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The Bridge

A short little story about Silverley's first encounter in a new city. As I was writing this, two endings came to mind. Both were possible, and both had ramifications for Silverley's future storyline. As I was unable to decide between the endings, the outcome was decided by a toss of a coin.

_ _

Silverley drew his curved sword and swept it around, his back turned to the river gorge, and his sword point level with the throat of a rabbit. Immediately the animal held up its paws in defence, and jumped back at least four or five paces for good measure.

"Ee! Hold ya blade! I don't wanna hurt ye!"

Silverley perked his ears, trying to determine what the rabbit was saying. He picked up the word 'blade', and the universal body-language of panic, and he promptly lowered his sword. But he kept it on full show, ready to flick upwards in an instant should the rabbit try anything daft. But the rabbit seemed more interested in talking. And on he spoke, still in Lapine, but Lapine at a hundred miles an hour. Silverley was fast, but not that fast. What's more, his speech had all the fluffy, nasal sounds of the lagomorph tongue, but was thickly accented. Eventually the leporine held up a paw for quiet, and the rabbit's speech came to a stammering halt.

"I'm sorry, can you start again? I can barely understand a word you're saying."

The rabbit hopped from paw to paw, and he looked like he was about to lecture the hare for, who knew, maybe not paying enough attention? But he sighed, deciding against it.

"It's just, I'm not from around here."

"Aye, no fooling. It can take a while to tune the old lugholes tae understand us north-folk."

"It's fine, I've picked up plenty in the past couple of days."

"You will, lad. No choice really. Name's Chester, by the way."

"Silverley Fentiman."

The hare laid down his sword and extended his paw. Chester placed a dagger on the ground (possibly the closest the rabbit had to a weapon). Then stepping forward, rabbit and hare shook paws.

"Hmm..." the rabbit stepped back, twiddling a whisker and looking the newcomer up and down. "Never heard of no Clan Silverley. You's a long way from home, you must be."

"Hundreds of miles, I've lost track. You've heard of Cantabrigia, the scholars' town?"

"Aye." Everyone had. "Goodness, that's miles away. Not many's a beast has reason to venture north from there, same as we've little reason to go down south. So what's brought you wandering up here, Silverley Fentiman?"

The hare sighed, trying to find the right words. Eventually he started. "There was a battle."

"Aye, say no more, say no more. Whole world's gone to ruin. Even us northerners weren't spared. I mean, for a while we all got along, more or less. Even us prey had some protection - thank Frith for bug burgers. Then some animals wanted more. More land, more control, and yep, more meat. Now we're all split off into factions and gangs, on top of which, all these, these... creatures have moved in. And I can't even get home."

The rabbit, Chester, indicated to the city over the water.

"You live across that gorge."

"Aye, that I do. Across the famous Tyne bridges, five gateways into the greatest city on earth."

"It is quite a view."

"At least, they used to be gateways."

"Oh?"

"Well it's like I said. At first the animals got along. Sure, we squabbled over land and borders, even used fang and claw more than once. But we all knew how important the bridges were. River's tidal here, you see, and these are the last crossings before you reach the sea. Unless you can find a boat across, and you can afford the ferryman's toll - which these days is not cheap, believe you me. And upstream, it's a four-mile walk to the next crossing, and a four-mile walk back, just to get to that other bank."

"And I'm guessing you didn't walk eight miles with only a dagger for weaponry."

"Not a chance. Them other four crossings you see, they've been blocked off for a good few months. Barricaded. Only the Tyne Bridge was kept open - that's the big green one, you see. So I crosses this morning, past the two sentries, one on either side, them who keep the whole crossing free as always. Buy by the time I'm done foraging, the bridge has been captured. I see the south-side sentry from a hundred yard off - tied to a metal post, arrows riddling him, and his head lopped near clean off. All pre-planned, nae doubt."

"That sure sounds brutal. So you need a guide across the bridge?"

"Well, I sees you a way off, and you looks like a military type, or an explorer type, or some such like."

"Close enough." It had to be the forest-green uniform which Silverley wore. Slightly tattered, slightly muddy, but still recognisably a uniform. Chester wasn't the first animal to approach him simply because of his attire.

"I'll pay you whatever you want. You can take half my foragings. No! Better yet, come and see my chief once we get across. He's got cheeses, and cakes, the likes of which will last you for days. He'll see you right, I promise."

"Really though, I'm not in it for payment. And..." But Silverley held his tongue. What he was about to say was true: he hadn't decided whether to take this crossing, or to find one further inland. But he couldn't say that. The rabbit might think...

"Alreet, I get it. I can't force you to cross with me. So I won' try to influence you either way. Other than saying, my offer still stands."

Silverley tapped his bare hind paw on the grassy ground. "And you reckon your chief will be grateful?"

"Why aye. It's not just me you're helping. You'll send a message to anyone who tries to divide us."

"Hey, I don't want to get caught in a turf war." And that was true too: Silverley didn't. But he had been travelling for nigh-on a moon, without finding anywhere that felt like a new home. Until a couple of days ago. First the cathedral on the hill, then these bridges. There was something about this land: open, and wild, and so different to all he had ever known. It was resonating with him, the way a chill in the air and a snowstorm from the north would cause the silver of his winter pelt to shimmer through. Maybe this place was worth exploring more. Daring more.

"Okay, I'll try and help you across, see your chief, and then decide what to do."

"So..." the rabbit's ear's began to perk up. "You'll do it? You'll cross with me?"

Silverley twitched his whiskers. "At the least... I'll give it a go."

The little rabbit jumped into the air at this. He skipped over and picked up his basket, turning and beckoning Silverley on. However Silverley strongly recommended the rabbit ditched his basket. Chester agreed, but not before the hare had accepted (and munched on) a handful of dandelions.

Heading towards the bridges, the pathway descended from the vantage point. A railway emerged from somewhere beneath their paws, looped around, and rose to an arched brick viaduct. Most of the arches had been in-filled, and they looked to be old stores or warehouses of various kinds, many with rusted doors and shutters. Some gaps still remained, and beyond them, they could see more warehouses, the river down below, and spanning the river were the bridges. Silverley could see three bridges - the other two bridges must have been on some path that double-backed. Of the visible bridges, one ran at a high level, while another was down a steep slope almost at the water's edge. And the third, a green single-arched bridge on the far right, was the grandest of all.

Each end was marked with a granite tower, rising dead upright from each escarpment. Between the towers, a single latticed arch of green painted steel soared high, with vertical beams to hold up the deck. Over on the other bank, a city stood on the cliff-side. There were a scattering of buildings at water level, but the bank rose steeply, and much of the city was set on the cliff edge or further back. A small and slightly ruined castle-keep stood on the cliff, set among the modern buildings but still commanding its view of the gorge and the quays, as it doubtless had done for centuries.

Chester raised a finger to his lips for quiet, and the two animals sneaked from archway to archway, on the land-side of the viaduct.

"So we're going for the green bridge?"

"That we are. So what's your plan?"

"First, who are we up against?"

"Hombil."

Silverley could see them. Two foxes stood guard on the near-side of the bridge, armed and wearing leather armour. There may have been one or two others in the tower - Silverley thought he saw a flash of orange fur through a window, but he wasn't sure. Either way, these foxes had made their intent clear: the former sentry was on display just as Chester had described: the feline's eyes swollen, his tongue hanging long and purple and useless from his open maw, a growing number of flies drawn to his nearly-severed neck. As a deterrent it seemed effective: the only sound to be heard were corvids, perhaps only kept at bay from a free meal by the bridge's new guardians. And that was the situation on one side only. Even with his spyglass, Silverley couldn't see what waited across the bridge: the angle was wrong, and the bridge's latticework was in the way. Still Silverley came up with a plan. When he told it to Chester, the rabbit looked less than convinced, particularly when the hare placed a light and sharp sword in his paws. But before Chester had formulated and expressed a reason to protest, Silverley was already cocking the string of his hand-crossbow, and nocking a bolt to it.

"You really reckon you can hit them?"

"Yep. Probably can't kill them from this range - weapon's not powerful enough, I'm less accurate from this distance, the wind is too strong, all that business. But I can take one down, maybe both. So get ready. Oh, and I want that small-sword back after this."

Silverley took his aim, put the left fox in his sight, and fired his crossbow.

The fox barked and spun on the spot. Silverley had got the fox's arm. Not the cleanest of shots, but it would do. The hare stowed his bow, drew his sword, and leapt forward, raising the ancient leporine battle-cry to the northern skies.

"Eulalia!"

The unwounded fox barely had time to lay paw on her weapon before Silverley charged forward, ducking away at the last moment but still able to bring the curve of his blade down on the vixen's neck, felling her in one strike. This gave Chester the change to catch up, and on they ran. They still had a few seconds' head start before all of their enemies realised what was happening. And they made the most of it.All our defence is in our legs. We run like the wind, the hare said. Naturally the rabbit could not run as fast, but under arrow-fire, the ability to twist and weave and throw off your opponent's aim was useful too. The first arrow skidded overhead and they ran around its landing point. A range-finder. Silverley tipped his ears back, listening for the next lethal slice through the air.

"Split!"

Chester didn't question, just dove in the opposite direction to Silverley, and an arrow ricocheted off the asphalt between them. Another second's hesitation, and one of them would have been hit. Chester was panting hard at this point, and so was Silverley, but still they ran on, even as a band of foxes rushed straight at them, four or five in number. One was in the lead, his fanged muzzle hinged wide and his long canid tongue hanging from it and his murderous yellow eyes locked on the smaller rabbit. But at the last moment, the hare surged ahead. The fox had no time to correct his run for the sudden leporine before a solid_whack_ came from hare-fist connecting with fox-chin. Stunned, the fox barely registered the hard spinning kick which the hare followed up with. A sickening crack met their ears - Chester glanced sideways, saw the fox sprawled across the roadway, the neck snapped, the head twisted at an impossible angle, and the rabbit's fur bristled. Silverley however was landing after a full-body spin, sword still in paw, and he was already focused on their next opponents. They had crossed some three-quarters of the bridge when the four foxes spread out. By himself, Silverley reckoned he could dodge between two of them and make the far side. But he wasn't sure Chester was fast enough. Looked like there was only one option. And though Silverley's breath was heavy, he called out to his smaller companion.

"You ready Chester? It's a standoff! So let's give 'em hell!"

Silverley breathed deep and raised a fresh call to the skies and the steel arch. Chester joined him...

"Howay!"

...and together they entered the fray. Silverley kept his sword poised, and one vixen traced some fast and elaborate sweeps with her own blade. But Silverley didn't flinch. In a fight like this, there were no points for fancy bladework, only for hits. He dived to the side, saw an opening that would have been fatal for a less-skilled swordsbeast, went for it and she parried his blade with a clanging ring of finely honed steel. Quickly they disengaged. The two herbivores squared off against the four predators, all animals snarling, brandishing steel, and the hare kept close to his companion so it was harder to pick him off.

"Chester? Light on the paws! The archers won't fire if you do. They might hit their own."

With an 'oh!' and a nod of the head, the rabbit began to bob and twist once more. He lunged, but with no real conviction, and his nearest opponent calmly stepped backwards into safety.

"More! Show 'em your point! Threaten 'em!"

But Silverley knew he couldn't continue this impromptu lesson. His own opponent, thinking he was distracted, swung her blade around in a low sweep. But Silverley leapt over the blade, bringing his own sword down hard on her shoulder. Gravity brought him down, the blade cutting into her flesh. On the ground he wrenched it free, and struck her head a heavy blow with the pommel. She crumpled to the ground, and the second fox was already upon him, but he was ready. For a moment, they locked blades and locked eyes. The solid skull of the dog-fox was inches before him, separated by two deadly sharp sheets of steel. The predator snarled, and the prey did not flinch. Then beside him came a thick, gurgling cry, and for a moment Silverley's heart leapt. But it was a canid cry. The small-sword, owned by the hare and borrowed by the rabbit, had been turned upwards and run through the fox's neck, the point now protruding behind his rigid ears. The rabbit's paws were trembling, and he tried pulling on the weapon, which was stuck fast.

"I... I've killed him...."

"Don't think about it. Pull your sword out."

"Can't... stuck..."

"Then leave it. Use your dagger...."

But then came a cry, a shrill, agonised, lagomorph cry that set the very teeth in Silverley's head on edge. Sparing another moment's sideways glance, he saw the fourth and final fox, who hadn't even bothered with a weapon at all, and had simply used what nature provided, to lethal effect. Silverley had felt a predator's jaws before. He knew the power and the bite force they commanded. Thus he knew there was no escape. This was as far as Chester would run.

Silverley was still locked in impasse with his own opponent. A swift kick to the fox's knee and he dropped, giving Silverley enough time to leap away and dash, full-pelt, at the killer fox. He and his prey were on the other side of the bridge, some ten metres off, but the fast-pawed hare covered the distance in such a short time, the fox's only reaction was to drop his prey and stare dumbly at the powerful hind paws striking him square in the chest, sending him flying through the air and towards the railings. His hind paws actually found purchase atop the rail, but his balance was far too tilted, and with rabbit blood still on his maw, he plunged over the edge with a howl.

One fox left, and one hare. And Silverley had no cause for vengeance. Running in a wide arc around his dumbfounded former opponent, the hare made for the northern bank, still ducking and weaving to throw off any potential archers. And actual archers, as confirmed by a couple of skittering arrows at his paws. There was the beginning of a barricade up ahead, but with the wide bridge deck, it only stood about a metre high -the foxes hadn't yet gathered enough materials to build higher. Silverley cleared it with ease, not seeing if any foxes were on the blockade, not looking back at all. On he ran, into this new city, away from that exposed river and back among concrete and asphalt, where he could shake off any pursuers. Soon enough he could find a bolt hole, and there he could catch his breath, lick his wounds, and take a moment to remember his fallen comrade. He also needed to do what was honourable, find the rabbit's chief, and retell their story. For now though, he had to run.