other bank. Then he readied his long bow.
'You wished for death and glory, you might get it yet!' Cyric whispered, and Forester smiled as he drew his sword. Then the thief turned to the other men near him. 'Follow the plan. Wait until the last of them is upon the bridge, then move on my signal.'
It seemed an eternity before the Zhentilar arrived. But at last the sounds of the riders crossing the bridge filled the dalesmen's ears, and Cyric watched as two dozen armored warriors passed overhead, nervously looking over their shoulders. No other troops were in sight on the road, so Cyric signaled the attack.
The Zhentilar had no chance. Cyric's bow laid out two of the soldiers, and a squad of men surged up from the trenches on either side of the river and attacked. Forester backed away at the Zhentilar with glee, and as the last of the enemy fell, Cyric heard his men shout 'For Shadowdale! For Shadowdale!'
There were sounds from the road to the west, and Cyric turned in time to see horsemen breaking from the trees in the distance. An army of riders led by a red-haired man on a beautiful warhorse was charging toward the bridge. Cyric saw that there were at least two hundred men heading their way.
'Ride on!' Fzoul shouted, and the wall of attackers closed on the bridge.
As Cyric ran, the eastern end of the Ashaba Bridge seemed to be moving away from him, not getting closer. The bridge was a little more than a thousand feet long, but it seemed like miles to the thief as he ran across it, an army closing in from behind. Forester and a handful of men were at Cyric's side as he ran.
The eastern bank was ahead of them when they heard the sound of Bane's army moving onto the other end of the bridge. Cyric saw that none of the Zhentilar were stopping on the western bank of the river, so the men that were hidden at the base of the bridge, right beneath the Zhentish troops, were safe. Everything was going according to their plan. That frightened Cyric. Nothing ever went exactly according to plan.
'Do you think it will work?' Forester said as they reached the eastern bank.
How should I know? Cyric wanted to say. Instead, he said, 'Of course,' and jumped for the bank.
Fully expecting an arrow to pierce his back just as he left the stone bridge, Cyric suddenly felt moist earth beneath his feet and realized he had made it across. Forester and the others were still beside him.
'Now for the hard part,' Cyric said, almost out of breath. The thief turned and faced the oncoming horde and heard the telltale sounds of metal pulleys creaking beneath the bridge.
'At least two hundred are on the bridge. Mostly cavalry,' Forester whispered.
There were more sounds. Men grunted as they pushed away the stones concealing their hiding niches in the pillar supports. Cyric hoped the splashes as the heavy stones hit the water wouldn't alert the Zhentilar on the bride to the trap.
'They're more than halfway across!' someone screamed.
'Do it, Cyric!' Forester hissed.
'Retreat!' Cyric screamed at the top of his lungs. Then Cyric and Forester ran as if Bane himself were chasing them, and they split up as they ran to the Twisted Tower so as not to present an easy target.
'Any time now,' Cyric whispered.
Nothing happened.
Forester stopped before he reached the tower. Cyric stopped as well. 'They didn't hear you,' Forester cried.
'They must have heard me!' Cyric snapped.
They both turned toward the bridge. The main body of the army was approaching the eastern bank, and a few horsemen had already made it across. Cyric and Forester ran for the bridge.
'Retreat!' they screamed.
Still nothing happened.
Cyric cursed himself. If he had not listened to the men from Suzail Key, this situation would not exist. He wanted to set more reliable traps, but they wouldn't listen.
'Retreat!' Cyric cried again.
Either the men under the bridge heard him this time or they got tired of waiting for the command and took matters into their own hands. Whatever the reason, though, they started to remove the flat-hewed logs that had been placed inside the holes where the keystone supports had once been. Then the men at the center of the bridge swung out from under the bridge on ropes, and their weight exerted the force necessary to break the weakened center support. Finally, the other supports for the bridge shattered and collapsed, too. The Zhentish soldiers shouted in surprise as the bridge fell away and the wildly churning Ashaba loomed up toward them.
Even Fzoul was stunned by the sight of the massive bridge falling. The red-haired man, who had already reached the eastern bank, turned in his saddle and stared. In seconds, there was nothing left of the bridge. Less than twenty of Fzoul's men had made it to the eastern bank. On the western bank, many were attempting to slow their mounts before they were pushed into the gaping hole left by the collapse of the bridge. Over three-quarters of the force had been tossed into the Ashaba and drowned in their heavy armor.
There were less than twenty archers in the Twisted Tower, but the soldiers who rode or stood beside Fzoul didn't know this. Even when the arrows began to fly and the soldiers at the front were slain, there was no realization that so few could have brought down so many. There were only the cries of the wounded and the frightened as Fzoul slid from his horse and fell to the ground, taking cover from the archers as his men died around him. Some of the soldiers were backing away, falling into the river. Fzoul realized that the corpses of his men and their mounts would block the edge of the bridge, and their movement would be slowed until they were killed one by one from the tower. The Zhentilar had lost the battle before they'd even met sword to sword with one dalesman.
On his hands and knees, Fzoul crawled back through the ranks of his dead and dying troops and started to strip off his armor.
The men who had sapped the bridge climbed up onto the western bank and attacked the remaining Zhentilar. The archers from the tower also moved out toward the road and began to move forward.
Cyric took his bow from his back and grabbed an arrow from the quiver of a nearby archer. The thief had not taken his gaze from the red-haired commander who was attempting to make his escape from the shattered bridge. The man was crawling away and taking off his armor. Obviously the coward was going to try to leap into the river.
Cyric notched a single arrow and braced himself. As the commander stood up and prepared to dive off the edge of the bridge, the thief screamed 'Red hair!'
Fzoul locked eyes with Cyric for a moment, then tried to jump. At the same instant, Cyric loosed the single shaft with unerring accuracy. The arrow pierced Fzoul's side as he fell into the river.
The slaughter of Bane's men continued, but the battle at the western front was over. Cyric gathered most of the men together and headed for the eastern front. As they approached the center of town, though, they heard the sounds of a battle in progress — steel clashed against steel, and commanders screamed out orders. Cyric and his men charged into the nearest group of Zhentish soldiers. When they had driven them off, Cyric quickly asked a commander what had happened.
'The Zhents came from the north, too. Just as we'd expected. We slowed them down a bit with the traps and ramparts we'd set up in the farms they had to pass, but they got here anyway.'
Then another group of Zhentilar charged Cyric and he was once more lost in the battle.
In the furious fighting that covered the crossroads of Shadowdale, few noticed the squad of Zhentilar cavalry break off and head down the road to the east.
Kelemvor knew they would face impossible odds. Still, he gave the order to advance without hesitation. As commander of the entire movement, Kelemvor's place was in the third line of defense. Those who charged out in the first line would account for the heaviest percentage of casualties in the attack on Bane's armies, but there wasn't a soldier that had not volunteered for their position. Kelemvor had been spared the duty of selecting those who would rush off to die.
Bane's soldiers emerged, six at a time, from the path Sememmon had blazed. Most of the horses had been killed in the trap, so most of the troops were infantry.
'Why not use our cavalry?' Drizhal said to Kelemvor. 'We might be able to force them back that way.'
'We'll need the mounts later,' Kelemvor said. 'Their speed will allow our survivors to fall back and regroup long before Bane's army can reach them.' The fighter turned away from the younger man and deployed the foot
