had feelings for her, the exact nature of the relationship had never been spelled out. Worse yet was the fact that she couldn’t talk to Rebo about it, since the runner was almost sure to interpret her concerns as a manifestation of jealousy, thereby nudging him toward the very relationship the variant feared. Norr’s musings were interrupted by Hoggles, who raised a massive arm to point at an object beyond the riders ahead.
“Look! Could that be the bridge?”
The sensitive looked, failed to see anything, and came to her feet. The cart swayed, Norr put a hand out to steady herself on the heavy’s shoulder, and shaded her eyes. Finally, by squinting just so, the variant thought she could see what looked like a tiny ladder. “I think you’re right, Bo. . . . Although it’s too far away to be sure.”
An hour later Norr was sure, and so were her companions, as two pillars of rusty steel rose to silhouette themselves against the darkening sky. A series of cross braces linked the uprights together, making the structure look like a gigantic ladder. A framework that had successfully withstood more than a thousand years of wind, rain, and snow, it stood as a mute testament to long-lost knowledge and skill. Then, as Rebo and Phan paused to wait for the cart to catch up with them, Norr saw that a cluster of stone-walled huts had grown up around the approach to the bridge, one of which leaked tendrils of dark gray smoke. The scene appeared serene, but it didn’t feel right, and the sensitive said as much as the cart came to a stop. “I don’t like the feel of it, Jak. . . . Something’s wrong.”
The runner knew better than to ignore her premonitions and nodded. “Let’s hope for the best—and be ready for the worst.”
If Phan was concerned about what might lie ahead, the runner gave no indication of it. The bruises and cuts had already begun to heal, revealing a very pretty face and an inner centeredness that made Norr feel inferior somehow. Phan wore a long black riding cloak that served to hide the rest of her body, but the sensitive already knew it to be more curvaceous than her own and resented that as well. Meanwhile, if the other woman harbored feelings about her, they were well hidden because her face remained empty of all expression. “Good,” Norr affi? rmed, hoping that her demeanor was equally cool. “We’ll follow your lead.”
Meanwhile, more than a thousand yards away, Mia Tova allowed a cold stone wall to accept most of her considerable weight as she used a splinter of bone to pick at her badly yellowed teeth. One of them ached and needed to be pulled, but that would have to wait. Thanks to the fact that the bandit chieftain had excellent vision, she could see that only two of the approaching travelers were male. Of those she fi?gured that the heavy posed the most signifi?cant threat since he’d be diffi?cult to take down. But only if the group put up a fi?ght. Fortunately, most of the pilgrims, merchants, and other travelers who had passed through the checkpoint during the last few days had been relatively cooperative. The others were dead. Satisfi?ed that she knew what to expect, the bandit turned to enter the fuggy warmth of the hut behind her. It smelled of unwashed skin, wet wool, and the angen stew that bubbled in an iron pot. Earlier, prior to her arrival, the stone cottage had been home to a group of four antitechnic monks stationed at the bridge to absolve travelers of sins automatically incurred as they crossed the high-tech marvel. In exchange for a fee of course, since it was impossible to fi?ght evil without money, which the church had no choice but to extract from its adherents. Of course the friars were dead now, having been forced to surrender their pot of grubby gunnars, prior to stepping off the very artifact they had been assigned to guard. All but one of them had gone gladly, thrilled to join the ranks of the antitechnic martyrs, shouting God’s name as they plunged into the canyon below. The single exception soiled himself as he was hoisted out over the abyss and was blubbering for his mother when the downward journey began. A sad affair and one that Tova planned to report to the next vizier who happened along.
A fi?re glowed within a well-blackened fi?replace, and a ceiling-hung lamp provided what light there was. Half a dozen shaggy heads turned away from a game of throwbones as Tova pushed the leather curtain out of the way, thereby allowing a wave of cold air to enter along with her.
“All right,” the chieftain proclaimed loudly. “Grab your weapons and make sure they’re loaded. . . . There’s only four of them, so even a group of worthless scum like yourselves should be able to handle the situation. Watch the heavy, though. . . . He could give us some trouble.”
There were grunts of assent, followed by the sound of someone’s fl?atulence, and gales of laughter as fi?ve men and one woman prepared themselves for battle. “Stay out of sight until the cart is right outside or I call for you,” Tova instructed. “And don’t kill anyone unless I tell you to. . . .
Who knows? Maybe we can ransom one or more of them. Understood?”
The brigands had heard the lecture before, but such was the force of Tova’s personality that there was a minimum of grumbling as they took up positions to either side of the door, and she went out to stand in the middle of the road. The lead riders were almost upon the bandit as Tova hooked her thumbs into the leather belt that encircled her thick waist. That put the norm’s hands in close proximity to the twin single-action revolvers that protruded butts forward from their cutaway holsters.
Rebo and Phan pulled back on their reins as the roughlooking woman appeared in front of them. The bridge was tended by monks, or so they’d been told, but there was nothing godly about the creature who stood before them. Strands of gray-brown hair hung from under a cone-shaped fur hat that was bald in places. The woman’s canvas coat bore multiple patches, one grubby knee was visible through a hole in the baggy pants that she wore, and her boots were caked with mud. “Hold it right there,” the apparition ordered loftily. “How would you like to pay the bridge toll?
Cash on the barrelhead? Or with some of whatever’s on that cart?” The vehicle in question had arrived by then, which meant that Norr was only fi?fty feet away, and in a good position to witness what transpired next.
“How much is the toll?” Rebo asked reasonably, hoping to pay a few gunnars.
“Five cronos,” the bandit replied unhesitatingly. “Or, half of what’s on the cart.”
The runner’s hands were on the saddle’s pommel only inches from his guns. “That’s absurd,” he countered. “Step out of the way . . . We’re coming through.”
“No,” Tova responded levelly. “You aren’t.”
That was when the six ruffi?ans emerged from the hut to form a semicircle behind their leader. The threat was obvious, and the bandit chieftain knew she had the upper hand. Especially since the heavy was still on the cart and in no position to interfere. “Get down off those animals,” she ordered. “You and your friends will be walking from now on. And watch where you put those hands.”
“No.” Phan had been silent up until then. Now, as the other runner spoke, Rebo realized that she had thrown her cape back over her shoulders. But, before he could wonder why, Phan spoke again. Her voice was pitched low, but every word was distinct. “Tell your people to return to the hut. Do it now, and I’ll let you live.”
Tova was surprised. She was expecting trouble from the heavy, or the man with the hard eyes, but not the play pretty in the cape. Not that it mattered since it was time to go for her guns. The thought left her brain, but never arrived at her hands, which made an instinctive grab for her throat. Because that’s where a six-inch-long throwing
