The bridge had collapsed at some point in the reign of Ferrick the Eighth. No one had knocked it over, or blown it up, or cast a spell upon it, or anything maudlin like that. It had simply…fallen like a warrior in the wood, dying of exhaustion, instead of old age or decay. Which hadn’t been bad, except there had been a legion of troops upon it. They’d all joined the bridge in death. Fearing the river’s curse, Ferrick the Tenth had banned all construction on that part of the river. Only ferries would carry people across. The bridge wept.