He left out the part where he would have been perfectly content never to have seen it at all. He could hear Tristan’s mirthful voice in his head.
“Tits up, Ric. You’re a champion of the realm. Don’t be such a pussy.”
Cedric scowled internally. Some champion he was. Havensreach’s finest, afraid of heights.
“It is indeed impressive,” Lord Church said, a note of awe in his tone, calling Cedric’s attention back. “As is this very bridge. A truly spectacular feat of magic. The number of sorcerers and spellweavers required to construct it is a testament to the fortitude of our ancestors. And while the Arcanians might boast that they can accomplish the same thing with a handful of wildshapers”—his nose wrinkled, as if he suddenly smelled something unpleasant—“the comparison is moot. Not as their sad bridges crumble and collapse, while this one has held firm for centuries.”
“A lifeline to the rest of the continent,” Hargrave said.
“Amanaline,” Thibault corrected.
“Manaislife.” Lord Church touched his hand to his token. “Which is why, despite how difficult it is to maintain a presence, howdifficultthe Arcanians make it for us, we need the Midlands. Without it, much of the kingdom would be without magic entirely. The singular mana spring near Kingshelm is not nearly enough to support all of Havensreach.”
“If only the stars-damned pixies would leave us alone,” said Thibault.
The back of Cedric’s neck prickled uncomfortably at his use of the degrading epithet. Cedric of all people held no love for the fae, but he didn’t think it was very becoming of Thibault to wield the slur so casually.
“As if getting our people across the Chasm isn’t difficult enough,” Thibault continued, his voice low.
“Why dotheyeven need bridges anyway?” grumbled Hargrave. “When the stars-damned Arcanians can just soar across their wisp of a Chasm whenever they want? Though I suppose notallthe freaks can fly.”
Just the worst ones, thought Cedric. He realized the implicationof Hargrave’s statement a moment later. “You’ve seen the Arcanian Chasm?” he asked, his interest piqued.
“Aye,” Thibault replied, “it’s about a third as wide?—”
“—and less than half as deep as this one,” Hargrave finished.
These men were well-traveled, Cedric realized with a pang of envy.
“And the real rub,” Hargrave continued, “is that they don’t evenneedthe damn Midlands. Their magic doesn’t rely on mana. They justhaveit.”
“Exactly why we need to get our champion here to Luminaria,” Thibault said. “Once Sir Thorne bests the Crucible, we won’t have to worry about any of this ever again.”
“Hear, hear!” said Hargrave, thumping Cedric’s back.
Cedric nodded absently.
“We return to solid ground,” Lord Church said, too low for the others to hear. “Be at ease.” He patted the back of Cedric’s hand and Cedric looked down at it, white-knuckled on the wooden bench. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been gripping it.
Relief washed over him as the truth of Lord Church’s words set in. The crunch of stone beneath them had been replaced with the dirt road once more. They’d cleared the bridge. “Thank you, my lord.”
“When I was your age,” Lord Church said, “I, too, feared this crossing.”
Cedric had forgotten that the lord had traveled to Luminaria at least once before, to bear witness to the last Crucible. He’d never been able to work up the nerve to ask Lord Church why he made the journey—if he had been close with one of the previous champions.
Was it painful, Cedric wondered, making the trek again now? Knowing that nobody came back through the Gate last time? Knowing nobody ever has?
A pall loomed threateningly over Cedric at the thought. He shook his head. There was no use thinking that way. He made a concerted effort to focus back on Lord Church, who was still speaking. It sounded like he was a far more seasoned traveler than Cedric had realized.
“Growing up, my father would tell me tales of monsters that lived at the bottom of the Chasm—specters that whispered to those who were afraid, attempting to lure them into the abyss. He saved the worststories of the worst monsters for right before bed, as if he sought to script my nightmares.”
“Your father sounds like a right bastard,” Cedric muttered, before remembering who he was speaking to. “I mean, that is—I’m sorry, I?—”
Lord Church chuckled. “Come now, my boy. After all these years together, I like to think I’ve earned the privilege of your honest reaction.”
Cedric felt his cheeks warm. It had been many years since Lord Church had referred to him so familially. “Thank you, my lord. So...did those stories make the crossing easier or more difficult for you?”
“I admit I do not know. I think it made the journey more interesting. I used to try and hold my breath from the moment we stepped onto the bridge until we reached the other side.”
