They were strolling idly now, the river water lapping against the muddy banks, accompanying their steps.

"Yes, that damned Battle of Prayer Bridge." The squad leader kicked a stone into the dark waters with savage force. "Thanks to that cursed Blackwater and Prayer Bridge, we lost nearly two thousand men in a single day."

"According to the records, it was Godma's worst defeat since beginning its southern conquest," Tyler ventured, glancing at Carl for confirmation.

"Indeed. Without Duke Dear's reinforcements, Godma might never have conquered Kolova at all."

"Raveirmom's aid came just in time," the squad leader agreed, his voice tight. "Had he arrived even moments later, I wouldn't be standing here talking to you now."

The strained silence shattered with the raucous squabble of two soldiers arguing over dice, their voices laced with colorful oaths. One swore the die had five sides, the other countered that he'd shoved the sixth up his arse.

"So you were there, my lord," Tyler said quietly. "That explains your familiarity with Lord Eoch's daughter's story."

"She wasn't well-known then - just whispers and rumors. Never learned her name. Eoch never spoke of her. A shame, really."

"But my lord, if you fought at Prayer Bridge, you must have witnessed the bloodbath in the Blackwater. They say the casualties were staggering."

The squad leader picked his steps carefully, as if phantom hands might reach from the water to drag him under. "You were children then. Your knowledge of Prayer Bridge comes from minstrels' songs and old women's tales. The reality was far bloodier than any ballad dares tell. Nearly fifteen hundred men died on that bridge and in those waters. Of the five hundred who survived that, two hundred starved, and another two hundred fell to Kolova blades."

Tyler shuddered. "Less than a hundred survived..." Devalosfang's silence was answer enough.

"Fifteen hundred dead at one bridge..." Carl whispered.

"You think that number impossible. It's an underestimate, if anything." The squad leader quickened his pace, as if trying to outrun the memories. "Prayer Bridge was no mere stone crossing like those spanning the paltry Doby. It was Kolova's lifeline to the outside world - three hundred feet long, seventy wide. Such grandeur, such intricate carvings - no work of Kolova savages, but a remnant of when ancient elves dwelled there. Wide enough for hundreds of mounted knights in full armor. That's what doomed us in the end."

A young knight from the Seventh Squad frolicked by the water with a camp follower, playfully threatening to toss her in. Seeing Devalosfang approach, he hastily straightened, nodding respectfully.

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"We reached the western bank of the Blackwater ahead of schedule," the squad leader acknowledged the salute, his grim expression making the young knight fidget. "The weather was perfect, deceptively beautiful. Everything seemed right - except for those dark waters. Later we realized the gods were playing their cruel jest."

"The village was abandoned, offering no resistance. We sent scouts along both banks and across the river. They left together, returned together, all intact. Reported nothing but some wooden stakes beneath the bridge - a detail we foolishly dismissed. We were relieved. The Blackwater, unlike the Doby, was an abyss, its depths concealing mysteries darker than any tomb. None of us wanted to trust those rickety boats. I was lucky - still a commander's squire then, not among the first to cross."

"When hooves first struck stone, there was even joy. That solid bridge promised safety. Instead, it delivered death."

"The bridge crowded with horses and men. That's when death reached up from below. Kolova warriors burst from the water, their painted arms glistening as they clawed at the stonework. With the first terrified horse's scream, hell erupted around us."

"They climbed up to attack from both sides?"

"Far worse, Carl. Far, far worse." The squad leader's fingers clenched and unclenched. "Those wooden stakes? Breathing tubes! The Blackwater runs slow there, and Kolovas, being coastal people, swim like fish. They waited underwater until we packed the bridge tight, then struck! Had they attacked as you suggest, we might have won - armored knights against savages with crude spears and painted leather. But they were cleverer. They targeted the horses, making them bleed and panic, throwing riders into the black water. Those lucky enough to land on stone were dragged into the depths."

"And in the water, armor becomes a coffin," Tyler said softly, understanding dawning. "So those who fell..."

"All perished. In that lightless water, their protection became their prison. The screams, the desperate cries, the thrashing of drowning men - it drove the remaining knights mad with terror. They pressed together, each trying to flee, only trapping more in the middle where savages could pick them off like ripe fruit."

"Some fought through to the eastern shore, most without horses - and many died under their own mounts' hooves in the panic. Just as they thought they'd escaped, the gods revealed their second jest."