The Chronicles of Lumineia: Book 01 - Elseerian (21 page)

Extricating himself from the small crevice proved to take more time than he’d expected, but he forced himself to move slowly to keep his weapons from scraping the rock. Once clear, he took a good grip on the wall as soon as he had the chance and began to climb.

Unfortunately he was unable to use the rope he’d kept. He found no place to tie it, and even if he could it would do him no good, but there was no other option. Dropping it or leaving it in his hold would have revealed his presence, and his route. He couldn’t risk it.

Knowing he didn’t have much time before he got tired or the sun came up, he scaled the massive cliff as rapidly as he could. Despite his speed he was careful to plan a route, climb, stop, and then plan another route. He didn’t end up climbing straight, but his crooked path kept him from hitting the frequent smooth patches that would have taken precious time to backtrack and circumnavigate.

Thirty minutes before the first rays of light graced the horizon, Taryn had scaled nearly half of the Giant’s Shelf. By the time the sun had come up enough for anyone to spot him easily, he’d climbed another two hundred feet. He was beginning to think it wouldn’t be too difficult—until the cliff abruptly turned sheer.

Eight hundred feet off the ground the stone had been smoothed by the elements, leaving precious few handholds. Pausing for a moment, Taryn wiped the sweat that had begun to sting his eyes and flexed his forearms, trying to restore their weakening grip. It was taking longer and longer to find a route with fewer and fewer places to grasp. His tired hands and sore feet slowed him even further, forcing him to find paths with easier grips. To make matters worse, the wind had picked up, grabbing and tugging at him as it blew past his struggling form.

The next hundred feet took nearly two hours of painstaking and exhausting effort. Time and time again Taryn was forced to backtrack, lowering himself to a previous position before taking a second look.  Carefully he would climb sideways in search of some tiny ledge or nook that would support his weight.

At nine hundred feet he got lucky and found a ledge nearly four inches wide that curved gently up and to the side. Grasping it gratefully, he looked for something to pull himself up so he could stand—but didn’t see anything. No holes or bumps were big enough to grip, no sections of rock offered enough surface for even the tips of his fingers . . . nothing. Looking west he saw that the ledge ran for at least a hundred feet and with its rise in elevation, would take him to within fifty feet of the top. Glancing down he checked to see if there were any toeholds but didn’t see anything below the ledge either.

For a second he considered using his father’s sword to cut into the rock and pull himself up, but immediately dismissed the idea. He was quite high, but not invisible, and the flash of magic would almost certainly draw unwanted attention. Using his sword would have to be a last resort. 

Taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady his tired muscles, he took all the weight off one hand at a time. Clenching and unclenching his hands, he tried to prepare for the only option he had left—let himself hang from the ledge with nothing to support his feet while he inched his way along it.

Tired and sore, Taryn allowed his body to dangle nine hundred feet off the ground . . . and began to slowly work his way along the ledge. Sliding one hand, and then the other, he pushed himself sideways and tried to ignore the angry wind whipping at his clothes. With sweat dripping from his nose, he reached the halfway point. Hoping to find somewhere to place a toe and provide momentary relief he paused to check the wall above and below, but he found nothing and had no choice but to keep going.

As he approached the end of the ledge, it began to taper off, thinning to two inches . . . and then to barely enough for a fingertip. Now little more than a hairsbreadth of stone kept him from plummeting to his death. With shaking arms he reached the end and looked around for something to grip. The only thing within reach was a crack in the wall that started a foot above the ledge. Slightly smaller than his hand, it ran up and curved a little before ending five feet from the top.

Seeing that the crack was completely smooth on the sides, Taryn braced his fingers and lifted himself up. Face smashed into the cliff and clinging to the rock with trembling fingers—he let go with his right hand. Quickly reaching up, he forced his hand into the crack and formed a fist, pressing his flesh against the sides of the crack. Clenching the fist with all his might, he let go with his left hand . . . and began to slide down.

Gritting his teeth, he forced his hand into a tighter ball that stopped him from falling by pressing against the sides of the split stone. His skin began to tear, eliciting a growl, but he had no other options. Pulling himself up with all his weight resting on his fist, he placed his left hand into the crack in the same manner and was finally able to lift himself up enough to rest his feet on the tiny ledge.

Taryn took the moment to rest and take stock of his situation. The crack would take him close to the top, but it would require his last shred of strength to do so. Glancing at the location of the sun, he was surprised to see that it had already passed its apex. He’d been climbing for almost ten hours!

Knowing his life depended on it, he tried to steady his breath before placing both fists into the crack. By putting his foot sideways into the crack and then twisting his leg until it was upright, he was able to place enough leverage on the rock that it could support his weight. Wincing against the pain in his hands and feet, he drove himself to continue. Fist after painstaking fist, he scaled the tiny crack, and forty feet later he found himself only five feet from the top.

With every ounce of strength he had left, he braced his left fist into the very top of the crack and reached as high as he could with right hand. One thousand feet off the ground, Taryn found an extremely good grip that would take him to safety—six inches out of reach. He cursed under his breath and with his face pressed against the cliff, looked around for something else.

All around him the rock had been worn smooth, leaving nothing with enough purchase for him to use. Clenching his eyes shut, he listened to the ragged sound of his breathing, wishing there was another way, but in his heart he knew there wasn’t.

Exhausted, he wiped the sweat off his right hand, rubbed it against the wall to get some sense of grip back, crouched on cramped feet . . . and jumped.

Chapter 12: Azertorn

Taryn propelled himself upward only a few inches, but it felt like much further. With muscles shaking in protest, he forced his hand to grab the jutting piece of rock . . . and hold on tight. Knowing he didn’t have much time, he reached up with his left hand and grabbed a tiny crack. From there it took two tries before he was able to get high enough to place his left hand on the very top of the Giant’s Shelf. Lifting himself up, he inched his way forward until more of his weight leaned horizontal than vertical. Then he rolled himself onto the plateau with a grunt of effort.

Chest heaving from the exertion of climbing for so long, he felt a rush of relief and pride wash over him. Grinning wide he almost laughed, but for some reason his mind turned to Murai. What would he have thought of what he’d just done? The pang of sorrow lanced through him, replacing the relief with a bitter taste.

He missed him more than he realized.

Distracted and weary, it took him half an hour before he felt able to continue. Lying flat, he scanned his surroundings, checking to make sure he hadn’t been seen. With the exception of a few lonely pine trees, the Giant’s Shelf was remarkably barren. Rarely a scrub oak or other plant reached higher than a man's chest. A couple of miles back a forest grew thick and strong, but the space between the edge and the tree line remained dominated by small brush struggling to find purchase in the flat stone. East of his position he could see the trees growing thick next to the river that fed the western falls of Azertorn.

After resting, Taryn took some time to flex his muscles to assess his condition.  His arms and legs were sore and at least still functional, but his forearms and hands were another story. In the short time that he’d lain there, they had cramped to the point where he could barely grip with his hands. He could deal with the pain, but his grip had lost most of its strength. He doubted he would be able to hold his swords well enough to fight for a few hours.

Deciding there wasn’t much he could do about the situation, he rolled his body over and rose into a crouch to look around. As he forced his legs to respond, he was unable to stop a groan of protest at the effort. Checking one more time for any sign of movement, he attempted to stretch the sore muscles all over his body. It didn’t help much, but at least he was able to move in silence.

His immediate position offered some concealment, but not enough to allow him to stay for long. If anyone came within a hundred yards he was sure to be spotted. Preferring to move towards the city, he began to work his way in that direction. Without a sound, he moved from one barely adequate cover to another, feeling grateful as the movement began to ease his sore body.

Before the sun had begun to set, Taryn slipped into the trees that grew beside the river. He was a little surprised at the lack of elven presence. There should have been guards along the cliff top, but not a single soul could be seen.

Entering the forest, he took even greater care than he had on the plateau—and it was a good thing he did. Within ten steps he encountered a sentry hidden behind the trunk of a tree. Inching past him, he bypassed the soldier without event, but before long found another elf, and then another. Every twenty feet another sentinel would force him to slow down and sneak past. It took nearly an hour to pass the five sentries and reach the river.

The sun was just beginning to sink into the horizon when he came to the flowing water, and he slid into a shadowy vantage point. Fifty feet of white water separated him from the wall of stone that rose up on the opposite bank. The wall rose out of the water for nearly a hundred feet with the first half made of solid rock, while the second half appeared to be built of layered stones to create a strong defense against intruders. Battlements crowned the wall, and from Taryn’s position he could see numerous guards manning the top. No section of ground separated the city wall from the water, which created the illusion that the city grew straight out of the river. Swimming would be out of the question. Not only would the current carry him over the cliff in an instant, there would be no way for him to climb the wall before someone sunk an arrow into him.

Seeing no opening, he began to follow the bank of the river to the north in the hope that another opportunity might present itself. In his heart he doubted the river would really be an option. He’d been hoping the elves would not have been so vigilant above the shelf, but the unnatural fear must have caused them to place more security than normal. As he worked his way through the trees along the bank, he considered his various ideas on how to get into the city—until he walked into a sentry . . .

The elf had hidden himself well, positioning himself in the shadows between two trees adjacent to the river. Taryn bowled right into him as he rounded a trunk. Each bounced off the other as if he’d touched a hot iron, but it was Taryn who responded first. Bolting north, he raced through the trees. The elf he’d surprised raised the alarm in less than a second, and answering calls rang all around him. Turning a corner, he saw a group of elves massing in front of him. Before they could spot him, he reversed direction and darted south towards the cliff.

With trees flashing past him, he tried not to berate himself for being seen and focused on what to do. Knowing he had only seconds, he allowed his mind to broaden and pictured the city with the surrounding area. By using the image in his mind, he looked for a route that would be safe, and preferably take him into the city. Remembering something he’d seen from the foot of the cliff suddenly gave him an idea. It was risky, but he didn’t see another option.

Calls and yells snapped his attention backward as he sped up to avoid his pursuers. A sudden shout in front of him made him veer closer to the river. The fading light began to make it increasingly difficult to see, so he raced through the trunks by memory, retracing his route towards the cliff.

—Out of nowhere an elven sentry popped up in front of him with drawn sword. Without missing a step, he twisted and rolled right up the sword thrust, barreling into the elf with his lowered shoulder. Unprepared to withstand the blow, the surprised elf stumbled backward and fell into the river with a grunt. With a glance, Taryn realized that they were only thirty feet from the cliff and the elf wouldn’t make it out of the river in time.

Exploding into motion, he drew Ianna, sliced a long, thin branch off a tree, and flicked the end out towards the struggling elf. Just as the elf grasped the end of the branch, Taryn tossed his end towards a trunk hanging out over the water. An instant later his mother’s sword became a bow. As the end of the branch touched the trunk of the overhanging tree, a green shafted arrow buried itself into the branch and trunk, securing it and providing the elven soldier a lifeline to the bank.

Without slowing Taryn sped towards the cliff while the branch holding the elf bent and swung him to safety not ten paces from the massive waterfall—but Taryn barely saw it. Still holding his mother’s bow, he raced to very edge of the cliff, quickly crouched and leaned out over the thousand foot drop. 

Drawing back the bow, he sunk two arrows deep into the rock about a foot down from the plateau. Morphing it back to the sword he sheathed it and grabbed his rope off his back. After tying one end securely onto the arrows, he sprinted away from the falls with only inches between his pounding feet and the long drop. As he ran, he let the rope play out beside him so it stretched between him and the arrows holding the other end.

 —Two elves burst into view to his right. Calling for support, they began to pursue him. Within seconds, more elves joined the pursuit so when he broke free of the trees he picked up the pace. Another shout came from behind him, but this time it was a voice of authority. Looking back, he saw numerous elves lining up with bows drawn. Knowing they would not miss, he gauged what was left of his rope.