There were guards at the end of the bridge, perhaps half a dozen, but as Lenore and the Quiet Men rode forward, she knew they wouldnt stop a force such as this. They were a big enough force to stop smugglers, or to collapse the bridge in the event of an invasion, protecting the kingdom with the fury of the river, not the strength of their numbers. They werent there to fight a force coming from this side. Most werent even facing the right way as the Quiet Men descended on them, looking out over the river instead, making sure that no threat was coming from the other side.

She saw some of them turn at the sound of the approaching horses, but they were too late. The first of the Quiet Men were already striking at them, cutting down with swords, striking out with knives. They fell on the guards, and it wasnt even a fight, not really. Most of the men there didnt even manage to draw their swords. Of those who did, more died without ever managing to use them. One managed a clumsy blow aimed at one of the Quiet Men, but the simple truth was that those who guarded the bridges were not the finest of the kingdoms warriors, just those who were prepared to sit there longest, managing the trade between the two sides of the bridge. That guard died as quickly as the others, a spray of blood coming from his throat as one of the Quiet Men opened it with a sword.

Lenores captors paused there for a moment or two, cleaning their weapons before proceeding. It gave Lenore a chance to look out over the bridge, staring out to the far shore, and the trees there beyond a stretch of open ground. That was ground that did not belong to her father, ground from which she couldnt imagine anyone bringing her back.

Almost there, Ethir murmured behind her. King Ravin is going to enjoy breaking you.

Lenore thought of all the things that had happened to her in the day before, and all the things that might still happen. King Ravin was not known for his kindness, and if he had her as his captive… Lenore found herself hoping again for death, because even death would be better than what might follow.

As the horses of the Quiet Men started out over the expanse of the bridge, Lenore found herself looking out over the side, down at the rushing rage of the Slate below. It was a river that no one could hope to swim in, and that could tear apart boats that tried to cross it. Anyone who fell in would be carried away in seconds, and drowned within a minute.

Wouldnt a minute of even that horror be better than everything that was waiting on the other side?