Vayra studied the parchment's two markings. The cavern route curved through dark caverns rumored to hum with blind scavengers; the alternative was a suspended shelf of packed snow and blue ice across the chasm. One was an enclosed slaughterhouse, the other a sheer drop. She looked at Daskal, sleeping fitfully, his new spear clutched in a scarred hand. He needed a fight he could win, not a slow, gnawing terror in the dark. The gamble it was. “We cross the chasm,” Vayra declared, her rasp cutting through the cave’s silence. Bramor gave a brief nod, his gaze measuring distances on the hide. Elder Grimar scowled from his corner. “Madness. That span fractures under an elk's step. We’ll drop to marrow dust.” “Then tread lightly, old man,” Vayra snapped. “Pack your kit. We move at dawn.” Three days of brutal climbing brought them to the expanse. The crossing was worse than the charcoal sketch showed: a crystalline ribbon, barely two strides wide, suspended between twin granite horns. Below, an abyss swallowed the gray sunlight. Rifts, fine as spider silk, webbed the pack, several split wide enough to swallow a child. Vayra set her lead boot onto the crystalline spine, testing the shelf. The packed crust groaned under her weight, vibrating through her shins. In her ribs, the Frost-Blight flared cold and stiff, constricting her airway. Bramor followed, his heavy boots carefully placed, his hand on his axe. Daskal, his face pale but set, took his place directly behind Vayra, his new spear held ready. The rest of the clan, a shuffling line of fear and desperation, followed. Progress was agonizingly slow. Each step was a prayer, each gust of wind a threat. A sharp crack tore through the shelf. The span shivered. Vayra spun, bracing the nearest clan member by the collar. “Plant your heels! Small paces! Keep your balance!” Grimar lunged forward, bony fingers clawing for the ration bundle across Vayra’s shoulders. “You’ll starve us all, witch! The meat is mine!” Vayra scrambled for traction on the slick glaze, her boots sliding. For a moment, she was suspended, her body teetering precariously over the void. A searing pain shot through her chest as the Frost-Blight flared, a blue fire licking at her veins. Then, a blur of motion. Daskal, his training finally clicking into place, moved with a speed Vayra had never thought him capable of. His bone spear, its tip honed to a wicked point, plunged. It didn't find the air, didn't slide on the ice. The spear point struck Grimar between the ribs, crunching through boiled leather and sternum. The elder wheezed, dark foam bubbling over his lower lip as his knees buckled. The elder slumped, crimson spreading over the frost. Daskal wrenched the shaft free with a hard pull. The boy's chest heaved, but his boots stayed planted squarely between Vayra and the path behind them. Vayra stared at her son, a flicker of something she dared not name in her chest. Pride. Admiration. A crushing realization of the burden she had placed on him. “Good,” she rasped, the word tasting like ash. “Keep moving.” They pressed on, the silence heavier now, punctuated only by the mournful wind and the occasional creak of the ice. They were halfway across when the piercing shriek cut through the air – a sound that was both primal fear and furious war cry. On the far side of the chasm, the opposing pinnacle, the Vorn clan appeared. But something was wrong. They weren't positioned for an ambush. They were a ragged, desperate tide, spilling over the ridge, their numbers drastically reduced, their faces etched with terror. At their head, Yulica Vorn, her usually immaculate furs torn, her face smeared with grime and blood, stumbled, looking back with wide, terrified eyes. Behind her poured a pale, skinless swarm: blind cave-stalkers, their eyeless snouts twitching, four-limbed frames skittering across the scree as chattering mandibles echoed off the cliff face. They were blind, but they were fast, relentless, and there were hundreds. Yulica hadn’t been hunting them. She had been fleeing. Her sanctuary, their sanctuary, was no longer a safe haven. It was a death trap, already overrun. Vayra’s mind raced. Their numbers, combined, were still pitiful against such a horde. But without a unified front, they would all be devoured. She made a decision, cold and swift as a blizzard wind. “Bramor! The explosive charges!” she barked. “The ice has to go. Now!” Bramor, without a word, began to dig at his pack. Vayra, ignoring the renewed protests from some clan members, grabbed a heavy flint-stick and began to strike it, sparks flying, igniting the prepared black-powder charges. The smell of sulfur mingled with the chill air. The pack crested the granite lip, needle-claws scraping stone. Yulica Vorn, seeing the flames, seeing the charges being set, hesitated, caught between the approaching horror and the destruction of her only escape route. Vayra slammed the last charge into a deep fissure, then shoved Daskal and the nearest clan members back, away from the fracturing section. “Run! Get to the other side!” she roared. “Move!” The explosions ripped through the air, a series of concussive blasts that cracked the very foundations of the bridge. The ice groaned, then shrieked, splitting into massive, agonizingly slow-motion shards. The ground beneath Vayra bucked violently, throwing her to her knees. She saw Yulica, still frozen in indecision, her face a mask of primal terror, as the section of the bridge directly behind her began to crumble into the abyss, taking several Vorn warriors with it. Vayra, her body screaming, launched herself forward, grabbing the stunned matriarch by the arm, pulling her clear just as the last piece of the bridge shattered and plunged into the darkness. A hundred feet of empty air now divided the pinnacles. On the far ridge, the blind beasts paced the drop, screeching into the wind. Yulica lay flat against the rock, staring over the sheared edge. Vayra hauled herself up, drawing a flint-edged skewer from her belt, and pressed the notched stone against Yulica’s collar. “Kneel to my clan, or freeze with yours.”

Shattered Bridges