All it took was that first glimpse of the Pelagian Sea and Ramien, Wall of Stone, knew that he would always love it.
Two arduous hours later, they continued the descent, keeping as close to the rock face as they could. Their shoulders grazed over the black stone as they navigated the narrow stairs that led downwards.
When cave mouths loomed, Idernon, Galdith and Galadan would walk ahead and scout inside before the rest could pass, in case some hidden enemy lay in wait for them.
Some of the openings were shallow, meant only for resting, while others led into the mountain, gaping holes with hidden treasures that humans would die for. Elves had perfected the art of mining precious metals and stones. Their forays into the bowels of the earth were well-organised and always accompanied by guards. They were also expert climbers, well-equipped with ropes and tools. But humans would sneak in at night and hack at walls and underground riverbeds, stash their treasures and then make for Port Helia, the centre of elven trade—and human contraband. Not so skilled, their white bones sat crumpled, on display to all who passed by.
Behind their three scouts, Carodel and Ramien carried the chest, Fel’annár and Tensári just after, and behind them, Gor’sadén and Prince Handir. Their right hands were always on the rock face, eyes cast towards it and never to the left and the sheer drop that led to the rocky shore below. Handir did not mind Pan’assár’s hand gripping his belt from behind, perhaps hadn’t even realised he was doing it.
The sun was well on its way to its western cradle, and the light had turned golden, the yellowish tinge lending the party a false sense of warmth as they continued their downward trek. A few hours to go and exhaustion was beginning to take its toll.
A scuffle and a muted yelp. Carodel slipped, dropping his side of the chest, and Fel’annár steadied him with a steely grip to his tunic sleeve. Behind, Ramien chuckled as his friend straightened his twisted tunic with a scowl. He himself wanted to stop and stretch his aching back, but they were at the centre of the line. He would just have to wait.
A small stone hit the top of the chest, bounced off it, and then a flurry of dirt and grit. Ramien looked up, then startled at Idernon’s warning cry.
“Rockslide!”
They lunged for the rock face, stones and rocks clattering around them. Pan’assár pushed Handir so hard it knocked the wind out of him while Gor’sadén’s open hand pressed on Sontúr’s chest quite unnecessarily.
A boulder fell too close to Fel’annár’s foot and a part of the path crumbled beneath his feet. With a cry of surprise, he fell, forearms smashing into the rock edge. He was holding himself up by the elbows, body dangling over the cliff face.
“Fel’annár!” screamed Llyniel.
“Hold on!” Tensári lunged for him, but Idernon called a warning. Two arrows hurtled towards her, and she rolled away, then scurried back to the rock face. “Rope! We need rope!”
Ramien was uncoiling it, readying it to throw to Fel’annár, while Idernon peered over the lip of the rock. He saw two heads, and another two arrows skittered over the stone, far too close to the struggling Fel’annár.
They had been followed, attacked when they were at their most vulnerable.
“There are two of them.”
“You are the only one with a line of fire, Idernon. The path is too weak to risk stepping out.” Pan’assár was searching for a safe way to join him but found none.
The Wise Warrior pulled out his bow, strung it and notched an arrow.
“Careful,” warned Pan’assár.
Idernon nodded, then jumped out and fired, but his aim flew wide. An arrow clattered over his vambrace and scratched his face. He threw himself back against the wall, closed his eyes and blew out.
Beside him, Ramien threw one end of the rope, making sure not to hit Fel’annár in the face. But as the rope sailed towards him, he slipped and with a strangled yelp, he disappeared, all of him except for his hands.
“No, no, no!” called Carodel, a high-pitched shriek from Llyniel. More stones rained down on the crumbling path.
“He can’t let go to get the rope.” Tensári was inching out again, but another arrow hit the stone just before her face.
“Brothers!” Fel’annár’s wavery voice came from beyond the ledge. He felt his fingers slipping, feet dangling, with no footholds, no trees. “Can’t hold … much longer.”
“Idernon,” warned Gor’sadén, eyes darting from the Wise Warrior to Fel’annár’s grappling fingers.
Idernon reached back, notched his bow once more, not with one arrow but two. Pan’assár and Gor’sadén watched him. He was trying something only few could achieve.
Idernon walked out, turned and aimed. He held for a moment, saw movement, and then another. He had failed Fel’annár in the boat. He would not fail again. He adjusted his fingers, heard the enemy release their bolts.
Hold steady. Don’t move.
He released, then felt the tip of a bolt pierce his arm from front to back. He staggered backwards.
And then two bodies fell from the heights, plummeted past them. One crashed into the ledge just beside Fel’annár and then fell over it.
A dry crack and Tensári lurched forward, reached out and bunched Fel’annár’s tunic sleeve in one fist.
Then the ledge disappeared.
She grit her teeth as Fel’annár’s weight pulled her towards the chasm, but then she heard shouts and felt hands around her ankles. Still, she had slid far enough to see over the side and down, to Fel’annár’s wide-eyed stare. With nothing under his boots, his left hand searched for anything to latch on to.
She didn’t know what was happening on the ledge behind her, but she felt herself held in place. Even if that weren’t the case, she needed to believe that.
“Take my other hand!”
Fel’annár moved his legs like a lever, his other arm coming up, but the sound of tearing cloth made him stop. Slower, he reached. Tensári stretched her arm, fingertips grazing over his hand.
“Just a bit more,” she ground out. “Just a bit.”
Fingers scratched over a palm, felt cloth. She closed her fist. She had him.
“Up! Pull us up!”
Yelling behind her, grunts of effort, her tunic bunching around her middle, but soon, Fel’annár was half over the ledge. With one more heave from behind he was back on the ledge, rolling onto his back. He stared at the sun, half-shocked, and then some bulk shadowed it. Ramien.
“Get away from the edge.”
He rolled, staggered to the rockface and then crashed to the ground, back to the wall.
“Dear Gods,” he muttered, rubbing his forearms as he watched Llyniel inspect the arrow through Idernon’s upper arm.
“Nice and clean,” she murmured, breaking off the shaft in one expert movement. Sontúr raised his brow as he opened a jar and scooped out a thick dollop of something that smelled of alcohol. He smeared it over the broken arrow and then placed a short piece of leather in front of Idernon’s face. He bit it and pressed his back against the rock. Ramien winced, Carodel looked to the skies while Fel’annár looked straight at his friend.