The Assassin's Tale (Isle of Dreams) (48 page)

Stepping up
she pushed her right boot into the small crack she had spotted and turned it
until she felt solid contact under her heel.  Pushing her weight down she
thrust herself upwards, reaching out with both hands at the same time to jam
her fingers into a smaller crack higher up.  Mistral paused, supporting
her body weight on her right heel while she scanned the rocks around her for
more holds.  Up to her left, just beyond her reach, was the vertical split
she had seen from the ground.  It spread upwards and widened out before
narrowing again at its end, like an elongated tear drop. 

Swinging her
dangling left leg up Mistral quickly released her left hand and thrust her foot
into the gap where her hand had been.  Using the momentum of the movement
she pushed herself off the rockface and flung herself towards the small
opening, her left hand reaching claw-like for a hold.  She slammed into
the rock, knocking the breath from her lungs.  Ignoring the pain she
instantly rammed her hand into the narrow split, curling her fingers into hooks
for greater grip.  Her feet swung beneath her, scrabbling for purchase
against the rock.  Pushing her toes against the rough surface, Mistral
balanced her weight more equally and lifted herself up fractionally, allowing
her to slide her right arm into the crack above her left hand.  Wedging
her arm more securely to take her weight she twisted and shifted her body
sideways, dragging herself up into the crack until she was squeezed between the
two faces of rock.  Breathing hard, she paused for a moment and rested her
head back against the hard rock, gathering her energy for the difficult climb
ahead.

Pressing her
back and hands against one face she braced her feet against the other side and
pushed her body up, walking her feet upwards to repeat the procedure, scraping
her back painfully against the harsh surface of the rock with each push. 
She rested again at the highest point where the split in the rock became too
narrow for her to continue climbing in this way.  Her hamstrings ached
from the effort.  She could feel blood stinging in the grazes on her
back.  While she rested she looked out across the plateau, trying to gauge
how far she had climbed.  She could see Cirrus, a long way below, moving
restlessly at the base of the cliff opposite her.  Quickly she scanned the
skies.  There was no sign of any gargoyles flying back to the nest
yet.  Mistral didn’t think they would attack something as large as Cirrus
but it worried her that if they did, she would be powerless to stop them. 
Permitting herself one last glance down at her horse, she focussed her
attention upwards again, twisting her head awkwardly so that she could see the
nest above her. 

Mistral
studied the rock on either side of her carefully, looking for any suitable hand
or toe holds.  A small ledge, really only a jagged lip of rock, stretched
away in front of her.  If she could use that to climb, it would take her
to the right, directly underneath the nest.  Taking a deep breath, she
tensed her body, preparing to push herself out of the vertical crack. 
With no momentum to help her, Mistral knew she would have to rely on her own
strength to perform the move.  She felt her legs tremble slightly from the
strain of supporting her body weight and knew it was now or never. 
Sucking in a deep breath, Mistral pushed off from the rockface and flung
herself into space, twisting her body round to face the rock as she hurtled
through the air.   

Her fingers
grabbed at the tiny ledge, locking mechanically around the cold stone. 
Her body crashed into the hard rock below the ledge, winding her.  She was
suddenly glad of the cumbersome rope wrapped around her chest absorbing some of
the impact.  Mistral dangled there for a moment while she recovered her
breath then pushed the balls of her feet flat against the rock and used the friction
to support her body weight.  Using the rope as a buffer between her and
the rock Mistral began to haul herself up, trying to boost herself up onto the
ledge.  The move cost her strength and she cursed when there was nothing
above the ledge for her to grab.  She dropped back down and swung from the
ledge by just her hands once more.  The muscles in her arms began to
scream from the effort of supporting her weight.  Realising that she would
fall if she stayed there much longer, Mistral began to move slowly sideways
along the vertical edge.  She tried to take some of the strain off her
arms by pushing her feet flat against the rockface and shuffling across, all
the time examining the stretch of rock between her and the gargoyle’s nest for
any suitable holds.  Her hands began to ache from the strain and her
fingertips had gone numb.  She paused for a moment, pushing her bodyweight
into her feet to rest her hands and pressed her sweating forehead to the rock,
forcing deep breaths of air into her lungs.  After a few seconds she felt
better and lifted her head up, to begin searching the rockface for holds once
more.

There,
directly above her, how could she have missed it?  A series of tiny faults
in the rock created a clear pathway upwards.  She studied them closely,
her hands screaming from the tension.  The cracks were too small for her
whole hand.  She would have to climb up using just her fingers and toes.

Mistral lifted
herself up slightly, resting her forearms on the narrow ridge of rock to take
the burden off her hands and flexed her stiff fingers, forcing blood into the
numb tips.  Taking a deep breath she braced herself to thrust her body up
above the ledge once more.  Ignoring the tired ache in her arms and
shoulders she gathered all her strength and thrust her body upwards, leaving
the security of the ledge and forcing herself up into the thin air.

The force of
her upward motion quickly slowed and her body began to slide back down the
rock.  Her outstretched fingers scrabbled desperately at the cracks
passing beneath her fingertips.  Suddenly her right forefinger snagged in
a flaw.  Reflexively she hooked her finger into the gap, locking it in
before her falling bodyweight could drag it out again.  Her body slammed
flat against the rock, leaving her hanging precariously while she ran her left
hand frantically over the rugged surface for another hold.  With a huge
wave of relief her finger suddenly poked into a crack large enough. 
Forcing her finger in more securely she clung to the hard surface, her heart
hammering with adrenalin and her muscles shaking from exertion.  Mistral
breathed deeply and her heart began to slow.  She realised that she felt
no fear, no thrill at the danger, only the pain of physical effort and iron
determination to succeed. 

Looking up,
she could see the underside of the rocky outcrop a few feet above her. 
She was nearly there.  Bracing her weight on the balls of her feet Mistral
began to inch her way up until she was climbing alongside the craggy outcrop
hosting the gargoyle’s nest.  Abruptly, the series of fault lines in the
rock she had been following ceased.  There were no more suitable holds to
take her above the nest.  She would have to leap to the outcrop from where
she was. 

Mistral clung
to the rock, studying the distance between her and the nest.  She
calculated that she could just about make the jump.  The lip of the
outcrop was rough, which would make a good holding, but the tangled mass of
twigs that formed the nest spilled right across the small platform, leaving
little clear rock. 

Locking her
toes more securely into the fault, Mistral lowered her heels, pushing her
bodyweight down in preparation to change her grip.  Bracing herself to
make the leap, Mistral began to sway her body back and forth, building a gradual
momentum that would help carry her over the last stretch of blank rock. 
Fixing her gaze on her destination she cleared her mind of doubt and centred
all of her will power on what she was about to do, telling herself that she
could make the jump and would grab rock, not loose twigs.  She swung her
body to the left one final time and pushed off, flinging herself through the
air towards the outcrop.  She flexed in the air, twisting round to face
the jagged edge of rock and throwing her hands forward with fingers
outstretched, ready to curl into a grip at the first touch of stone.

The rush of
air whistled in her ears and stung her eyes but she refused to blink, not
letting her gaze leave the target.  In a heartbeat her body smashed into
the rough edge, slamming the breath from her lungs in a painful rush.  Her
hands slapped down onto the rough surface of the platform, instantly curling
into claws desperately digging into the rough stone, seeking any
purchase.  Twigs and bones dragged underneath her fingertips as she began
to slide inexorably back towards the edge.  Gripping precariously at the
sloping base of the outcrop with her knees Mistral tried to cling on long
enough for her scrabbling fingers to find something to hold on to. 
Panting from the effort, Mistral forced her fingertips more deeply into the
stone and instantly felt the sharp pain of one of her nails tearing off when
the finger became trapped in a split in the rough surface. 

Ignoring the
pain she rammed her finger in deeper and gripped the underside of the outcrop
with the sides of her feet, spreading her weight more evenly while she hauled
herself up.  Her finger was agony, her legs felt like rubber and then
suddenly she was sprawled face first in the stinking debris of the gargoyle nest. 
Retching at the stench of sulphur and rotting meat Mistral pushed back into a
squatting position and allowed herself a moment to recover.  Breathing
heavily and grimacing at the foul smell Mistral took stock of her
injuries.  Her arms and legs shook from the exertion of the climb. 
Her back was grazed, her ribs bruised and her fingers were barely
recognisable.  And there was still the daunting task of the climb down to
complete. 

Breathing
normally again, Mistral completed her self-examination and concluded that there
was nothing too serious.  Holding her breath she peered cautiously into
the depths of the reeking nest, looking for eggs.  At first all she could
see was a deep layer of bones, feathers and fragments of rotting animal
hide.  Her eyes raked the layer more carefully, unwilling to put her hands
into the putrid mass and feel around.  Her closer inspection paid off when
she finally spotted four oddly shaped black objects half-buried in the
debris.  Opening her saddlebag ready, she warily stretched out her hand to
grasp one of the eggs.  It was hard and cold, its surface pitted and harsh
to the touch, like a piece of volcanic stone.  She felt something move
inside and dropped it into her saddlebag with a repulsed shudder.  She
quickly threw in the rest before securely buckling the flap and strapping the
saddlebag onto her back.

With the hard
part of her task done Mistral allowed herself a few minutes to
recuperate.  She sat back on her heels and looked out across the mountain
range.  Despite her detached state of mind Mistral couldn’t help but be
awed by the breathtaking scenery.  From her elevated position she could
see all the way across the mountains, right down to where the Valley of the Ri
was hidden beneath a cap of white cloud.  Peaks and ravines fanned out
before her, made miniature by the distance but no less magnificent. 
Sunlight sparkled on the domed bank of cloud sitting over the lower slopes of
the mountain and glinted on the dark ridges that rose out like islands in a
milky white sea.  Mistral glanced down at the plateau far below her. 
She could see Cirrus, a black dot moving restlessly against the grey backdrop
of the cliff face.  A sudden icy gust of wind blew round her, lifting her
briefly with its force.  She gazed at the drop below her with
indifference, wondering if the fall would kill her then shivered when another
blast of icy air rocked her forwards.  The wind was picking up.  She
heard Cirrus whinny nervously.  It was time to go. 

She stood up,
bracing herself against the wind pushing at her.  A split second before
she heard the high-pitched shriek she realised her mistake.  She had let
her scent mingle with the strong smell of the nest and obligingly stood up to
let it blow straight to the gargoyles, letting them know that their lair was
under threat. 

Swearing at
her stupidity Mistral quickly scanned the sky then sucked in a sharp breath of
air.

There!

Two ragged
black moths appeared, flying in erratic jerky movements towards her. 
Noting with relief that they were still a long way off Mistral hastily
considered her options.

To begin the
climb down would be suicide.  She would be unable to defend herself and
the gargoyles would pluck her from the rockface and fling her to the ground
like a rag doll.  Mistral cursed herself for leaving her crossbow at the
base of the cliff.  If she’d had that she could have picked them off as
they flew towards her.

Stand and
fight? 
One false step and she would fall like a stone. 

Her mind
wheeled. 
Fight or climb? 

Or ...
both?
 

Mistral
quickly made her decision.  Moving swiftly she unwound the rope from her
body.  Ignoring the stabbing pain in her bleeding fingers she tied a heavy
knot in one end and swung it under the rocky outcrop.  The weight of the
knot carried it around to the other side, landing with a dull thud into the
empty nest.  Mistral grabbed the knotted end and tied it, creating a loop
encircling the entire platform.  Next she took the free end and wound it
once under her arms, tying it securely and hoping fervently that it would take
her weight. 

Harsh screams
rent the air.  The gargoyles were drawing nearer.  Mistral drew her
swords and looked up.  They were closer now.  She could see their
dark leathery bodies, no bigger than a small child’s dangling in the air
beneath wings the texture of cobwebs.  They had small black eyes and short
dog-like muzzles pulled back in snarls to reveal thin teeth like needles.