Page 110 of The War of Four Winters

"The bridge is gone!" Katyr shouted over the din of combat, golden fire erupting from his fingertips to drive back the enemy vanguard. "Fall back to the Craiggybottom district!"

I couldn't speak, couldn't command. My mind was fixed on the Eastern Bridge, on the bodies I'd seen tumbling into the deadly current. On Elindir somewhere in that freezing water, weighed down by armor meant to protect him.

"Ruith!" Katyr's voice cut through my paralysis. "We need orders now or we lose everyone!"

The general's words snapped me back. I was king. I had an army to command, warriors who looked to me for leadership. Grief would come later. If there was a later.

"To the Craiggybottom compound," I ordered, my voice carrying despite the chaos. "Regroup there. Move!"

Our forces began an orderly retreat, rear guard holding position to cover our withdrawal. The grim reality settled like a weight on my shoulders: this had been a trap. All bridges destroyed simultaneously, our forces split, trapped on opposite banks of a river that had suddenly become impassable.

At the district border, Captain Seagrave met us, her guild's finest warriors forming a protective cordon to cover our retreat.

"Report," I demanded.

"All four bridges are gone," she confirmed, her practical manner unchanged by the catastrophe unfolding around us. "Battle mages at each crossing. They unleashed some kind of stone-shattering spell simultaneously."

"Survivors?" I asked, the word carrying the weight of what I couldn't bring myself to ask directly.

"Craiggybottom fishing boats are pulling people from the river." Her eyes met mine. "No word on individual casualties yet, Your Majesty."

Hope flickered, a fragile flame I dared not nurture. The cold river, the weight of armor, the falling debris…Survival seemed impossible. Yet Elindir had survived impossible odds before.

"We need to regroup," Seagrave continued, businesslike despite the chaos. "The Craiggybottom compound can hold our forces until we form a new strategy."

I nodded mechanically, forcing my mind back to immediate concerns. "And Aryn? Niro? Any word?"

"Nothing confirmed."

We retreated through the tangled streets of the merchant quarter, past shops now hastily barricaded, past civilians who watched with frightened eyes from shuttered windows. The Craiggybottom compound appeared ahead, its blue banners snapping in the winter wind, a haven in the midst of a city descending into war.

Inside the compound walls, organized chaos reigned. Wounded warriors were being tended by healers in a makeshift infirmary set up in the main courtyard. Messengers rushed between buildings, carrying reports and orders. Representatives from allied clans huddled in small groups, their expressions grim as they processed the tactical disaster we now faced.

"Your Majesty!" A Craiggybottom runner approached, breathless from exertion. "Captain Yisra requests your presence at the river gate. They're bringing in survivors."

My heart leapt painfully in my chest. I followed through crowds of warriors and healers toward the compound's small water gate. It opened directly onto a narrow canal leading to the main river.

A battered fishing boat was just docking, its wooden hull scraped and dented from debris. In it lay several still forms—some moving weakly, others ominously still. The Craiggybottom sailors, their clothes soaked through, worked quickly to transfer the wounded to waiting healers.

Then I saw him.

Copper hair plastered to a deathly pale face. Lips tinged blue. Chest motionless.

Elindir.

I don't remember crossing the distance between us. One moment I was watching, the next I was on my knees beside him, tearing off my gloves to press my fingers against his throat, searching desperately for a pulse I feared was gone forever.

Nothing.

"No," I whispered, the word a prayer and a command. "No, not again."

Captain Yisra pushed through the gathering crowd, her weathered face set with determination as she knelt beside Elindir's still form. Without hesitation, she tilted his head back, pinched his nose, and sealed her mouth over his blue lips.

I watched in stunned silence as she forced breath into his lungs, his chest rising with the borrowed air. Between breaths, she placed her hands on his chest, pressing down in a steady rhythm. Again and again she repeated the pattern, ignoring the growing crowd around us.

"Breathe, damn you," she muttered between efforts. "We didn't pull you from that river just to lose you now."

When Elindir remained unresponsive, she redoubled her efforts, her movements mechanical and precise. "Come on," she urged, her usually stoic demeanor cracking with frustration. "Too stubborn to die like this."

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