Arkendian Fool's Nexus is a soft, pearl-silver metal found in great abundance on the island of Arkendia. Its distinctive aura of magic is detectable by magi of all three moons, yet efforts to reveal its nature are fruitless. It is therefore much celebrated among Arkendians, who mockingly call it "witch-silver," and regard it as a national symbol of independence of magic.
— From field notes recovered from the Iberg Bright Mother Academy Library in Samis
Chapter Eight
Father Kogan jogged to the head of his caravan as it approached the first trestle on the road. The bridge was a colossal timber affair, spanning eighty or ninety paces over a deep-cleft gorge.
"That's the one," he said, calling the wagons to a halt. "Gather up and listen."
The Widow Larkin pushed to the fore. "Tell me you didn't bargain with that Phyros-rider, Kogan," she said, as if speaking for them all. "Tell me you didn't pledge us in some scheme." His flock clung near, frightened eyes searching his face. Many frowned and avoided his gaze, as they always did when unhappy with his decisions.
"We isn't pledged to mix with no Phyros-lord," a drover ventured. "I won't do it."
"We ain't obliged," another agreed.
Nods and murmurs passed through the flock until the priest stumped the haft of his ax on the road.
"So that's how it is," Kogan said. Indignation flashed in his eyes. "Ain't obliged. Who was it freed you and brought you here? Who was it won you cross the river when you was like to be starved out and sold back to lords?" He glared at the drover till the man dropped his eyes, and raked the others with his gaze. "Everything you got you owes to me. And everything I got I owes that Phyros-rider, cause if it weren't for him I'd be dead and hung this six months gone."
Exclamations of surprise at this new intelligence.
Kogan spat. "Ain't obliged." His nose wrinkled above the matted beard. "Time you thought as free men, and stop skulking for hand-outs. Freedom don't come easy, and it never stays without you have to fight for it."
The Widow Larkin wrung her hands. "They don't mean nothing by it, Father. They're scared is all. They don't know no fighting."
"Ain't asking you to fight," said Kogan. "I'm asking you to listen and do as I say." He studied their faces in silence for several heartbeats, and found contrition and grudging resolve where there had been opposition. He nodded. "Listen then, and I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll keep our teams still whiles he rides past. Then we'll make like the oxen panicked, and block this bridge with flipped wagons and such, so them that follow can't get past."
Kogan put the drovers in charge, and took ideas from the others. When they set to work, he was gratified to see that some who had been loudest in opposition were now most vigorous in support. First, they parked the train of wagons as close as possible against the cliff wall, providing the Phyros-rider a clear channel along the edge of the road. Others emptied wagons on the side of the span, and prepared to flip them there. Boys tickled their noses with spear grass and dribbled the blood on their foreheads to feign injury in the wreck.
When shouts went up that the Phyros-rider approached, they were ready. Mothers held children close. Drovers hurried blankets over the oxen's heads and fed them handfuls of grain to munch in darkness.
The Phryros galloped past in a clatter of hooves and rattle of harness, dragging two miserable-looking ponies behind, and thundered across the trestle.
Uproar — not all of it staged — erupted behind it. An ox nearest the trestle shook free of its drover and plummeted blindly over the edge with its wagon. A pair of mules dashed their cart against the cliff side and broke a wheel. But the priest's flock stayed calm enough to think. The long line of wagons and carts moved out from the cliff face and jammed awkwardly against each other, blocking the path to the bridge for more than a hundred paces. They flipped a wagon at the rear of the jam, to make an obstacle against the knights if they should think to attack or push the peasants off the ledge. Kogan stationed a dozen men with bow-staves in hand, unstrung, but visible, enough to discourage such a ploy. On the trestle itself they flipped no less than four wagons, and piled the place with bodies and beasts and baggage in convincing disarray so there was no hope of the flock moving forward.
When the Sapphire's company appeared around a bend, they pulled up at the flipped wagon and blasted their trumpets for passage, but there was nothing to be done. The peasants made a good show of hurrying to restore order, but by jamming so tight together they'd guaranteed a struggle to clear even a narrow path along the edge for the knights to pass in single file; every ox and mule had to be unhitched and turned or backed along the ledge, and often this resulted in even more tangling of traces and confusion. By the time they managed a path to the trestle and cleared a space across the span, full darkness had fallen, and the Phyros had long disappeared.
The Sapphire sent a party to give a cursory pursuit, but turned the bulk of his party back. In the torchlight Father Kogan glimpsed lips pressed tight with fury inside the sapphire blue helm.
"There is a bastard in Gallows Ferry who shall suffer for this delay," said the Sapphire to his men. "When I am done with him, you may hang what is left."
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