Dain.
“What the fuck is he doing back here?” Sloane mutters. It doesn’t matter how many times I explain that Dain didn’t understand the consequences of stealing my memories; Sloane still despises him.
There’s an overwhelming part of me that still does, too.
Cibbelair begins moving, picking his way carefully up the path, and we follow, eventually coming to where Dain stands rigidly against the cliff wall, making himself as small as possible so the gryphon will be able to pass by.
“There’s a pressure trigger,” he warns, gesturing to a section of the trail just ahead of him with a map clutched in one hand and holding out his other arm so Ridoc and Luella don’t continue. “We know it sends out arrows but don’t know from where, so we can’t disarm it. Hence why I’m standing here, warning everyone about that particular section.”
I glance up the cliff wall, noting the numerous cracks in the face that could hide any number of munitions, then back to the trail, where a rope has been laid across the rock to mark the untouchable area. It looks to be five, maybe six feet across, which would already give me a little pause on the ground, but jumping an area that big on an unforgiving ledge, at our level of fatigue—let alone the gryphons’—is flat-out intimidating.
And I can barely see a damned thing past the rope in this fog.
“We have to jump,” Ridoc says, eyeing the trail.
“Everyone’s made it across so far.” Dain nods.
“Luella?” Maren leans out over the cliff to see past Cibbelair.
A small flier with pale, nearly white hair and freckles that remind me of Sawyer looks back. “I don’t know. It’s farther than I’ve ever jumped before.”
“She’s the smallest of us.” Maren doesn’t bother whispering.
“Like you,” Sloane adds, looking my way.
“Ridoc, can you and Dain throw her across?” I ask.
“You mean can I throw you across?” Ridoc asks with his typical sarcasm.
I snort. “I’ll be able to jump it.” Like hell is Ridoc going to throw me.
Luella’s head draws back in offense.
Shit. “I’m used to the altitude,” I remind her, hoping to cover my accidental insult. “What has everyone else done?” I ask Dain.
“Running leap,” he answers. “We’re just making sure whoever’s on the other side is done recovering first so there’s no impact.”
Gods, I wish Xaden were here. He’d simply pluck Luella up with shadows and ferry her across. Then again, he just might let her fall. I never quite know when it comes to other people.
Rhiannon can’t retrieve something as big as a person. Cianna, our executive officer from last year, is up there, but wind wielding isn’t going to help here, either. Our signets are useless for this.
“You jump first, Ridoc,” Dain orders.
“So I’m not throwing Luella?”
“She either makes it or she doesn’t, just like Parapet,” Visia says, tying her shoulder-length hair back. “I’ll go first.”
“Cibbe says he goes first,” Luella announces, then all three flatten themselves against the cliff wall next to Dain so the gryphon can pass.
Sloane’s right. Luella’s physically similar to me, small and shorter than average. She’s even my age, since fliers start a year after riders. But she’s suffering from altitude sickness, and I’m not.
I’m just lightheaded, which might be a death sentence up here.
The tip of another dragon wing appears in the mist, the flight pattern coming from the opposite direction. A brown, maybe? “Is that Aotrom?” I ask Ridoc. At this point, I’m about to beg for his aid, flier pride be damned.
“No. He’s up top with the others. They just finished carrying the crossbolts and complaining about being treated like packhorses.”
A corner of my mouth rises. “Sounds about right.”
Cibbelair rocks back on his fawn-and-ochre haunches, then launches forward, clearing the trap and skidding on his landing.
Luella sucks in a breath as Cibbe’s talons skim the edge, but he quickly sags against the cliff, his back rising and falling with stuttered breaths.
I’m torn between sighing with relief that the gryphon made it and acknowledging the growing pit in my stomach that tells me there’s no way Luella will.
“Mind asking him if he’d serve as a railing?” I ask the flier. “We’re both going to have to run and leap, and he’d be good at keeping us both from falling off the cliff.”
Cibbe’s head cranes back at an unnatural angle, and he chortles aggressively in my direction.
“He…” A small smile tugs at Luella’s mouth. “He reluctantly agrees.”
“Visia and Ridoc, get over there,” Dain orders. “We need to keep the line moving.”
Visia backs up to where we stand, bounces up on her toes, and runs, pumping her arms and legs, then launches herself across the roped-off area and lands cleanly on the other side.
“See, if she can do it, we’re fine,” I assure Luella, hoping it’s not a lie.
“She’s six inches taller than us and not nearly as winded.” Luella swallows. “And no offense, but you look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I’m not,” I lie, taking a second to adjust the slipping wrap on my left knee. I haven’t had enough water or enough time off my feet today, and my body is more than happy to let me know about the neglect.
Gods, I never would have made it through Gauntlet if I’d felt like this that day.
Gauntlet. An idea takes hold.
“I’ll—” Ridoc starts.
“Wait a second.” I brace my right hand on the cliff to keep from losing my precarious balance and study the area above the trap, noting one of the thinnest cracks in the rock. Ridoc’s the best climber we have, so it just might work.
“What are you thinking?” Dain asks. “Don’t tell me nothing. You have those little lines between your eyebrows.”
“I’m wondering how attached Ridoc is to his sword.” I breathe through the nausea that always accompanies the dizziness.
“It’s standard issue,” Ridoc replies, then follows my line of sight. “Oh. You’re thinking…”
“Yep.” I glance at Luella so he catches on, and he nods slowly.
“I can’t guarantee it will hold.”
“Try.” I lift my brows.
Ridoc reaches for his sword.
“No.” Dain draws his shortsword, leaving the long one sheathed. “Use this one. It has a longer pommel, and it will be easier to work in.” He hands the sword to Ridoc, then looks over at me. “I still know how your mind works.”
Sloane scoffs.
Ridoc takes Dain’s shortsword and sheathes it in the empty spot at his left, then climbs up a few feet before scrambling horizontally across the cliff face.
“What is he doing?” Luella asks.
“Watch,” I say quietly so I don’t startle Ridoc.
Hand over hand, he carefully moves across the rock, then plants his feet on a foothold that I can’t even see, let alone trust, about halfway across. He frees the shortsword, drawing his elbow back as far as he can without losing his balance, then jabs it into the cracked rock with full force. The screeching sound is worse than a pissed-off gryphon.