“By Brimgod the Elder, some idiot has blocked the bridge,” growled Bartelmy as he pulled up the horses.
At the highest point of the bridge a wagon sat atilt while several men struggled to get the left rear wheel back on the axle from which it had parted company. Beyond them, two spans of oxen shifted from foot to foot and lowed to one another in shared complaint. The stone bridge was old, its center high enough above the river to allow small boats to pass beneath. The already narrow way across it was further constricted by low, moss-mottled parapets at either side. Not even a man on foot would get by until the oxen moved their wagon.
Xulai had been riding on the driver’s seat next to Bartelmy. Bear, since he had kept watch the previous night, had slept during the day, lying in the open carriage with his head in Precious Wind’s lap. Now he roused himself and joined Bartelmy in walking forward to offer help, which offer was rejected with some indifference by the apparently struggling men.
As they returned, Bartelmy said softly to Bear: “Beyond the bridge is the crossroad where we’ll turn east, provided those men ever finish what they’re doing . . .”
“Which seems to be making a great deal of prancing about and very little progress,” commented Bear.
“They are making heavy work of it,” Bartelmy agreed. “I think that’s the fifth time they’ve tried to get that clench pin through the axle slot.”
“There’s dust hanging over the roadway west,” Xulai remarked from the wagon seat. “As though a number of horsemen passed not long ago.”
Bartelmy muttered, “They didn’t pass. There’s no dust eastward or south. If they came here, they turned around and went back.”
Precious Wind murmured, “West lies the sea and Wellsport. A goodly town, Wellsport.”
“Certainly,” said Bear. “Full of stews and taverns. A good place for agents of the Sea People to sneak in, for one purpose or another, in a ship . . .”
“No ship the signalers have told us of!” Bartelmy said.
“Where are the signalers you speak of?” Xulai asked.
Bartelmy climbed into the wagon, pulled her to her feet, and pointed to the west where the unseen riders had gone. “See that high peak west of us? The one where the sun glints red from the snow still lying on it? That’s Mount Ever-Ice, and on the peak there’s a signal station, fire at night, sun reflected from mirrors in the daytime. That station stands above Wellsport, a free town on a deepwater bay that is governed and maintained by the Shippers’ Syndicate, the so-called Port Lords, who deal in cargoes that cross the seas . . . or once did so.
“North of Wellsport lies the delta of the river Wells, a great tract of fens and mires riven by streamlets, most of it low and swampy, full of fish and birds. The place is called The Marish, and at the northern end of it, where the hills begin, there’s a small bay full of fishing boats with the little town of Wellsmouth perched on the slope above it. Wellsmouth is occupied mostly by poulterers and fisherfolk, and it lies on the side of Wellsgard peak. That station is manned by the Boat People, who swear allegiance to Prince Orez’s second son, Earl Murkon of Marish. He has a manor at the high end of the town. Of course, that’s as it was. The water’s rising closer to us than before, so the marsh has probably moved this way.
“On north from there, four other mountains make a curve around the north coast. Chasmgard, above the depths of Bone’s chasm, where Orez’s elder son, Defiance, Count Chasm, dwells with his grandmother, Prince Orez’s mother, Vinicia, the Lady of the Abyss—”
“The old girl keeps her seat there still, though she’s ninety if a day,” interrupted Bear.
“Next comes Combesgard,” Bartelmy continued. “Above the steep treelands of Halescombe, ruled by Hale Highlimb, Treelord, and manned by the foresters of Prince Orez; then Valesgard, above the wider Northern Valleys where the Free Knights breed the prince’s horses and keep the signal fire; and finally, Woldsgard Pinnacle, at the northwestern tip of Wolden lands, due west of where Krakenhold used to be. There the duke’s Men of the Mountain keep watch. The Icefang range blocks the duke’s vision of the peaks to the west, but he can look a little west of north from the Great Tower of Woldsgard and see Woldsgard Pinnacle, day or night. If a ship comes toward the port, within the hour it’s first seen, your cousin the duke knows of it. If a ship comes up the river Wells, be sure he knows of that, also. Not only that it comes, but how big it is, how many men aboard, and likely, what they’re carrying.”
“Not only him,” snarled Bear. “Altamont can see it as well.” He stretched himself like a huge cat and turned to watch the men on the bridge as he moved through one of the exercises he and Xulai often had done together. This one was called the Dance of the Herons, one of Xulai’s favorites, and she longed to get down from the wagon and move with him to work the kinks out. Doing so would attract attention, however. Not a good idea.
She reminded herself to be as childish and unexceptionable as possible, turning to stare back the way they had come. From the bridge, the high tower at
