Total pages in book: 295
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
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.
“Rock,” he says to Dain, reaching back with his right hand.
Dain picks up a loose one the size of my fist, then stretches his long arms out toward Ridoc, handing it to him.
Ridoc slams the rock against the pommel, hammering it deeper into the cliff until almost every inch of the blade has disappeared, and I don’t miss the slight flinch on Dain’s face. Ridoc grips the hilt and tests it with one palm, then two.