‘Lords, what is that thing?’ Brynne called between shallow breaths.
They hurried after Sallax as he burst through a thickly overgrown stand of trees and began climbing the lowest slopes of Seer’s Peak. The mountain was dotted with trees and shrubs nearly all the way to its broad, flat apex and Mark realised the almor could easily find some fluid pathway to cut them off.
There was no way they would be able to maintain this pace until they reached the safety of the granite expanse above the tree line. Already he was slowing, his diaphragm cramping stiffly and his lungs feeling as if they were about to burst. Remembering the tremendous blast Gilmour had produced in Estrad to divert the almor, Mark wished he had thought to ask the old sorcerer what he had meant by explosions aren’t magic.
Mark searched the trail above in the fading sunlight. They needed to reach a safe place soon; having to flee from the almor in the dark would be disastrous. ‘Someplace dry,’ he panted, ‘where can we find someplace dry?’
They were still running at full speed when they rounded the trail’s first switchback. With darkness nearly upon them, Mark saw it, stretched out above like a titanic grey blanket thrown up against the side of the mountain: a rockslide. He shouted ahead, ‘Sallax, stop.’
‘Stop?’ he heard Brynne cry, ‘no! We have to keep going – that thing could be right behind us!’
Sallax slowed to a jog, then turned to face them. A look of disappointment flashed across his face, as if he had to accept that something might best him, that this demon, a nightmare creation of the most twisted god, might beat Sallax of Estrad. As quickly as it appeared, however, the look was gone.
‘What?’ he asked. ‘What do you suggest we do?’
Without slowing, Mark moved past him off the trail and up into the rockslide. ‘Come up here, now,’ he commanded. ‘It’s a more difficult path, but there are no plants or trees.’ Surveying the rocky field, he explained, ‘The almor: it travels through water, doesn’t it? So it might not be able to reach us out here.’
Sallax understood what Mark was planning before he finished speaking; he climbed onto the rockslide behind the nimble foreigner.
Brynne joined them, but said sceptically, ‘We can’t possibly climb this at night, Mark. It’s worse than scaling a building – we’ll be dead in half an aven.’
‘We’ll be dead in less than that out there,’ Sallax told her and pulled her up to balance beside him.
Mark, suddenly feeling more at home, caught his breath and explained some basic climbing rules. ‘This isn’t any more difficult in the dark than it would be at midday. Climbing a slope this steep means you have to get a feel for the mountain. Climb in a steady rhythm and you’ll grow less tired. Be sure to check every hand and foothold before you put all your weight on it. Most important, don’t panic. For every loose purchase that fails below you, there are up to three holding you fast. Keep your weight into the slope but not against it. Climb the mountain; don’t try to slither up it.’
He forced a smile back at Brynne, then went on, ‘I’ll find the easiest pathway. Stay behind me and use the light from the moons to see where I put my hands and feet. Don’t forget: if it supports your weight when you grab it, chances are it will support your weight when you step on it,’ and then, in a less confident tone, added, ‘but not always.’
Sallax seemed almost excited by the potentially deadly challenge. ‘Lead on, Mark Jenkins,’ he called, ‘we’ll be right behind you.’ He positively exuded enthusiasm where, just moments earlier, he had been convinced they were lost, that the almor would suck them dry like the stray dog he had watched disintegrate to a leathery shell. Mark had renewed Sallax’s confidence; now he was almost willing to fight the demon beast hand-to-hand.
There were plenty of solid handholds at the base of the steep, rocky slope and their initial ascent went smoothly. Brynne found the rhythmic pace of Mark’s climb hypnotic and she moved almost without thinking. It didn’t take long for the trio to get several hundred paces up the side of the mountain.
‘You are skilled at this, Mark,’ she called softly.
‘Would you believe Steven and I do this for fun as often as possible?’ he asked. ‘We’re actually disappointed weekends we can’t risk life and limb. Of course, we try to limit our climbing to daylight avens.’
‘What is a weekend?’ Sallax interrupted.
Mark chuckled. ‘A weekend is a glorious concept I will introduce to all Eldarn if we manage to live until morning.’ His right hand slipped and several stones dropped on the others below. ‘Sorry,’ he called, ‘we’re coming into a difficult section here, lots of small, loose stones. Be careful.’
Neither Brynne nor Sallax answered; they were struggling to make out the cliff face, trying desperately to get some sort of visual confirmation that their handholds were solid.
Their progress slowed as Mark clawed his way up towards the switchback trail above. The next hundred feet would be arduous and he knew his friends needed a break. Through the dark, he could see neither trees nor shrubs; no complex root systems growing along the path, but even if there had been water flowing there in abundance, the trio would have to stop, risking attack, just to gain a momentary respite from the difficult ascent. He was an experienced climber and his shoulders and thighs ached: he was impressed with the fortitude Brynne and Sallax were showing as novices on a difficult hill in the dark.
When the demon creature burst from the trail above, Mark’s heart sank. Towering over the rocky hillside, a glowing, formless wall of undulating fluid, the almor screamed down at them. Mark thought he could see into its eyes, vacant pools of suffering and death.
‘Wait!’ Sallax cried. ‘Stop here.’
Laughing – a response to abject terror – Mark replied, ‘I hadn’t planned on going much further, Sallax.’
‘No, I mean it can’t reach us here.’
‘How do you know that?’ Brynne asked, her voice trembling.
Mark realised what Sallax meant. ‘Because it would have already,’ he told her quietly. ‘We need to stay put, to hang on here as long as possible.’
‘And hope it doesn’t rain,’ Sallax added under his breath.
For the first time since he fell through the far portal in Idaho Springs, Mark was glad days in Eldarn were four hours shorter. Clinging to the side of Seer’s Peak, his arms and legs numb, he could do little more than pray, and trust that by remaining completely still he would not fall to his death – or, worse, drag the Ronan siblings with him. He guessed it had been three hours since they had last seen the almor. He called to Brynne to find out what time his watch read.
‘I don’t know, Mark.’ She sounded desperate. He ached to be able to whisk her to safety.
‘Well, now Brynne, I’m disappointed,’ he teased, hoping to lighten the mood. ‘After all those lessons, you can’t tell me what time it is.’
‘I can describe it,’ she said. ‘Will that help? The long arm is straight up and the small arm is just next to it.’
‘To the right or the left?’
‘Left. On the rune you called… um… levelen.’
‘Eleven,’ he corrected. ‘Great, the news is on. I wonder what the headlines are tonight.’ Straining his eyes to see below her, he called to Sallax, ‘How are you doing down there?’
‘I will be all right.’ He did not sound convinced. ‘But I’m not sure how much longer we can hang on this slope.’
‘I know,’ Mark answered, ‘but try this, both of you: put your weight on your feet and shake your arms, one at a time. It’ll loosen the muscles and alleviate some of the pain.’