Silverdun was up and running, leaping across the new landscape of the ridge toward the sound of Ironfoot's voice. Dust was still thick in the air. "Slow down!" shouted Sela, but Silverdun kept running, the panic that had only just begun to settle now rising up in him again. He tried Ironfoot's trick of reaching in, found his panic and quelled it, but not by much.
"Ironfoot!" he shouted, now unsure where to go. The ridgeline here broke in two, split by a steep cleft.
"Over here!" came Ironfoot's voice, strained. "Hurry, dammit!"
Silverdun ran toward Ironfoot's voice. The dust parted, and he stopped just before falling over a ragged cliff. A thick stream of rocks and dust was spilling down over the edge. Silverdun looked down and saw Ironfoot clinging to the barest of handholds on the cliff face with four fingers, the open air beneath him. The ground was at least a hundred feet below. Ironfoot held Timha slumped in his other arm, and the leather satchel hung on his wrist.
"Get me the hell out of here!" shouted Ironfoot.
"Is Timha alive?" Silverdun asked, getting down on his stomach.
"He's breathing," said Ironfoot. "But neither of us will be if you don't get us up!"
Silverdun reached down. His fingertips went down just far enough to graze Ironfoot's handhold.
"Careful!" shouted Ironfoot.
"What now?" asked Silverdun, the panic again rising. He reached in and damped it down again; this time it was easier. In a few seconds, he was calm again.
"You could let Timha drop," said Silverdun soberly. "Better him than both of you."
"I didn't go to all this trouble to collect him only let him go now," Ironfoot grunted. It was taking all of his Shadow strength to hold on. He put his mouth to Timha's ear. "Wake up, you son of a whore!"
Timha lifted his head and opened his eyes. "Do not move," hissed Ironfoot. "What I want you to do is-"
Timha screamed and jerked, kicking out with his feet. Ironfoot swayed out from the cliff face, digging in with his fingers. Blood began to ooze out from beneath his fingertips where the sharp edge of the handhold cut them.
"Dammit, I said don't move!"
Timha froze. He shut his eyes.
"Now listen," said Silverdun. "Timha, I want you to reach up, ever so delicately, with your left hand, and take mine. And when I say delicately, I mean as delicately as the wooing of a swordsmith's daughter."
Shaking, Timha slowly, slowly reached his arm up. Ironfoot growled in pain, his face red with exertion.
Silverdun reached out and grasped Timha's wrist, and pulled as hard as he could. He grunted and dug in-Timha was heavier than he was. For a few harrowing seconds he believed that Timha was actually going to pull him over the edge. Then Timha's arms were both up on the cliff top and Timha was scrambling up and away.
Silverdun reached down once more. Ironfoot's fingers were slipping, the blood making the handhold impossible to maintain.
"Take my hand!" shouted Silverdun.
"I don't think I can," Ironfoot whispered. "I'm almost empty, Silverdun." His free arm dangled at his side.
"Reach in and strengthen your muscles," said Silverdun. "You know how; you taught me."
"I don't have any re left."
"Then take mine," said Silverdun.
"How?"
"When we were at Whitemount, Jedron did it to me," said Silverdun. "It must be possible." Silverdun pushed out toward Ironfoot, not really knowing what he was doing, just pushing raw essence. Something grabbed at him, began to suck at him, just as Ilian/Jedron had. Without the cold iron bars repelling the re, it was slower, but just as certain.
"I can feel it," Ironfoot muttered. He lifted his free arm, wincing at the pain, and raised it, inch by inch, over his head. Silverdun grabbed him and pulled, and that was when Silverdun realized his mistake. He'd given all of his strength to Ironfoot and had none left for himself. Ironfoot was far heavier than Timha was.
"Pull!" said Ironfoot, his eyes wide.
"I'm working on that," said Silverdun. "Just a moment."
"Silverdun, you bastard!" shouted Ironfoot. His hold began to slip.
Silverdun felt something moving over him. A hand reached down and clasped over his. Sela's hand.
"Together now," she said.
A minute later, the four of them-Silverdun, Ironfoot, Sela, and Timha-lay on their backs on the flattest part of the ridge they could find, all breathing heavily.
"Where's Je Wen?" asked Ironfoot.
Silverdun allowed his silence to answer the question.
"He had a pregnant wife," said Ironfoot.
"That he did."
Ironfoot let out his breath and closed his eyes. Blood dripped from his fingertips onto the dusty rock.
You can't change what is, but you can always make it look like something it isn't.
-Master jedron
They headed toward a farmhouse at the end of the field, next to a stout green barn. A few cows raised their heads to watch them approach.
A farmer was out in the yard behind the house, throwing out grain to the chickens. He looked up at them and froze.
"What now?" said Ironfoot.
"I'll handle him," said Sela, stepping forward.
The farmer stood and watched them approach.
"What can I do for you?" he said. Silverdun couldn't imagine what he must be thinking. Three bloody, disheveled men and a beautiful woman, all covered in dust, appearing in his barnyard.
"We were out for a walk in the mountains," said Sela, her eyes all apology. "It was foolish, I know. One of those impetuous ideas a girl has from time to time. We were caught in the quake.
"Yes, we felt it down here, for sure."
"We'd be extremely appreciative if you'd avail us of your pump, and perhaps some fresh clothing," said Silverdun. "We'd be happy to pay you."
"Out for a walk?" said the farmer, contemptuously. "I know what you were doing up there. I've seen it before."
Silverdun looked at him, confused. He started to kneel down as if to tie his bootlace, going for the dagger in his boot.
"You think you boys are the first three that ever tried to escape a draft?"
"What draft?" said Sela. She gave the farmer an odd look, and the man's expression grew thoughtful.
"You don't know about the draft," he said.
"Of course not," said Sela. "We've been out all day."
"It's all over the city," said the farmer. "A flier came in yesterday from the City of Mab. All able-bodied men in the city are being called up."
"What?" said Silverdun, his voice sharp.
"There's going to be war," said the farmer.
Silverdun looked at Ironfoot, and they shared a look of despair.
"If that's the case," said Silverdun. "Then we need to get back to the city immediately. As I said, I'm happy to pay for some clean clothes." He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat for a few silver coins.
"Keep your money," said the farmer. "You boys are going off to fight the Seelie. A few pairs of trousers is the least I can do."
He looked sadly at Sela. "You might fit in some of my wife's old things. She was a bit bigger than you, but with a little bit of tucking and tying, I imagine it'll do until you get home."
"Thank you," said Sela. She gave him the same odd look as before, and he actually smiled.
"It's my pleasure," he said. "We're all in this together, after all."
The farmer took them into the house and handed out towels and fresh clothes. They took turns at the pump next to the barn, washing the dust from themselves, but regardless of how long he dunked his head under the pump, the grit never left Silverdun's hair.
The farmer's clothes were a bit tight, and far from fashionable, but Silverdun didn't care. The news of the draft had sent a chill down Silverdun's spine, and every part of him wanted to race away from the farm, but the last thing they needed was to make the farmer suspicious.