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My faith in the old bard wavers.
The bridge grows larger as I near, revealing detail work along its thick stone towers. The decking looks as brilliant as the parapets. If this is simply the bridgeleadingto Eterellis, then surely the ancient city itself is breathtaking, even in its death. It is said the drought started in that kingdom, its hold so great that nothing can live there, not even tarantulas or sagebrush.
I pause before the great architecture can fill my entire view, knowing I will not be able to run if I change my mind. I’ve traveled too long and too far. My rations are gone, and there is nowhere to replenish them, save for this place of myth and story.
Cagmar, the city of the trolls.
The gods made the stars, and through them made creatures in pairs: the fette and aerolass to rule the air, the merdan and gullop to rule the sea, and the humans and trolls to rule the earth. And so we did, before the earth changed and ruled us instead. According to the stories, in the time before, humans dominated, despite trolls being larger and stronger.War-torn brutes. Angry. Animals. Merciless. In all the tales told at bedside and campfire, trolls are always the enemy.
I could use the same words to describe my father. I know I should fear coming to Cagmar more than I do, but fear has been such a constant companion to me I hardly notice it anymore.
I take in the bridge. Legend doesn’t matter. Now, the humans and the trolls have something in common. We are all trying to survive.
I check over my shoulder, scanning the heat-curled horizon for shadows or pursuers. But I have kept ahead of them, as I always have. I am utterly alone and without options. Even if the trolls are as terrible as stories say, if I can keep even one thread of agency, they will be better than what I left behind.
Pushing one sore foot ahead of the other, I swallow against an arid throat. My pale hair is loose and flows around me as a gust of hot wind passes—better for keeping off the sun this way. The Empyrean Bridge grows as I approach, looming and magnificent.
I have a weapon, if my words fail me, though I’ve never used it on a troll. If Cagmar is a myth ... perhaps it would be better to jump from the bridge than to be captured. I do not want a slow death. Or perhaps there is a township on the other side of the canyon, not marked on my map, that would take me in, if dehydration doesn’t claim me first.
Theories, theories, theories.
As I approach the canyon wall, I see darkness stretch below the bridge. The sun is descending but is not yet set. That darkness is not shadow but stone.
It does not look like a city, but I of all people know that looks can easily deceive. The dark mass is enormous, unlike any township I’ve ever beheld. It makes me think of a moth pupa.
Despite its majesty, the bridge is not as spectacular as it appears from a distance. It, too, has fallen to the elements. The centuries of drought. Rocks crack, wood splinters, iron rusts. Décor has chipped and worn. Yet the bearings still appear strong, as do the girders. As though they’ve been maintained.
Point one for the bard.
I offer a prayer as I stand before the bridge, only a pace from its first plank. I wonder if I am ready for death. I am almost thirsty enough to believe I am.
I wait to be attacked. To be robbed. I wait to see the beasts of legend. I stand at the edge of the broken path for several minutes, waiting, listening, tasting the air. Nothing happens. Neither bird nor cloud touches the sky. Not even a second breeze passes to stir the dust.
I step onto a thick wood plank. I expected it to creak beneath my weight, but it holds steady. A lock of hair sticks to the sweat along the side of my face. I don’t peel it away. I’m surprised I have anything left to sweat.
Another step, and then another. Not a single creak nor echo. I cross the first plank, then the second. The third, down to the eighth. I see no sign of life, only a nearly endless path ahead.
Did the drought wipe out the trolls, too, leaving their shadowed city to hang in ruins? Is my last attempt at shelter to go unachieved?
Could I make it to Eterellis, and see the great ruins for myself, before my body withers and dies?
My steps become surer, my strength rallying as the sun dips, cooling the air a degree at a time. I count the planks as I pass them, wondering at the enormous trees they must have hailed from, when one—the twenty-sixth—groans beneath my weight. I slow, examining it. The wood neither bows nor splinters. I shift my weight, and the sound repeats, but farther to my right.
It is then I realize it has not creaked beneathmyweight, but someone else’s. Someone coming frombelow.
I step back, my breath coming quick. I search the bridge, scanning from one side to the other, when I hit something solid behind me.
Whirling around, I look up, up,up... into the face of a troll.
My heart drops to my stomach, while my stomach rushes to my throat. Again, my imagination has failed me.
The troll is immense and green as onion shoots. Hammered armor crosses his massive chest, leaving room for the natural spikes on his shoulders to protrude outward. His muscled forearms are covered with sheaves of fur, also cut to reveal a row of smaller bony spikes. Nubs of bone line the widest jaw I’ve ever beheld. His nose is short, and his green brow is so thick it hides half his eyes. His greasy hair forms a widow’s peak, with yet more bony nubs sprouting on either side of it. Short tusks jut forward from wide, snarling lips. A thick belt of some sort of leather encompasses a middle six times thicker than my own.
I am six feet tall standing straight, but this creature towers over me. The top of my head comes to the base of his chest. He raises a spear, and his ears—like large human ears with the top curve sliced off—twitch.
With one muscular arm, he points the tip of the chipped spearhead at my throat.
The bridge creaks again. I spin, my hair catching on the spear, to see two, three,fourtrolls climbing up and over the sides of the bridge like spiders. Three green, one a sickly shade of gray. Two wield spears, two swords. All are made of thick, rippling muscle.
