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Horses shied and shuddered. Their fellow guards hesitated, frozen on levitating wood, afraid of a next step. Everyone looked at the Shadow: magician, witch, legend, holding a bridge away from full collapse with two naked hands.
Aric swore internally, and then swore at everyone, colorfully, and yelled, “Yes, those planks are gods-damned solid, Rev, Em won’t drop you, now move!”
Revna, responding to the campaign-commander tone, went. Pedr got horses under control, and followed. Em spared a second to nudge Ginger and Starlight to safety, Aric noticed.
They even got the wagons to move: rattling onto the next safe slab of wood, and the next.
And that might have been all, just then. Not easy, not over yet—everyone picking their way across—and Em would need help after, but something they could manage.
He jumped across a fragmenting wooden gap, landed at Em’s side, found his balance. Offered a hand. “Need an anchor?”
Lady Caris, standing on a crooked slab of oak, turned to look at the height of the Falls above them.
No, Aric thought. It wasn’t even a fully formed thought. A reaction. No—
He heard, under the strain of wood and the roar of water, Emrys also whisper, “No.”
The water exploded outward. Crashing. Wrenched up in a tidal wave, pulled or pushed, not natural.
Em couldn’t drop the bridge. She flung a hand that direction; dropped to both knees on a jagged plank. The river quivered for an instant, danced in place, pinned upright.
Em’s hand shook, and not all the blood was from that scratch; she’d bitten her lip, a gasp of desperation, and her face was—
Aric grabbed her shoulders. “Em—”
Lady Caris held up both hands. Onrushing water split apart. It flowed around them, not crashing into them: keeping the bridge, the last remaining wagon, in a bubble of protection.
Aric wanted to stare, was aware of other stares, but he had Em in his arms, feather-light and bone-pale. Emrys still had both hands pressed to the bridge: giving them all time. She whispered, “Is everyone safe?”
Aric spared a quick glance. The last wagon had gone. “Yes—it’s us and her—”
“She’ll need your help—I’m trying to do the water too, it’s so much—” Em’s breath skipped, fractured, broke. Part of the bridge—nobody on those slabs—crashed down into the water. “Can you go and get her—”
“I’m not leaving you!”
Caris turned their way. Stumbled. Fell to both knees, on a dangerous spike of wood, in a tumble of indigo gown and golden hair.
Em swore out loud, a word she’d learned from Aric.
The world did—something, a shove like a hand between Aric’s shoulders. They landed hard on the far bank, sprawled over mud and stones.
The wave smashed through the remains of the bridge, and swept ruins away. The caravan, entirely secure if shocked and waterlogged, huddled on the shore.
Caris, still on both knees, gazed at Emrys through bedraggled hair—and crumpled to the dirt.
Em, soundlessly, slid into limp stillness in Aric’s arms.
Chapter 4
Aric did not panic. His heart screamed at him, but outwardly he was giving orders, getting Em and Caris out of the mud, calling for help and blankets and food.
He knew what Em usually needed, though this was worse than anything he’d seen recently. He put the revelation of amazement about Lady Caris into one corner of his head for later, and assumed she’d need what Emrys did.
Caris was already waking up, pale and shaken but alert and present. She managed, “Your partner—”
Em. Not moving. Bloodied and small and hollowed-out in his arms. Aric pleaded, “Em, come on,” and cradled her closer.
She was breathing; that was a pulse. The relief slammed into his bones and set up a house there. He murmured, “I’m here, we’ll take care of you,” and thought: sugar, sweetness, energy, hot tea, protection, forever…
