Chapter Twenty Three: BreathlessGer-Val looked upstream. In front of him, the other three were scrambling precariously across the slimy rocks on the east bank of the river. This was the most direct and potentially the most treacherous route to the bridge. Although it was not crawling with Red Army guard like the woodland above them, it brought them within inches of the merciless, rampaging, ice cold waters of the Taen.
In his quiet hind-brain, Ger-Val was impressed than none of them had plunged into the torrent yet. Back in the brown, grey and green of adventurers, the stolen Frisian uniforms abandoned to soak up a distant puddle, they would be hard to spot from a hundred feet directly above. However, Ger-Val was not stupid, and did not for a moment believe that there would be no guard on
