Then they were on their feet again, bent down within the rocks as they scrambled east along the narrow path. Boulders and jagged projections rose up against the faint light of the sky, thrusting out from the cliff face. They ran on, and the path ahead grew less easy. Jair risked a quick glance back. A line of torches was coiling up the slope from the siege camp below, up to where they had just knelt within the brush. Moments later, the torches were upon the trail.
The Weapons Master slipped down into the jumbled rocks, with Jair a step behind him, scrambling wildly to keep his feet. Ahead, the cliff face jutted far out into the night sky, and the slope beneath where they climbed began to drop away sharply. Jair felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. This was a dead end. They were not going to get through.
Still Garet Jax worked his way forward, easing downward through the rocks, climbing farther out onto the cliffs. Behind, the torches followed after, and all across the length and breadth of the chasm that sheltered the locks and dams of Capaal the cries of the Gnome Hunters rang out.
Then at last the Weapons Master drew to a halt. The trail fell away in a sheer cliff a dozen yards further on. Far below, the waters of the Cillidellan reflected with firelight. Jair glanced quickly above where they stood. There, too, the cliff angled sharply out. There was nowhere left for them to go but back. They were trapped.
Garet Jax put a hand on his shoulder and led him forward to where the trail fell away completely. Then he turned.
«We have to jump,” he said softly, his hand still gripping the Valeman. «Just lock your legs and pull in your arms. I’ll be right behind you.»
Jair glanced down to where the Cillidellan shimmered. It was a long, long way. He looked back again at the Weapons Master.
«It’s the only choice we have left.» The other’s voice was calm and reassuring. «Hurry, now.»
The torches grew closer on the pathway behind them. Guttural voices called sharply to one another.
«Hurry, Jair.»
Jair took a deep breath, closed his eyes, opened them again and jumped.
So violent was the Gnome counterattack, as the six from Culhaven sought to break through the heights above Capaal, that the initial rush carried most of the attackers right past Foraker and Edain Elessedil. Thrown back against the cliff face as the assault swept on toward the others, Dwarf and Elven Prince scrambled upward into a stand of brush, a handful of Gnomes in desperate pursuit. They turned to fight at a small outcropping, the Elf swinging the sturdy ash bow, the Dwarf stabbing out with short sword and long knife. The Gnomes tumbled, howling with pain, and the pursuit fell back for an instant. The two companions peered down at the ledge and the steep slide below, swarming now with Gnome Hunters. There was no sign of the others.
«This way!» Elb Foraker called, pulling the Elven Prince after him.
They scrambled up the slope, scratching and clawing their way over the loose earth and rock. Cries of anger followed after, and suddenly arrows flew past them, a vicious hissing in their ears. Torches bobbed in the darkness, searching them out, but for the moment at least, they were beyond the light.
A roar sounded from somewhere below, and the pursued companions looked back apprehensively. The lights of the watchfires seemed to be spreading out across the cliff face, bits of fire darting about in the blackness. Hundreds more flickered into view on the dark line of the peaks south — torches from the army that lay camped along the banks of the Cillidellan. The whole of the mountainside now burned bright with flame.
«Elb, they’re all around us!» the Elven Prince cried out, staggered by the number of the enemy.
«Keep climbing!» the other snapped.
Onward they went, fighting their way through the dark. Now a new cluster of torches appeared to their right, and shouts of discovery broke from the throats of the Gnomes who bore them. Spears and arrows whistled all about the two who climbed. Foraker scrambled away from them, eyes searching frantically across the dark cliff face.
«Elb!» Edain Elessedil screamed in pain and spun about, his shoulder pierced by a dart.
Instantly the Dwarf was at his side. «Ahead — another dozen feet to that patch of scrub! Hurry!»
Half carrying the injured Elven Prince, Foraker scrambled toward a broad thatch of brush that loomed suddenly out of the night. Torchlight flickered above them now as well, Gnome Hunters coming down from high off the slopes of the peak where the search lines cordoned off all escape. Edain Elessedil set his teeth against the pain in his shoulder and struggled forward with the Dwarf.
They tumbled into the brush, down into the concealing shadows to lie panting on the earth.
«They’ll… find us here,” the Elven Prince gasped, forcing himself to his knees. Across his back, blood and sweat mingled and ran.
Foraker yanked him down again. «Stay put!» Wheeling, he began groping his way through the brush until he found the slope against which it grew. «Here! A tunnel door! Thought I’d remembered right, but… have to find the trip lock…»
While Edain Elessedil watched, he began o fumble frantically about the slope face, through crumbling rock and earth, pulling and clawing in silent desperation. The cries of their pursuers were drawing steadily closer. Through faint breaks in the brush appeared the flicker of torchlight, bobbing and weaving against the black.
«Elb, they’re almost here!» Edain whispered hoarsely. His hand reached down to his waist and drew forth the short sword belted there.
«Got it!» the Dwarf cried triumphantly.
A squarish chunk of rock and earth swung back, and an opening in the cliff face yawned before them. Frantically, they scrambled through into the darkness beyond, and Foraker pulled shut the rock behind them. It closed ponderously, sealing them away with a series of sharp clicks, the locks fastening in place.
They lay in the dark for long moments, listening to the faint sounds of the Gnomes without. Then the pursuit passed on, and there was only silence. A moment later Foraker began groping about in the dark. Flint and stone struck a spark, and harsh yellow torchlight filled the void. They sat within a small cave from which a stone stairway ran downward into the mountain.
Foraker slid the torch into an iron bracket next to the sealed door and began working on the Elven Prince’s injured shoulder. In a few minutes’ time, he had the arm bound and wrapped in a makeshift sling.
«That should do for now,” he muttered. «Can you walk?»
The Elf nodded. «What about the door? Suppose the Gnomes find it?»
«Too bad for them if they do,” Foraker snorted. «The locks should hold it; but if they don’t, a break–in will trigger a collapse of the whole entrance. On your feet, now. We’ve got to go.»
«Where do the stairs lead?»
«Down. Into Capaal.» He shook his head. «Have to hope the others will find some different way to get there.»
He helped Edain to his feet, pulling the Elf’s good arm over his shoulder. Then he snatched the torch from its rack.
«Hold tight, now.»
Slowly, they began their descent.
The Borderman Helt tumbled headlong down the steep slide, weapons flying from him as he fell, the maddened struggle on the cliff ledge left behind. Lights and sound whirled about him as he went, a jumble that spun and faded in his mind. Then came a jarring halt, and he found himself wedged within a mass of brush at the slide’s bottom, sprawled in a tangle of arms and legs. He lay dazed for a minute, the breath knocked from his body. Gingerly he tried to extricate himself from the tangle. It was then that he realized that not all of the arms and legs were his own.
«Easy!» a voice hissed in his ear. «Half broke me in two already!»
The Borderman started. «Slanter?»
«Keep it down!» the other snapped. «They’re all around us!»
Helt lifted his head carefully and blinked his eyes against the dizziness. Torchlight flickered close by, and there were voices calling back and forth through the darkness. He realized suddenly that he lay on top of the little Gnome. With great care, he lifted himself clear of the other, coming unsteadily to his knees within the shadow of the brush.
«Took me right off the ledge with you!» Slanter muttered, disbelief and anger mingling in his voice. The gnarled body straightened, and he peered carefully about through the scrub; the distant firelight reflected in his eyes. «Oh, shades!» he groaned.
