Part X – The Burning Bridge
Part X-A: The Crossing
The smoke followed them even here. It clung to their clothes, their hair, their breath—so that every exhale felt like a memory of burning things.
Luk trudged through the mud at the rear of the refugee line, Anna's hand locked tight in his. Night pressed close from the woods on either side, broken only by the red pulse of the fires still raging far behind them. Each step forward was a soundless argument between exhaustion and fear.
Ahead, the bridge rose out of the mist—a black span of wood and iron stretching across the gorge. It had been a trade route once, back when the Ashen River ran silver in the morning light. Now the river below was swollen with ash and driftwood, and its waters reflected nothing.
–––
The bridge creaked as the first wagons rolled across. Soldiers shouted for order. Valen rode at the front, his white horse darkened with soot, his armor dulled by blood and smoke. His voice carried through the din, hard and clipped.
"Keep moving! No stops, no talking. We burn it when the last man's across."
Burn it. The words rippled down the line like cold water. Some of the refugees began to whisper—families who'd fled the lower quarter, traders from the outskirts, a few soldiers limping on makeshift crutches. Luk kept his eyes forward, jaw clenched. He had no energy left for disbelief. He'd seen Westernlight fall. He knew what came next.
Anna stumbled beside him. Her small legs struggled to keep pace, her face streaked with dirt and sweat. Luk hoisted her onto his back without breaking stride.
"I can walk," she muttered weakly.
"You'll walk when there's ground that's not on fire," he said.
–––
The wind shifted. Smoke curled low across the path, thick enough to taste. The smell was different now—sweet, almost metallic. Luk had smelled it before in the fields after harvest, when lightning struck the barn roofs. The smell of things that used to live.
They reached the bridge's edge. The boards were slick beneath his boots, blackened in places where the fire had already kissed them days before. Beneath the gaps, the river murmured—a low, constant sound that made the wood vibrate faintly.
Valen dismounted halfway across, shouting to his men. His voice was hoarse but steady. "Half load at a time. Keep the center clear. If the supports groan, run."
Luk moved when told. The planks flexed underfoot. Somewhere ahead, a child cried out and was shushed immediately. He kept his head down, watching the lines of iron nails glint in the torchlight. Anna's fingers dug into his shoulder.
"Why are we burning it?" she whispered. "Won't people need it to come home?"
Luk didn't answer. He didn't know how to tell her that there wouldn't be a home to come back to. He looked over the side instead—down through the smoke to where the river carved its slow path between the rocks. Embers floated on the surface like tiny, dying stars. For a moment, he imagined the bridge collapsing, the current swallowing them whole, and it didn't seem so terrible.
–––
A horn sounded from somewhere in the darkness behind. Three short blasts.
Every soldier froze.
Valen turned sharply toward the rear, scanning the horizon. "Archers! Rear line! Goblins in pursuit!"
The words cracked through the air like thunder. Panic broke the silence in an instant. People shoved forward, tripping over one another in their scramble to reach the far side. The bridge swayed beneath their weight.
"Keep moving!" Valen roared. "Don't stop for anyone!"
Luk pressed forward, one arm over Anna's legs to keep her from falling. He heard the first arrows hit the planks behind them with dull, splintering thuds. A man screamed. Someone dropped a lantern, and oil spilled across the wood, spreading in a thin, dark trail toward the bridge's heart.
A soldier kicked it aside, but the flame caught. It was small at first—just a flicker licking at the edge of the boards. Then the wind found it.
Fire raced down the span in a single, beautiful line.
–––
Valen's voice cut through the chaos. "Stop the fire! Now!"
But there was no water. The buckets had been left behind in the retreat. The soldiers stamped and cursed, but the fire only climbed higher, crawling up the ropes that bound the railings. The smell of pitch and oil thickened the air until it burned the throat.
Luk's legs felt heavy, but he didn't stop. He could see the far bank now, just a dozen paces ahead, where the survivors were spilling onto the dirt.
Anna's breath came in short gasps against his neck. "It's hot," she whimpered. "Luk—it's so hot."
"I know. Don't look back."
The boards beneath them began to groan. He could feel the heat through his boots, the way it spread like fever through the wood. He tightened his grip around her and ran.
Behind him, the bridge roared alive. Flames curled over the rails, bending toward the wind, devouring everything in their path. Soldiers shouted orders drowned by the fire's own language. Somewhere within the glow, Valen's shadow stood unflinching, sword drawn, his white cloak turning red.
Then came the scream.
It wasn't human—something guttural and deep, echoing from the far side where the goblins had reached the edge. Luk risked a glance back just as a dark mass surged onto the burning planks. Shapes writhed in the smoke—figures too fast, too many.
He stumbled as the bridge lurched. Boards cracked, one after another. The sound of splintering wood mingled with the fire's roar until it was impossible to tell them apart.
"Luk!" Anna's voice was a knife in the noise.
He forced himself forward, feet slipping, eyes stinging from the smoke. The far bank seemed to move farther away with every step.
Something heavy struck the bridge behind him—then another. Goblin arrows. One slammed into the planks inches from his heel, quivering. He didn't look back again.
"Just a little more," he said. He wasn't sure if he was lying.
They reached the midpoint—where the boards dipped low, and the supports were half-eaten by flame. He could see Valen waving people through, his face a mask of ash and fury.
"Run!" Valen shouted. "Run, damn you!"
Luk ran.
He didn't hear the first beam snap. He only felt the world drop away beneath his feet.