the canisters of naphtha from the sack attached to his saddle.
“It’s doable,” he replied. “Bridge gets washed away in floods every few years. It’s only waist deep, but it’s cold enough to freeze your balls off.”
“How fortunate I was not cursed with such vulnerable body parts,” she replied, and despite the gravity of the situation, Killian laughed.
They walked onto the bridge, pouring the liquid onto the planks and dousing the thick pillars holding it out of the rapids. Wind blasted against them with such strength that it seemed to suck the air from Killian’s lungs, whipping away the stink of the liquid. Which gave him an idea.
Back on their side of the Tarn, Sonia pulled a flint stone from her pocket, but Killian shook his head. “I’ve a better idea.”
Retreating up the slope, he explained his plan to the young woman.
“You’re worse than Kaira,” Sonia said when he was finished, but she took the reins of both horses and led them back down the road to meet the rest of the archers.
Crouching behind a boulder, Killian extracted a tinderbox and started a small blaze that would attract no notice. Then he settled down to wait.
The setting sun was barely visible behind the haze of cloud when Sonia arrived with the archers, all of them creeping up to hide behind cover. Their arrival wasn’t a moment too soon.
Out of the trees came a line of riders moving at speed. Their mounts were scruffy ponies, the legs of the men atop them hanging almost to their knees. The soldiers themselves were dressed in furs, but Killian could make out the glint of metal. They were well armed, which was unsurprising. Rufina knew she needed this ford—she’d have sent her best.
They picked their way down the slope, weapons out and eyes searching for any sign of danger. There were fifty of them, and Killian easily marked their commander, a small man with a sharp nose that protruded from his hood. From this distance, there was nothing about the man that set him apart, but Killian noted the way his men gave him wide berth. The nervous way his pony shifted from side to side, ears pinned, as though a mountain lion sat in the saddle rather than a man. Corrupted.
“You and you,” the commander shouted, pointing at two of his men. “Scout ahead and see how much time we have until they arrive.”
The two soldiers heeled their horses up the slope, and Killian let them pass unmolested. Sonia met his eyes. There were archers waiting down the road ready to take out the enemy scouts.
The bulk of the men began crossing the bridge, two abreast, but ten remained on the far side. Killian grimaced. Those would be hard shots in this wind, but he had no intention of allowing any of the enemy to escape to warn the main force. “I’ll deal with those on the west bank,” he whispered to Sonia. “You handle those on this side.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her nod, her weapons already in hand.
“We need to hold the high ground,” the commander ordered from below. “Start building fortifications at the top of that slope.” He dismounted and handed his reins to one of the men. Then he went still, head cocked as though smelling the air.
“Ambush!” he shouted, and Killian laughed, his bowstring twanging. The burning tip of his arrow sank into the man’s left eye, and the corrupted toppled back onto the bridge, where the flames ignited the naphtha. Killian sent two more arrows through the air, and within seconds the bridge was an inferno. He turned his attention to the fleeing soldiers on the far side of the river, leaving Sonia and the Gamdeshians to handle the enemy charging up the embankment toward them.
He hit three men in the back in quick succession, missed one, swore, then caught him on the next shot. All it would take was one of them making it back to Rufina to turn this into a failed gambit.
Bows twanged to either side of him as Killian took down two more fleeing men. Only there were too many attackers on this side of the river to kill with arrows alone, and it would only be seconds until they were upon Killian and the archers. “Cover me,” he said to Sonia. “I’ve four left to kill.”
“Hurry!”
Killian aimed, judging the wind and the distance as he shot arrow after arrow. Two more men toppled from their horses—alive, though neither would