Snow Fields - Book Two of The Fields of Mendhavai Trilogy

Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

My pounding heart rose to my throat, choking me, as I threw myself forward, wrapping my arms and legs around the horse-size width of the bridge; but the connection between myself and Taphille dragged me back anyway. Gripping the ice desperately, I risked a panicked glance over my shoulder when I felt the link between us go slack. Taphille, terror-stricken, dangled by one hand that he had wrapped around a chunk of ice protruding from the side of the bridge.

Shouts from behind me rang against the sheer cliffs, echoing in the crevasse between the two islands. The guard tied behind the youth slowly, ever so carefully, climbed to his feet, taking advantage of the slack in the rope while Taphille clung for dear life.

I was going to call out to reassure Taphille, but then I saw his hand sliding slowly out of his mitten, and my throat closed tightly around the words. With a sudden gust of wind, Taphille lost his grip inside the mitten and the rope jerked me back once more as the boy fell. Tightening my strangle hold around the ice, I watched, stunned, as the mitten tumbled end over end into the watery tempest below. It splashed in and disappeared from sight, swallowed instantly by the frigid sea.

I drew my gaze upward again. The guard who had managed to get to his feet had fallen again, crosswise to the bridge, his feet dangling over the edge. The two behind him leaned backward against the rope, bracing and trying to give the man a chance to crawl back up, though their boots found little purchase on the slick ice. With all of Taphille’s weight dragging at us, the fallen man was having no success in getting to his hands and knees, let alone regaining his feet.

I looked to Bashiir and the wolves watching helplessly from the far isle. We were so close to them, and yet so far.

Can’t you do something? I cried to Bashiir. Fly! Catch them before they fall, or we will all be lost!

The dragon unfurled his wings and was nearly blown off the cliff by another strong blast of wind.

I cannot; not with the wind gusting like it is. I would surely be swept into the water, or smashed against the cliff walls.

His regretful comment made me glance down, and I instantly regretted it. The wind was whipping the water below into an even greater frenzy than it had already been.

“Smythe!” I had to shout twice to be heard over the rushing air. The dear man had wrapped himself around a spike of ice that stuck up out of the center of the bridge ahead of me. I could see he was trying to work his way around it to secure the rope. He looked up and met my gaze; I was surprised he had heard me even the second time. My eyes landed on the extra length of the thick cord that he had coiled and tied to his hip. I eyeballed the distance between him and Bashiir. “Smythe!” I shouted again when the wind paused, as if drawing its next great breath. “Throw the rope to Bashiir!” The rope behind me tugged again as another gust smashed into Taphille, sending him swinging wildly about. I caught the sound of his terrified sobbing over the howl of the wind; my own eyes were watering fiercely, and not just from the cold air lashing into them.

Smythe looked down at the coil of rope, cast a glance over his shoulder at the dragon, then nodded at me.

“Hurry!” I shouted, doubting he heard me. None of us could hold on much longer; my arms and legs were quickly growing numb with cold from being pressed against the ice, even through my thick parka.

Bashiir, Smythe is going to throw the rope to you. Be ready!

Carefully, Smythe lowered his hand toward his waist, but had to fling his arm back around the ice pillar when the wind hit Taphille again and I was dragged back another foot. There was no more slack between myself and Smythe. My muscles trembled with fatigue.