The Burning Bridge- Character Reaction

7

"Here, sir." Horace handed the book to the Baron, who flopped through the pages before beginning to read.

"WHERE THE DEVIL IS EVERYONE?" GILAN BROUGHT BLAZE to a halt and looked around the deserted border post. There was a small guardhouse by the side of the road, barely large enough to keep two or three men sheltered from the wind. Further back was a slightly larger garrison house. Normally, at a small, remote border post like this, there would be a garrison of half a dozen men, who would live in the larger building and take shifts at the guardhouse by the road.

Halt raised an eyebrow. "Do I sense trouble?" he asked mildly. Will and Horace exchanged a sudden guilty glance, he noticed.

He looked over at Gilan, who shrugged, an a innocent look on his face. Too innocent, he thought.

Like the majority of buildings in Celtica, both structures were built in the gray sintered stone of the region, flat river stones that had been split lengthwise, with roof tiles of the same material. Wood was scarce in Celtica. Even fires for heating used coal or peat whenever possible. Whatever timber was available was needed for shoring up the tunnels and galleries of Celtica's iron and coal mines.

"Or for a bridge," Horace muttered. Will snickered.

Will looked around him uneasily, peering into the scrubby heather that covered the windswept hills as if expecting a sudden horde of Celts to rise up from it. There was something unnerving about the near silence of the spot— there was no sound but the quiet sighing of the wind through the hills and heather.

"Sighing of the wind?" Halt snorted. "I didn't know the wind had human qualities."

Will rolled his eyes. "It's a book, Halt."

"I hadn't noticed."

"Perhaps they're between shifts?" he suggested, his voice seeming unnaturally loud.

"You're always loud," Halt muttered.

Gilan shook his head. "It's a border post. It should be garrisoned at all times."

He swung down from the saddle, making a motion for Will and Horace to stay mounted. Tug, sensing Will's uneasiness, sidestepped nervously in the road. Will calmed him with a gentle pat on the neck. The little horse's ears went up at his master's touch and he shook his head, as if to deny that he was in any way edgy. Will smirked.

"Could they have been attacked and driven off?" Horace asked. His mindset always worked toward fighting, which Will supposed was only natural in a Battleschool apprentice. Horace chuckled.

Gilan shrugged as he pushed open the door of the guardhouse and peered inside.

"Maybe," he said, looking around the interior. "But there doesn't seem to be any sign of fighting."

"What about a plague?" Will suggested, giving Horace a sly look. The tall knight ducked his head, grinning.

He leaned against the doorway, frowning. The guardhouse was a single- roomed building, with minimal furnishing of a few benches and a table. There was nothing here to give him any clue as to where the occupants had gone.

"It's only a minor post," he said thoughtfully. "Perhaps the Celts have simply stopped manning it. After all, there's been a truce between Araluen and Celtica for over thirty years now." He pushed himself away from the doorway and jerked a thumb toward the garrison house. "Maybe we'll find something down there," he said.

"We found a bunch of emptiness," Gilan remarked.

The two boys dismounted. Horace tethered his horse and the pack pony to the counterweighted bar that could swing down to close the road. Will simply let Tug's reins fall to the ground. The Ranger horse was trained not to stray. He took his bow from the leather bow scabbard behind the saddle and slung it across his shoulders. Naturally, it was already strung. Rangers always traveled with their bows ready for use. Horace, noticing the gesture, loosened his sword slightly in its scabbard and they set off after Gilan for the garrison house. Halt and Rodney nodded approval.