After some time deliberating, the party decides to move to the road and from there continue on south across the river and on to Beregost.
Being on the road again brings back memories of fleeing in the night, especially with the shadows stretching long. Still, they press on, and encounter nobody else until they reach the bridge.
The bridge itself is no awe-inspiring sight, but the party can't help but feel at least some relief when they find it occupied by a squad of Flaming Fist mercenaries. The armored men and women hold tall pole-lanterns to hold back night's shadows, and are currently speaking with what appears to be a merchant's caravan - three wagons pulled by oxen. From the look of things, the Flaming Fist soldiers seem to be interrogating the merchant and his crew, many of whom are hooded against the evening's growing chill.
An attentive soldier sees the party coming, and waves them forward.
"Come forward and be counted, please! We're looking for a fugitive, and so must examine all who cross the bridge." The man lifts his lantern higher, squinting, then calls back to the main group of soldiers. "We've got men bound up like prisoners over here!"
One hand on his longsword, the soldier again speaks to the party. "Why do you have these men tied up? Be they slaves of yours?" There is a hard edge to his voice as he asks the questions.
