The Inheritor of Light

They met up with a main road after several hours and with it came more traffic: farmers, peddlers, travelers all making their way to one of the many towns or cities in Milzoc. By early afternoon, they had made it past another town. Had it been any later, Sãra might have suggested they stay. However, with what she knew of Johnathan, she was certain he'd say something like, "There's still plenty of sun in the for us to make it farther. But, if you want to stop, go ahead. You can catch up later," or some such nonsense.

They camped off the road and nearby a small creek. The sound of the water had a soothing effect on Sãra, lulling her into a deep sleep. So deep, in fact, that Johnathan had to splash water on her face to wake her. Sãra was hardly pleased with starting the day out in damp clothes, but Johnathan refused to let her take any time to dry them.

The creek ran parallel to the road until they came upon the Ilsa river. The road turned to run alongside the bank of the massive river. Sãra had never been so close to the Ilsa, always being locked away in a coach on her trips. The river was bigger than Sãra had ever imagined it to be. She was almost certain that it was at least a sixth of a league across and only the Exalted knew its depth. Before them rose a massive structure: The Bridge of Aravis. The great stone bridge had been constructed in the first age during mankind's feudal states period. It was the only standing bridge that allowed passage across the Ilsa.

As they arrived, they saw several peasants hurrying away looking rather shaken. "Whatever you do, don't go up the bridge," one of them, a woman, warned.

"Why?" Sãra asked.

"I—I can't be brought to say it; if you know what's good for you, you won't cross the bridge." She didn't wait for Sãra's response before turning and running off.

"Well, that was rather a vague warning," Johnathan said, watching the peasants leave. He turned and started onto the bridge.

"Are you really going to cross it after a warning like that?"

"Sure, why not? It's not like we can walk on water or anything."

Sãra gritted her teeth and followed after him.

It wasn't until they had crested the bridge, that they saw what had scared the travelers. Six men stood along one side of the bridge. At the railing of the bridge, a thug was holding onto the legs of a man who was teetering back and forth on the ledge. However, that poor man's hands were bound and a sack covered his head. The bandit appeared to be letting him tip back and forth, leaving the man unsure if he was too fall or not. Two of the others were holding a peasant down as he was beaten by a third, while another restrained a struggling woman. The woman was hysterical, writhing and crying every time the peasant on the ground was struck by the thug. Sãra looked at Johnathan, who seemed to be ignoring the assault.

"Aren't you going to help them?" she whispered, coming up next to him.

"This is a job for the guards. They ought to be the ones keeping this from happening," he replied apathetically.

"You're just going to leave them?" She looked over at the scene. The beaten peasant's face had blood smeared all over it, his nose, or what had been a nose, was now just a mound of red flesh. She grimaced as the thug struck the man again and a squelching sound came from his face. "If we don't stop them, they'll kill him."

"I'm not here to poke my nose into everything that bothers you. If you want to help them, feel free."

Sãra looked at the injustice and then turned away. The sight of it made her sick. If she'd had her entourage with her, she could have easily apprehended the men and imprisoned them. All she had the power to do was watch, and she couldn't even manage that.