Lyssa swayed in the saddle, every now and then Bouda stopped to take a bite of a bush, or leaves from a low hanging branch of a tree. They were mostly sheltered from the sun by the trees, but every now and then a beam of sunlight would break through to blind her and remind her of the unrelenting heat waiting out of the shade. That’s what you got for traveling south.

She didn’t bother to kick Bouda on but she did pat her shaggy neck to remind her to keep going. The horse snorted and flicked her head in response, Bouda’s white mane flicking up her arms, the coarse hair dragging along her skin in direct contrast with the soft tufts under her fingers.

Bouda deserved this time to go at her own pace, especially when Lyssa had pushed her so hard in the past. There was nowhere they were in a rush to go, the war would still be there no matter how long it took them to get there. After all, it had been raging for a good few decades now. A couple of weeks wouldn’t make a difference.

She could feel herself drifting in the peace of the forest. That was very dangerous but she couldn’t bring herself to care. It was arrogant, but she had reason to be, and she felt sorry for the person or people who tried to cross her when they thought her guard was down. Better they attack her than someone who couldn’t defend themselves. There was so much blood on her hands already, it was hard to care about a few more who thought they could be warriors by attacking the defenceless.

Killing in self defence would be the least of her sins, and soon it would all be over anyway. She’d give her life to atone for the wrongs she had committed.

A scream pierced the air.

Lyssa jolted into awareness. She sat up straight in the saddle and took up the reins.

It was so shrill that for a moment she thought it was a great beast of the war god come to take her back, even though she’d taken great pains to disappear from the god’s sight.

She held the reins on her startled horse tight to stop her bolting.

Bouda’s ears stood at attention and she shifted underneath Lyssa with agitated energy. The sound of her hooves echoed through the trees as she danced on hard packed earth, ready to charge into battle.

Then the wind changed and those otherworldly noises turned into something much more human.

She’d kicked Bouda into a run before it had registered in her mind that she was doing it.

Bouda didn’t need much encouragement and quickly reached a canter.

The path curved through the trees reducing visibility considerably.

Lyssa refused to let the horse go faster, not when she didn’t know the road or what she was heading into.

The screams started to fade, with longer pauses between, as whoever it was lost their voice.

Lyssa heard the river before she saw it. She pulled Bouda to a stop before they exited the trees.

The river was a lot higher than she expected for this time of year and there was no clear bank separating the land from the water.

There was a stone bridge that stretched across the vast river, just barely above the water and wide enough to let four mounted warriors ride abreast. It looked surprisingly sturdy for the area.

The further you travelled from a capitol city in Cahan the less effort seemed to go into upkeep. All the other structures she had come across in Cahan so far had been made of wood, and varied from brand new to so dilapidated she hesitated to step foot on them, let alone let a horse of Bouda’s size cross.

This river had no official name and it depended on who you asked as to the name you’d be given. It separated Cahan, the country she had just travelled through, and Ghanda whose border she assumed started on the far bank. If you could call it a border.

This land of Ghanda wasn’t known for being an official country and they never participated in treaties or sent delegations, but they also didn’t start wars. They spoke the same language as the Cahans but they didn’t answer to lords or any type of united government. They kept to themselves and she had hoped to pass through unnoticed.

What caught her attention though, was the group of people standing in the middle of the bridge, who had gathered in a semi circle around a priest. Lyssa could just catch the red tint of his dark robes. They were locals and all had the darker tone to their skin that was common for Cahan.

Beside the priest stood a bound man, who had his head bowed and was shrinking away from the others, as if he was trying to disappear into the stone. Unfortunately for him he was too tall to disappear, so his head and shoulders poked above the wall of the bridge.

The other bound person was a woman with much darker skin than those around her. She was standing on the wall of the bridge and appeared to be studying the river.

The priest hefted his book aloft and recited something that Lyssa couldn’t make out. The crowd repeated it dutifully.

Lyssa lightly tied Bouda’s reins to a tree branch, this was more to remind the horse to stay put than to secure her. Short of finding something metal to tie her to there wasn’t much that would stop Bouda.

She approached the bridge cautiously, looking for any sign of lookouts, or anyone else who would challenge her before she could step foot on the bridge.

This crowd was too small to be a threat to her, unless they all turned out to be warriors, but killing civilians wasn’t what she wanted to do.

At least if someone did die, then Cahan law would be on her side as a warrior keeping the peace, but Ghanda could be involved and she knew little of their politics. The aim was to disperse these people without hurting them.

Too much.

They were about to commit murder after all, a little fear and pain went a long way to discouraging that kind of behavior.

The closer she got to the bridge the soggier the ground became, until her boots were splashing through a very shallow layer of surface water that soaked through to her feet.

Once on the bridge she noticed its age. The stone was so worn as to be almost smooth in places, where over thousands of years people had walked across. There were patterns in the stone walls that probably depicted gods and other religious symbols she couldn’t place.

It didn’t look like the Cahan architecture, where they used flowing shapes and sparse minute detail. Not that she was looking too closely, this wasn’t the time for that, but it was good to know that this bridge must have been built by the Ghandans. She would have to tread carefully.

A few of the people spotted her and she raised her hands to show there were no weapons drawn.

Their clothes were simple and made for field work, with natural browns and greys. Few would have enough money for dyes around here.

They looked uneasy, but none of them made a move until one of them caught the attention of the priest, who lowered his book and heaved a big sigh.

“This bridge hasn’t been used in weeks and all of a sudden it’s the place to be when I’m trying to conduct a religious ceremony.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and gestured with the book to his followers. “Don’t just stand there. Remove her.”