Chapter 15: I Count Six
The road stretched, a dying serpent through the gorge, its winding path carved into the bones of the world by the Ember River’s long retreat.
Dry winds licked at the wheels as Lan’s carriage crossed the old bridge—a weather-beaten construct of stone and rune-bound wood that had once hosted the march of empires.
Now, it hosted silence.
The Ember Bridge was behind them, its iron supports groaning in the wind, and the air grew strangely still.
Inside the royal carriage, the curtains were drawn slightly open, allowing shafts of late-day light to spill across Lan’s pale features. He sat unmoved, expression carved in stillness, as the wheels churned over gravel and cracked earth.
Ahead, the three guards rode in easy formation. One was recounting a tale from the Mana Rebellion two decades past. The other two chuckled politely, relaxed, shoulders loose, staves resting against saddle loops.
"Too quiet," one finally muttered.
"Don’t jinx it," the older one replied, smirking.
They were talking because they were bored. They weren’t alert because they didn’t expect an attack until the inner roads. They’d crossed the bridge. They thought the worst was past.
They were wrong.
Lan wasn’t tense either.
But for entirely different reasons.