Page 33

T he Western Bridge approach should have been easier than the Eastern. Instead, chaos erupted all at once.

First came the deafening crack that shook the entire city—a sound like the world itself breaking apart that sent birds scattering from towers and rooftops. Then the horrifying sight of the Eastern Bridge collapsing in sections, massive stone blocks plummeting into the churning river below, carrying scores of warriors with them.

"Elindir," I breathed, my heart seizing as I watched the distant bridge crumble. He had been leading that assault. He had been on that bridge.

No time to process. No time to feel. The enemy was upon us.

Battle engulfed our position as Tarathiel's forces struck from hidden positions along our route. Steel met steel in the narrow streets as we fought desperately toward an objective that no longer existed.

"The bridge is gone!" Katyr shouted over the din of combat, golden fire erupting from his fingertips to drive back the enemy vanguard. "Fall back to the Craiggybottom district!"

I couldn't speak, couldn't command. My mind was fixed on the Eastern Bridge, on the bodies I'd seen tumbling into the deadly current. On Elindir somewhere in that freezing water, weighed down by armor meant to protect him.

"Ruith!" Katyr's voice cut through my paralysis. "We need orders now or we lose everyone!"

The general's words snapped me back. I was king. I had an army to command, warriors who looked to me for leadership. Grief would come later. If there was a later.

"To the Craiggybottom compound," I ordered, my voice carrying despite the chaos. "Regroup there. Move!"

Our forces began an orderly retreat, rear guard holding position to cover our withdrawal. The grim reality settled like a weight on my shoulders: this had been a trap. All bridges destroyed simultaneously, our forces split, trapped on opposite banks of a river that had suddenly become impassable.

At the district border, Captain Seagrave met us, her guild's finest warriors forming a protective cordon to cover our retreat.

"Report," I demanded.

"All four bridges are gone," she confirmed, her practical manner unchanged by the catastrophe unfolding around us. "Battle mages at each crossing. They unleashed some kind of stone-shattering spell simultaneously."

"Survivors?" I asked, the word carrying the weight of what I couldn't bring myself to ask directly.

"Craiggybottom fishing boats are pulling people from the river." Her eyes met mine. "No word on individual casualties yet, Your Majesty."

Hope flickered, a fragile flame I dared not nurture. The cold river, the weight of armor, the falling debris…Survival seemed impossible. Yet Elindir had survived impossible odds before.

"We need to regroup," Seagrave continued, businesslike despite the chaos. "The Craiggybottom compound can hold our forces until we form a new strategy."

I nodded mechanically, forcing my mind back to immediate concerns. "And Aryn? Niro? Any word?"

"Nothing confirmed."

We retreated through the tangled streets of the merchant quarter, past shops now hastily barricaded, past civilians who watched with frightened eyes from shuttered windows. The Craiggybottom compound appeared ahead, its blue banners snapping in the winter wind, a haven in the midst of a city descending into war.

Inside the compound walls, organized chaos reigned. Wounded warriors were being tended by healers in a makeshift infirmary set up in the main courtyard. Messengers rushed between buildings, carrying reports and orders. Representatives from allied clans huddled in small groups, their expressions grim as they processed the tactical disaster we now faced.

"Your Majesty!" A Craiggybottom runner approached, breathless from exertion. "Captain Yisra requests your presence at the river gate. They're bringing in survivors."

My heart leapt painfully in my chest. I followed through crowds of warriors and healers toward the compound's small water gate. It opened directly onto a narrow canal leading to the main river.

A battered fishing boat was just docking, its wooden hull scraped and dented from debris. In it lay several still forms—some moving weakly, others ominously still. The Craiggybottom sailors, their clothes soaked through, worked quickly to transfer the wounded to waiting healers.

Then I saw him.

Copper hair plastered to a deathly pale face. Lips tinged blue. Chest motionless.

Elindir.

I don't remember crossing the distance between us. One moment I was watching, the next I was on my knees beside him, tearing off my gloves to press my fingers against his throat, searching desperately for a pulse I feared was gone forever.

Nothing.

"No," I whispered, the word a prayer and a command. "No, not again."

Captain Yisra pushed through the gathering crowd, her weathered face set with determination as she knelt beside Elindir's still form. Without hesitation, she tilted his head back, pinched his nose, and sealed her mouth over his blue lips.

I watched in stunned silence as she forced breath into his lungs, his chest rising with the borrowed air. Between breaths, she placed her hands on his chest, pressing down in a steady rhythm. Again and again she repeated the pattern, ignoring the growing crowd around us.

"Breathe, damn you," she muttered between efforts. "We didn't pull you from that river just to lose you now."

When Elindir remained unresponsive, she redoubled her efforts, her movements mechanical and precise. "Come on," she urged, her usually stoic demeanor cracking with frustration. "Too stubborn to die like this."

Just as hope began to fade, Elindir's body convulsed suddenly. Water spurted from his mouth as Yisra quickly turned him onto his side. More river water followed in painful heaves, each tortured breath bringing color back to his deathly pale face.

"There you are," Yisra said, satisfaction clear in her voice as she sat back on her heels.

Elindir's eyes fluttered open, confusion gradually giving way to recognition as they found mine.

"Ruith," he rasped, voice broken from nearly drowning. "The bridge—"

"I know," I said, gathering him carefully into my arms. "I know. Rest now.” I turned to Yisra as healers rushed forward with dry blankets. “What was that?"

"Old sailor's trick," she explained, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "When men fall overboard and stop breathing, sometimes you can force life back into them. Learned it from Savarran pirates decades ago." She stood, already turning her attention to the other survivors. "Keep him warm. Watch for fever. River water in the lungs brings sickness."

"Thank you," I said, the inadequate words carrying the full weight of my gratitude.

She shrugged, uncomfortable with the sentiment. "Just doing what's needed."

Elindir struggled weakly against my hold. "Battle mages," he managed through another coughing fit. "They waited until we were on the bridge."

"Save your strength," I said softly, my fingers tangling in his wet hair. "You've come back from the brink twice now. Even you need recovery time."

He clutched my arm with surprising strength, given his condition. "All the bridges," he rasped. "He destroyed them all."

"I know." The tactical implications were impossible to ignore. "Tarathiel has isolated the Assembly island completely."

"Trapped himself," Elindir observed, remarkably clear-headed despite his ordeal. "Why would he—"

"Because he thinks he's winning," came Aryn's voice from behind us. He approached slowly, favoring his left leg, his silver hair darker with river water. "He believes we can't reach him now."

Healers arrived with a stretcher, gently transferring Elindir from my arms. I reluctantly released him to their care, though everything in me wanted to keep him close, to never let him out of my sight again.

"Get him warm, dry clothes," I ordered. "And I want our best healer watching for signs of fever."

"Yes, Your Majesty," the lead healer acknowledged, already gesturing for her assistants to lift the stretcher.

Elindir caught my hand before they could carry him away. "What now?" he asked, his eyes holding mine with fierce intensity despite his weakness.

"Now we turn Tarathiel's strategy against him," I replied, an idea forming as I spoke. "He's trapped himself on that island, thinking we can't reach him. But that works both ways. He can't escape either."

Aryn nodded. "A siege."

"Exactly. We control the city now. The outer districts, the food supplies, everything that the island needs to survive. Tarathiel and his loyalists are enclosed in a gilded cage."

"And yet," Aryn countered, his voice dropping so only I could hear, "a cornered wolf is most dangerous. He still has enough battle mages to cause significant damage. And they're guarding the Assembly Hall, where all power ultimately resides."

"Then we need to reach him directly," I said. "End this before it becomes a drawn-out siege that costs more lives."

"The tunnels," Elindir suggested from his stretcher. "The ones beneath the river."

"The same tunnels where Klaus and his warriors died," I reminded him. "Tarathiel will have those heavily guarded now."

Aryn's expression remained neutral, but something shifted in his ice-blue eyes. "There are other tunnels. Older passages that few know exist."

Understanding dawned. "The Shikami tunnels."

He nodded once, a barely perceptible movement. "They connect all fourteen districts, including passages beneath the river to the Assembly island itself."

"But the Shikami have remained neutral," I said, recalling their steadfast refusal to take sides in matters of succession. "Why would they help us now?"

"They wouldn't. Not for our internal power struggle." Aryn hesitated. "But Michail's campaign changes the calculation. If we can convince them that Tarathiel's weakness puts all elven-kind at risk..."

I understood immediately. "A neutral party caught between two warring factions chooses neither. But when a third threat emerges that endangers them all..."

"Exactly. Self-preservation might compel them where politics cannot."

"Your mother," I said softly.

A muscle tightened in his jaw. "The Mistress of Blades has no children. Only disciples."

I knew better than to press further. Aryn's relationship with his mother was complicated by layers of Shikami tradition and the weight of his defection from their order. That he would even suggest approaching her spoke volumes about the desperation of our situation.

"Go with the healers," I told Elindir, who looked ready to protest despite his obvious weakness. "Recover your strength. I'll organize the siege and speak with Aryn about the Shikami."

"You need me—" he began, but another coughing fit cut off his words.

"I need you alive," I said firmly. "Our sons need both of us to return. That means you have to recover."

My sons. Our sons. The words still carried such weight, such responsibility. Leif and Torsten waited safely in the inner chambers of the Craiggybottom compound, guarded by Taelyn and Captain Yisra's most trusted warriors. I had promised to return to them. We both had.

"I'll be here when you return," Elindir promised, his voice stronger now despite the coughing. "Just end this war. For all of us."

I pressed my lips to his forehead, then watched as the healers carried him toward the infirmary.

I turned to Aryn, resolve hardening my features. "Take me to your mother."