The guide stopped abruptly, careful not to take another step. Before him lay a vast canyon that stretched both forward and downward. The storm showed no sign of easing, and the crossing was going to be quite dangerous. He told them to wait where they were while he tried to find the bridge. Kalen, Galfrido, and Begryn huddled together, surrounding the Dragon Knight and sharing warmth. It was clear that any other child of normal traits would have already succumbed to the weather. However, the boy with dragon’s blood seemed to endure even more than the travelers carrying him.

  After a few minutes, Anthos returned, signaling with his hand for them to follow. Just a few steps ahead, they found a wooden suspension bridge swaying dangerously to the rhythm of the strong wind. They couldn’t make out the other side because of the storm. The knight looked at the guide and shook his head. There was no turning back now, even when the wood looked old and fragile.

  “We must cross one at a time!” Anthos told Kalen, who nodded in agreement. “I’ll go first. Begryn with Drako will follow behind me, and you two with Galfrido will close the advance.”

  The guide began walking cautiously, measuring each step and gripping the ropes that served as handholds. The wood beneath his feet creaked like the lament of a raven, but for now it held. At one point, he lost sight of his companions and couldn’t see the end either. It was like standing in the middle of a white, menacing nothingness, on a bridge that didn’t seem to want him there.

  He finally reached the opposite bank. Then it was Begryn and Drako’s turn. The elf, who seemed to weigh almost no more than a feather, had no trouble reaching the other side of the canyon in just a few seconds, where Anthos stood with open arms to help her through the last stretch. Galfrido, for his part, despite his weight and slow pace, made it almost to the end without stumbling. The last plank he stepped on gave way, sending his leg through and leaving him hanging from the ropes. Anthos ended up helping him in the final few feet.

  It was Kalen’s turn. The knight had already begun to cross while Galfrido was in the final stretch. The stumble of the massive warrior shook the bridge as a whole, making the ropes sound in a dangerous way. Kalen glanced at one of them and began to notice that, little by little, it was starting to fray, twisting along its own axis.

  “Oh, no…” was all he managed to say. He began to pick up the pace. Suddenly, with only a few meters left, one of the ropes snapped, causing the bridge to tilt and shift all the weight onto the other rope. Kalen managed to grab on without trouble, but now the challenge was to move forward like that.

  “Hold on!” shouted Galfrido, grabbing the remaining bridge rope to try to ease some of the strain on it. Without a word, Anthos tied the rope back around his waist. There wasn’t much time left. Galfrido’s face began to redden from the effort. His hands were white from the pressure.

  “By Mistilanya, it’s not going to hold!” cried Begryn.

  “Galfrido, let go of the rope and hold the end of the one I tied to my waist,” said Anthos, taking a running start. However, before the burly warrior could do anything, the guide lunged forward, breaking into a frantic, full-speed sprint.

  “Crazy bastard!” Galfrido shouted, releasing the bridge rope and grabbing the end of the one tied around Anthos’s waist.

  Everything happened very fast. The moment Galfrido let go of the bridge’s support, it gave way under the weight and snapped. At that exact instant, Anthos made an impossible leap into the void, aiming for Kalen, who had already begun to fall. The guide’s arms caught him by the cape, holding him, while Galfrido gripped the rope with both hands. The warrior tensed every inch of his body, bearing the weight of both men—especially after the first sharp jolt of the fall. Begryn began pulling on the rope with him, offering some relief to Galfrido’s arms, which looked as if the veins were about to burst, bulging under his skin like ship ropes swelling inside him.

  “Bloody he—!” The warrior didn’t finish the sentence, saving his last breath for the final heave. Kalen and Anthos brushed the edge and climbed onto solid ground as they watched the bridge vanish into the white blizzard. Galfrido collapsed backward into a sitting position, panting, his face drenched in sweat, palms up to the sky and covered in blood. Begryn began laughing at the sight, as did Kalen, who then turned to Anthos.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “What did you just do, mate?” he asked, gripping his shoulder firmly as he tried to catch his breath.

  “I jumped.” Anthos shrugged.

  At this simple answer, they all burst out laughing.

  “Damn, lad… you’re completely mad, you know that?” said Galfrido, getting to his feet. “But mad or not, you saved my friend.”

  “I have no words to thank you, mate,” said the knight, now wearing a more serious expression. “You could have let me fall, but you leapt into the void with a recklessness I’ve rarely seen. You put my life before your own.”

  “You still owe me those three hundred crowns… I’m not letting you fall until you pay me.”

  They laughed again at this shameless remark. Although there was a certain materialism in that phrase, there was some truth to it. But that didn’t change the fact that Anthos had risked his life without a second thought—had he thought about it, Kalen would surely have fallen. Anthos would have collected his payment either way, with or without the knight. Deep down, the guide had nothing to lose and didn’t value his life as much as he wanted the others to believe.

  After several more minutes of progress, and with the adrenaline still running high, they reached a cave where they could take shelter.

  Djarak was at the head of the massive band of orcs. There were nearly a hundred green-skins, including a few mountain goblins serving as guides. In front of the orc chieftain stood Lord Faradax with his dark warriors. They moved at a slow but steady pace through that hidden pass in the Ramei Mountains.

  Since it was the middle of winter, many garrisons at various crossings were empty, both in Doknar and Trabarioth. The pass was frozen over, and many of the orcs had succumbed to the brutal snowy cold despite their resistance to harsh climates.

  “We need to stop and warm up,” said one of the orcs, approaching Djarak. He was much smaller and wore a black hood over his head. “We can’t keep going much longer like this. Crossing the Ramei Mountains in winter is madness, even for green-skins.”

  Djarak growled. “Don’t you see Lord Faradax? We can’t stop. We have to keep moving. The rest of the army is waiting for us. They’ve been hidden in enemy territory for years, and they’re desperate… They need their leader.”

  “The clans have their chieftains. We should reconsider crossing. We’re not all going to make it out alive, Djarak. It’s insane to come along with Lord Faradax. The southern passes are covered. This one is fully exposed and without shelter. It’s madness…”

  “That’s exactly why it’s the best route. The humans will never track us. We’ve been planning this invasion for years, and we can’t fail.” The orc spat on the ground, making no effort to hide his displeasure.

  “If those sons of bitches from the Brotherhood of the Black Flame hadn’t rushed things, we could’ve crossed like the rest… quietly, safely, and through the warm hidden passes to the south. Look at us now… Maybe the snow melts around Faradax and his dark warriors, but not around us. The mountain’s bite is hitting harder than any enemy steel, Djarak.”

  “What the Brotherhood does doesn’t concern me, Shaka.”

  “I hope so… our original mission was the invasion and nothing but the invasion. Now we’re wandering around looking for a boy we don’t even care about. So how is it that the Brotherhood doesn’t concern you?”

  The orc chieftain growled and grabbed his companion by the neck, gritting his teeth and narrowing his eyes in a clear sign of displeasure. “I’m not cutting you in half because we’re friends, Shaka… but by Mashkar, stop pestering me. We’ll reach Trabarioth and meet up with the rest of the clans, even if there’s only half of us left. That won’t affect the overall size of the orc army.”

  Despite his words, Djarak’s thoughts were far from what he had said. The massive orc leader knew that every warrior counted.

  But they had planned this secret invasion for many years, and he had been one of the masterminds behind the idea, realizing that the mountains were left without garrisons in the winter due to the difficulty of crossing them. Slowly, over the years, groups of orcs had infiltrated one after another through the open passes in the south and in the center of the Ramei Mountains, where not even the dwarves ventured. Many had fallen to human patrols, while others had been taken by the wild Kasagir tribes; however, the vast majority had managed to cross, remaining hidden in the caves.

  Now, with the arrival of winter and the closure of the passes, Trabarioth was cut off from reinforcements that could arrive from Doknar. Djarak would have preferred to wait another one or two winters to finish strengthening the army, but Faradax’s orders had been clear: begin the invasion.