals for three days, Crowley began. The four heavy-bodied, brutish creatures, foot soldiers of the rebel warlord Morgarath, had been sighted passing through Redmont Fief, heading north. Once word reached the Ranger, he had set out to intercept them, accompanied by his young apprentice.

"Where could they have come from, Halt?" Will asked during one of their short rest stops. "Surely we've got Three Step Pass well and truly bottled up by now."

"For a large number," Crowley pointed out.

Three Step Pass provided the only real access between the Kingdom of Araluen and the Mountains of Rain and Night, where Morgarath had his headquarters.

Now that the kingdom was preparing for the coming war with Morgarath, a company of infantry and archers had been sent to reinforce the small permanent garrison at the narrow pass until the main army could assemble.

"Assemble there, and the whole army could have been slaughtered," Halt muttered. Duncan and Arald nodded agreement.

"That's the only place where they can come in sizable numbers," Halt agreed. "But a small party like this could slip into the kingdom by way of the barrier cliffs."

"Like you did," Crowley said. Halt raised an eyebrow.

Morgarath's domain was an inhospitable mountain plateau that towered high above the southern reaches of the kingdom. From Three Step Pass in the east, a line of sheer, precipitous cliffs ran roughly due west, forming the border between the plateau and Araluen. As the cliffs swung southwest, they plunged into another obstacle called the Fissure—a huge split in the earth that ran out to the sea, and separated Morgarath's lands from the kingdom of the Celts.

It was these natural fortifications that had kept Araluen, and neighboring Celtica, safe from Morgarath's armies for the past sixteen years. Conversely, they also provided the rebel warlord with protection from Araluen's forces. "I thought those cliffs were impassable," Will said.

"Nowhere is impassible," Will said now, already knowing what was to come. Halt snorted, but couldn't deny the fact.

Halt allowed himself a grim smile. "Nowhere is ever really impassable. Particularly if you have no respect for how many lives you lose trying to prove the fact. My guess is that they used ropes and grapnels and waited for a moonless night and bad weather. That way, they could slip past the border patrols."

"You sure know a lot about that stuff," Horace said uneasily. "I'd hate to be on the opposite side of you."

Halt smiled. "Good."

He stood, signifying that their rest stop was at an end. Will rose with him and they moved toward their horses. Halt gave a small grunt as he swung into the saddle. The wound he had suffered in the battle with the two Kalkara still troubled him a little.

Will frowned slightly as he remembered the Kalkara once more. He had no desire to ever meet one again.

"My main concern isn't where they came from," he continued. "It's where they're heading, and what they have in mind."