Behind the curtain Joan was observing this non-event with indifference. Little effort, she considered, would let the carriage cross on the bed itself, no matter the current.
Why it had that knight waiting for them still escaped her.
But sir Corentin gestured for his troop to stop, then for his own knight to follow. The both of them approached their dismounted peer.
"Do you request aid, sir?"
The noble's tone was hardly amicable, no matter how much he tried. A profound frustration kept simmering on his every word.
"The bridge is rotten." The knight replied.
He pointed to the broken beam that had taken most of the structure with it when it had collapsed.
But Corentin was paying attention to the steed instead, the legs especially. Because the mount was soaked up to the barrel and shoulder yet spared of the mud he could easily tell what had happened.
It was only natural for a fellow horseman to worry of wounds.
Seeing none, he shook his head.
"The peasants will take care of it."
And he pulled his horse to turn back toward the carriage. Behind him the knight stood silent a moment, then broke with almost a warning:
"It was fine two days ago."
Corentin paused, looked at him such that the knight continued:
"I crossed this bridge two days ago. It had no rot, it was pristine. Nor did the fields look so poor."
"Well, there was a storm." The noble observed.
"Turn around, milord." Sir Frederic told him straight. "I believe your presence is a curse."
At those words Corentin's knight stepped forth, ready to unsheathe but the noble stopped him. He was still gauging that oathless knight, those brown eyes so sincere as to leave him hesitant.
So the twin decided to dismount and approach.
"No man is born that will deprive us of the crown, sir knight. But if you wish to try, take off your mail or let me put mine and we will have the saintess judge."
"The crown is yours. Go marry elsewhere."
"And who allowed you to talk in the saintess' name?! Mother Clothilde ordered this marriage, today, at Cormoran. Here we are, stand aside or be my foe."
This made the knight waver.
Once more, Joan observed, that man lacked the heart to be a true warrior. Or truly humans feared the church more than their own blades.
Still she watched him step back, remove his mail hood and coif to reveal short blonde hair, a large chin and heavy neck. Thus opened he knelt before the noble.
His silence still irked Corentin, but he had obtained passage and that alone was sufficient.
The knight kept kneeling as the carriaged passed him by.
Rather than seek another bridge, as expected, they would push across. The stream's stony bed gave the hooves all the hold they needed to resist the heavy flow.
The carriage itself slipped a bit and still made it through.
Inside, brother Aymon was done panicking. He had really thought they would tip and fall, or stay stuck as the wheels struggled to get off on the other shore.
Now the young priest kept looking through the curtain, looking dismayed.
"At ease, brother!" The hunter shook him. "We are safe now, you can rest!"
Aymon looked at him, then at the others before looking outside once more. He wanted to calm but could not.
"Something is wrong." He said. "The land, the hill, those farms, I can't say what but... It feels dead."
"Dead?" Brenin got worried in turn. "Eh, no joke, brother, Cormoran has suffered but it can't be dead!"
"Yes, brother, no offense but Pivert has guards. If anything was wrong they would have told us."
"But it's..."
The brother turned to Joan who, indifferent, met his timid eyes with her fierce gaze.
He bent like hay, yet kept trying to seek her help, a fly banging on glass with blind frenzy. That priest wanted to ask her something without the courage to do so.
But to her there was nothing wrong with that land.
Or rather, it looked better to her now that the farms stood still and not a peasant was in sight, no one to plow the fields. A couple hamlets had only a few humans working outside, around the houses, with not a kid in sight.
As the land should be if humans had stopped working on it for months.
"Brenin," she asked the spread, "what happens to a domain without a lord?"
"Bandits. Raids. Thievery and murder. Well, those happen bear or not but a lord likes to keep his cattle safe."
"Why do you ask?" The hunter inquired.
"The domain looks depopulated."
"Yeah, lawlessness tends to do that. Besides, it's the fall, the farmers must be busy threshing. Well, I suppose their harvest has dried, maybe they finished sooner."
"But people pray." The brother interceded.
They agreed to that and joked a bit about it, mostly to reassure him, although even those two had started to worry. As for Joan, she had felt a chill at his words.
She could not tell just how strong that saintess could be to suggest her blessed could perceive people by their prayers.
"Again," Grisval insisted, "there are patrols, they would be aware."
"Then we will now soon enough."
And Joan pointed through the curtain, ahead at three horsemen that waited at the base of the hill, on the road, for the carriage to reach them.
Those wore the colors of Pivert.
Why they would not simply come to meet halfway she could not tell. At this distance she could not yet tell their expressions.
Maybe it was the knight errant who, after letting them pass, had been tailing them again. Maybe the patrol didn't want to scare him away by approaching in force.
Sir Corentin had grown tired of it all. He signed for his knight to stay with the carriaged, then went into a trot to see the patrol.
They still would not respond in kind.
But when he reached them they were close enough for her to see, behind obedient masks, just how afraid they were.
"What are you doing standing there?!" The noble almost yelled. "Is this how you welcome a son of Pivert?"
"No, milord. Apologies, milord. We didn't mean any harm."
"Enough! You are on patrol. Well? Have you seen anything?"
They looked at each other with long, scared looks. Whether the noble could see that hesitation was hard to tell but his impatience spoke louder.
"Well?!"
"No, no milord. We spent the night downstream and have just come back. No bandits nor foreign color."
"What of the village?"
"The village is fine, milord." Another answered by reflex, before adding: "We are headed there."
"Do you even know what today is? Today the Pivert finally lay claim on Cormoran. Forget the village and escort this carriage with your life."
"Yes, milord!"
That relief was denial. Now that she heard their tone, now that she saw their face she recognized this foolish, childish behavior of those who wished to look away and pretend.
She hissed.
"Those guards are liars. That captain lied to sir Corentin."
Her hand clenched so abruptly as to cause the air to snap.
That they betrayed their leader alone had her annoyed, but they lied and deceived like cowards rather than face him. That cowardice, more than the betrayal, truly had her blood boil.