Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Bridge

Lilith took her human form the following morning. She was curious about everything they passed, pointing at each thing, a questioning thought would shuffle through his mind.

“That’s a hawk,” he said.

Or,

“That’s a flower.”

As repetitive as it was, time passed quickly. Plus, she was adorable, and he loved talking with her. Amalia would stop them for camp just before evening, and it would be time for training. She insisted he keep up his conditioning, and while he hated it, he did it. After that would come sword-play and Amalia did not let up.

She pushed him, and it was the one area Ash was certain he excelled in. He could be confident in this because Amalia rarely had to correct him. He felt as one with the blade, moving through the few forms he knew. She wouldn’t teach him another just yet, as she claimed it was best to master one before moving on, but he knew she would soon.

He was a natural, and he felt no shame in admitting that.

Then came his least favorite part of the day.

Accessing elar.

He still struggled to identify these clues Amalia spoke of. He pestered her in an attempt to wear her down, hoping she would tell him just to get him to shut up.

The violet-eyed woman possessed a powerful ability to ignore whatever she chose to. He never succeeded in getting her to reveal more. She didn’t even have the decency to roll her eyes, or rebuke him with a word. Silence was his only answer.

Bed time came shortly after that, with Lilith moving closer to him, her presence warm.

It couldn’t fight off the dreams.

On the third day they came to a bridge that had been built over a stream. Amalia paused before they approached it. It was made of wood, sturdy enough, if aging.

“We have company, Master Lorcan. Try to stay silent, let me do the talking.”

Ash had noticed them at the end of the bridge. A group of four men. Three of them were in leathers, bows across their backs, and swords at their hips. The fourth wore heavy armor, dirt marring its once gleaming surface.

As Ash, Amalia and Lilith neared, he noticed that they were all grim, gruff looking men. Their beards were unkempt, with no attempt at combing or cutting them.

The one in armor had a large two handed sword sheathed on his back.

When the rough group of men saw them, they gathered themselves, stepping forward and three of them unslung their bows, knocked an arrow and pointed it at them. The one in armor addressed them.

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“That’s far ‘nough. This bridge ‘ere? It’s a toll bridge. You gotta pay if’n you wanna cross.”

His voice was slightly nasally, as if his nose had been broken one too many times.

It does look awfully crooked, Ash thought as he glanced at the man’s nose. Lilith narrowed her eyes at the man, and a fierce thought cut through his mind like a sword blade.

She wanted to fight.

He placed a hand on her head, trying to reassure her with his mind. Amalia would take care of this.

He had every confidence she would, too. Ash had seen her in action. Lilith huffed, but subsided.

“Ah, I hadn’t realized Aleria had imposed a toll on this bridge. It has never had one before. How much is this toll?”

The man scratched his beard,

“Erm. How much ‘ave you got?”

Amalia tapped her staff on the ground,

“Surely Aleria has set a specific amount? They would ask for all of our coin, now would they?”

The man’s face took on a look of confusion.

“Just tell me what you got!” His face morphed from confusion to ugly frustration.

Amalia sighed, shaking her head, she lifted her staff, and blurred forward. The group of men tried to strike her, arrows whizzing forth, but none met their target. The man in armor hefted his two-handed sword, swinging it wide, but the blur that was Amalia ducked under it.

Four thwaks sounded out like lightning striking a tree, followed by four solid thuds as bodies dropped to the ground. There were no sounds of groaning or pain. Just silent breathing and unmoving lumps of flesh.

Ash almost whistled. Amalia was on another level. Lilith clapped her hands, bouncing, her expression lit up.

“Patience was never one of my virtues,” Amalia muttered at the unconscious men around her.

“I thought you’d maybe pay them, then trick them somehow, like pick their pockets as you passed or something,” Ash said.

Amalia rarely showed much of any emotion, but she looked puzzled now,

“Why would I do such a thing? Aleria despises bandits such as these. Even if they did choose to tell anyone, we will be long gone from here. Besides, I am leaving them alive, which is more than alerian patrols would do if found.” She gestured with her staff, and they left the unmoving men behind them.

__________

That night Ash decided to ask Amalia more personal questions. All this time together, and he knew next to nothing about her. Smoke from their fire trailed into the air, the night air was still, and few stars were in the sky.

Scents of earth, forest and burning wood drifted around them. Lilith was happily eating and poking at the fire with a stick.

“Who are you, really Amalia? You’re obviously not a normal storyteller.”

“Let us not do that, Master Lorcan.”

“Do what?”

“Try to get to know me. I assure you, knowing me, knowing my past, would only serve to hurt you. Let the ghosts of the past rest, for all they bring is memory, and memory, Master Lorcan, is pain.”

Ash stared at her for a few moments, before slowly saying,

“Has anyone told you that you can be kind of dour?”

“Not before now, no.”

Ash purses his lips before bobbing his head downward,

“Consider yourself told. You can be dour.”

With that, he closed his eyes and continued his attempts to control his elar, trying to scan every failed attempt for any of these hints Amalia told him were there.

Cold.

Ash snapped his eyes open. Of course! His elan, that orb within him, was cold. Back when he had first uncovered it within himself, it had been numbingly cold, even then. Finally being able to draw it, he had always felt like being in the middle of a winter storm.

On the farm, he had never felt the cold. It had never bothered him.

His elan must have been why.

Amalia had said that controlling elan was different for everyone. As if he were a dog following a scent, he went down that path of logic. It had to mean that not everyone felt this cold. Other elan must evoke different impressions.

How would that let him use his elar?

Ash tried to think of a way this knowledge would help him, but nothing came to him. He was surprisingly okay with that for now. He had made some tangible progress.

He still had time, and progressing in this way meant he would be able to put it together.

Satisfied, he went to bed.

This time the dreams of the woman in radiant armor and the dark creature seeking to destroy her returned. His sleep was consumed by fire.