Wychling

Chapter 50

Shimon was hanging onto a branch that seemed as if it might not hold Tal's weight, let alone his. Ulrich was at ease in the branches above and Corby was already at the top by the time Shimon had attached the rope to the bags. He had shown no fear as he leant out to catch the rope that Shimon threw up to him. He didn't bother hiding his admiration for that from a person who had been beaten to death not two days before. It was a nasty drop, with an unpleasant landing, if he slipped.

~Boy...no...that man, has some balls on him~ He thought with pride.

There was a wisdom held by the folk of his homeland: The selfish fool takes glory for themselves, but you can know a good leader by the seeds of greatness in their students. If Corby was any measure of Shimon, then he could be proud of who he was.

He struggled to maintain that good opinion of himself as he slowly let go of the trunk behind him, heart thundering. Tal stepped forward tutting and tied a rope around his waist as casual as you like, while he stayed carefully balanced, a hand still tentatively resting on the trunk behind him.

"This will hold you up, Corby has the other end now, and Ulrich is just headed up to join him. When he gets there all you have to do is run over to the edge and start to climb. With them two holding you, even if you fall, you can't drop far. Worst case they can pull you up." Tal smiled as she finished her explanation.

"Give me an honest enemy.." he muttered, blowing out a big breath, looking at the cliff not ten feet away.

There didn't appear to be a lot of handholds, although he could see Ulrich pulling himself up easily enough. Those big shoulders were used to pulling his enormous bow, so he was making solid progress lifting his own weight. Shimon was...well he had more mass than these skinny weasels. Usually it was good for moving folk, willing or not, to where he wanted them; the drunk tank, the floor, their graves...

It was the kind of mass you needed to break up fights, swing an axe for hours...or hit the ground as hard as a boulder tumbling from a cliff face. He looked down, sweating. Tal smiled again and skittered to the end of the branch, scampering up the wall like a squirrel up a tree. She didn't even slow to look for hand holds.

~Some magic that girl has...according to Ulrich anyway~

Maybe that meant his magic was being used with his axe.

~Maybe I could cleave the cliff in two, like the Giants of old, eh My Love?~

"Ready when you are Sarge!" called Corby.

~Well...here goes nothing~ thought Shimon.

Now he was aware of his thought-shouting, it was suddenly embarrassing to be caught doing it. He had experimented on their journey and he was fairly sure that he had managed to maintain an internal dialogue that Suma and Tal were unaware of.

It was like the difference between muttering to yourself and making a booming announcement to a crowded, and rowdy public house. It took concentration though. Talking to his wife in that way was a habit of fifteen years, it wouldn't be broken overnight.

He took a slow, deliberate breath and stopped thinking entirely. It was a practiced technique with him. Bravery was really just stupidity with a purpose. To do something brave, sometimes you just had to stop thinking about how truly stupid it was, or how much something could hurt you. Sometimes that meant stop thinking altogether, and just do.

He ran forward and launched himself up with his feet as he hit the small cliff face, reaching as high as he could. He found a small ridge with his right hand and tried to dig his fingers into the minor crevice while Corby and Ulrich furiously worked hand over hand until the ripe went taut. It seemed to take an age, but he felt it take his weight, and he could breathe again. Despite his relief, he soon found the pull of the rope wasn't enough to raise his bulk upwards and his desperate grip was all that kept him from leaning backwards, into the oblivion behind him.

For the life of him, he couldn't get his left hand to a firm handhold on the precarious outcrop. He hooked his fingers tight against the top of the small niche he was straining to hold onto and scrambled his feet until they caught something.

Two seconds in and he was terrified. His hands were used to outdoors work, but this was something else. He propelled himself up a few inches with his feet and with more courage than he had ever needed for battle, moved his right hand off of the tiny hold it had to reach upwards to another small crack in the cliff face. He felt the rope go taut again and sighed in relief.

For some reason he felt a surge in his stomach like he was winning a fight, but he was just inching up a moment at a time. It wasn't a tall cliff face, especially starting from the tree, but he felt like he had climbed the entire mountain as he crested the top, and Corby leapt forward to grip him by the rope around his waist, hauling him over the top.

He panted as he got to his hands and knees, feeling both other men pat him on the back as they helped him to his feet. He opened his mouth to give them his profuse thanks, but they all froze as he was interrupted by the worst sound that they had heard in three days. A hunting horn. Calling out through the forest, to the west. It was close.