Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [108]
Berem looked the same as always, sullen and frightened. It was Flint that worried Tanis most. The dwarf had not said a word during their flight. He had kept up with them without faltering, but his lips were blue and his breath came in short gasps. Every once in a while—when he thought no one was looking—Tanis had seen him put his hand over his chest or rub his left arm as if it pained him.
“Very well.” The half-elf decided. “Go on, old mage. Though I’m probably going to regret this,” he added, under his breath as the rest hurried along after Fizban.
Near sundown, the companions came to a halt. They stood on a small rocky ledge about three-quarters of the way up the side of the mountain. Before them was a deep, narrow gorge. Far below they could see a river winding its way through the bottom of the gorge like a glistening snake.
It must be a four-hundred-foot drop, Tanis calculated. The trail they stood on hugged the side of the mountain, with a sheer cliff on one side and nothing but air on the other. There was only one way across the gorge.
“And that bridge,” said Flint—the first words he had spoken in hours, “is older than I am … and in worse shape.”
“That bridge has stood for years!” Fizban said indignantly. “Why, it survived the Cataclysm!”
“I believe it,” Caramon said sincerely.
“At least it’s not too long,” Tika tried to sound hopeful, though her voice faltered.
The bridge across the narrow gorge was of a unique construction. Huge vallenwood limbs were driven into the sides of the mountain on either side of the gorge. These limbs formed an X-shape that supported the wooden plank platform. Long ago, the structure must have been an architectural marvel. But now the wooden planks were rotted and splitting. If there had been a railing, it had long since fallen down into the chasm below. Even as they watched, the timbers creaked and shuddered in the chill wind of evening.
Then, behind them, they heard the sound of guttural voices and the clash of steel on rock.
“So much for going back,” Caramon muttered. “We should cross over one by one.”
“No time,” Tanis said, rising to his feet. “We can only hope the gods are with us. And—I hate to admit it—but Fizban’s right. Once we get across, we can stop the draconians easily. They’ll be excellent targets, stuck out there on that bridge. I’ll go first. Keep behind me, single-file. Caramon, you’re rear guard. Berem, stay behind me.”
Moving as swiftly as he dared, Tanis set foot on the bridge. He could feel the planks quiver and shake. Far below, the river flowed swiftly between the canyon walls; sharp rocks jutted up from its white, foaming surface. Tanis caught his breath and looked away quickly.
“Don’t look down,” he said to the others, feeling a chill emptiness where his stomach had been. For an instant he couldn’t move, then, getting a grip on himself, he edged his way forward. Berem came right behind him, fear of the dragonmen completely obliterating any other terrors the Everman might have experienced.
After Berem came Tasslehoff, walking lightly with kender skill, peering over the edge in wonder. Then the terrified Flint, supported by Fizban. Finally Tika and Caramon set foot on the shivering planks, keeping nervous watch behind them.
Tanis was nearly halfway across when part of the platform gave way, the rotten wood splintering beneath his feet.
Acting instinctively, in a paroxysm of terror, he clutched desperately at the planking and caught hold of the edge. But the rotten wood crumbled in his grasp. His fingers slipped and—
—a hand closed over his wrist.
“Berem!” Tanis gasped.
“Hold on!” He forced himself to hang limply, knowing that any movement on his part would only make Berem’s hold on him harder to maintain.
“Pull him up!” he heard Caramon roar, then, “Don’t anybody move! The whole thing’s liable to give way!”
His face tight with the strain, sweat beading on his forehead, Berem pulled. Tanis saw the muscles on the man’s arm bulge, the veins nearly burst from the skin. With what seemed like