Ladies, Lords, & Liars

Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Climb

   Aeric's back finally struck something and his heart leapt straight into his throat. This was the end. But it was far too soon... The ground still spun precariously, so far below. Quintin's hand had been dislodged at some point, and Aeric was alone on a narrow ledge of blue stone that miraculously stuck out right in the path of his deadly fall.

   However, he felt had if the impact had broken something important. He sat up, dizziness flushing his mind of anything important. The world spun again, though he was sitting still.

   He heard the faintest whisper of a noise, arriving on a breeze wet with falling water. He looked up, and even the simple movement cost his head dearly. Nothing stayed still as was proper, but he could make out a pale figure crouching up at the very top of the sheer cliff. Had Quitin climbed back up so quickly?

   But the frizzy mop of hair, even though it spun wildly like everything else, was still clearly too long for the old man. It was Kyra, freed from her binding atop the horse. She was calling his name.

   He struggled slowly to his feet, leaning heavily against the cliff face and refusing to let himself think of what would greet him should he lean too far across the edge of his little ledge.

   He tried to stand solidly, in order to ground himself and still the spiraling of his vision, but his left leg gave out beneath him as if it wasn't even there. His back was quickly becoming unbearably sore. He couldn't stand any longer. He couldn't...

   He grit his teeth and leaned against the cliff, not allowing himself to sink down again. He had to get off of this little outcrop somehow, and the only way he was interested in was up. He would have to climb with a broken leg and shaking arms.

   He looked up at the princess again, only to find that she was gesturing wildly, holding something dark and vague. She dropped it, and it spun and coiled towards him. She couldn't have been more than twenty five feet away, but he still couldn't see the object she'd dropped until it hung down directly before his eyes.

   A brown spool of rope, just long enough to coil once over itself on the tiny little ledge near his single good foot: his salvation. He breathed a shaky sigh of relief and got to work with his trembling hands, trying a clumsy loop in the rope that he might hold onto more easily than a slippery cord.

   He wormed his way into the loop so that the set of his shoulders would prevent him from slipping out again. It wouldn't be the most comfortable, but he would live if all went according to the plan. What plan? well... Kyra had to have a plan. She would get him up the cliff somehow.

   He heard the faintest breeze of speech, and he looked up to see Kyra's mouth moving vaguely through the fog of mist and pain. He shook his head to signal that he couldn't hear her, nor could he read her lips. Her head disappeared from the lip of the cliff, and just a moment later he could feel a sharp tugging on the rope as she tried to hoist him up.

   He winced as the rope dug into his shoulder blades, but it was nothing he hadn't been expecting. He just had to bare it until he was safe again. Everyone would be safer. And now he could tell the king and queen about Fuast's treachery and they would return to their usual spots as rulers. Kyra could be happy again, even if he would be put right back in prison after what he'd done.

   The rope snagged upward again, this time with enough force to lift him off the ground. His bad leg—most definitely broken—hung below him limply as he slowly hitched higher and higher up the face of blue, moss-cragged rock. It was slow going, that much was sure. But it was going nonetheless.

   The fence had disloged completely from its now-nonexistent tethers, falling to its death along with—hopefully—Quintin. He grabbed a shaky hold of the very top of the cliff as soon as he could reach it, his heart pounding again now that he was so close to safety. He helped Kyra along, pulling himself as best he could.