The Chronicles of Lumineia: Book 01 - Elseerian

by Ben Hale

  Reaching the top, he stopped and removed anything of value from his pack before stashing it into a crook of the tree. Ensuring that everything was strapped on securely, he dropped to a lower branch. The only thing he had kept from his pack besides his weapons was a rope. Once he was done, he stood and ran along a springy branch before leaping to another. Traveling through the trees, he went only thirty feet before dropping lightly to the ground.

  With every sense tuned to the slightest indication of his hunters’ locations, Taryn returned to the cliff below the crack he’d chosen to hide in. Every few seconds he would stop, listen, and check his trail to make sure there were no signs of his passage. Arriving at the wall, he raced forty feet up a tree that grew close to his destination.

  A sudden sound forced him to freeze. Seconds later he heard it again—an elven voice calling out to others. They were on his trail. He glanced at the wall and gauged his time frame. He doubted there was enough time to jump to the wall and climb to his hiding spot before they crossed underneath. He could either wait and hope to make it after they passed . . . or go now and risk being seen on the wall. Resolving to wait, he made sure he was well hidden. Not five seconds later a full company of armed elves came into sight to the east. They raced west and followed his trail to where he’d stopped to look at the cliff.

  Taryn breathed a sigh of relief when he saw them stop to look upward. He’d made the right choice to wait; they would have seen him for sure. After a moment, most of the group flew west along his trail, each movement smooth and fluid, silent hunters in the night. One elf spoke to those remaining, and three elves separated themselves before sprinting east towards the city. The rest of them continued to follow his tracks along the cliff.

  Their efficiency gave Taryn plenty of cause to admire. This was their homeland and they were stalking an intruder. But it was hard to appreciate with him being the hunted. Waiting until they turned into the forest, he looked at the wall and chose two strong handholds and two footholds to jump for. Mentally he rehearsed how he would land against the cliff several times to make sure he could do it. He had to jump almost twenty feet and catch himself nearly sixty feet off the ground—without making a sound.

  Taking a deep breath he pushed off the trunk, ran along a thick branch, and then leapt through the air. Air whistled in his ears as he flew through space straight at the rock face. The instant his hands grabbed stone he clenched his fingers with all his might and brought his feet in to hook the footholds he’d chosen. Using his arms and knees, he cushioned his forward momentum so he wouldn’t bounce off the cliff face.

  Despite his efforts, his right foot slid free—but he somehow managed to catch himself just before the rest of him followed. After he’d regained his balance, he began climbing the wall with a speed that would have astonished any viewer. Hands and feet reached for the knobs and holes he’d chosen from below, so he didn’t have to stop to look where he was going.

  Within ten seconds he’d climbed the forty feet to the crevasse and without hesitation squeezed himself into the protective darkness. Cramming himself into the small space, he froze when he heard light footfalls from the east. Peering out of the darkness he watched another score of elven hunters follow his trail underneath him. Realizing he had been holding his breath, he slowly exhaled in a long sigh of relief—but he still didn’t move a muscle until the elven hunters disappeared into the forest. Once he felt it was safe to move, he began to maneuver his body into a more comfortable position to watch and wait.

  Throughout the night his hiding place turned out to be an excellent vantage point, albeit uncomfortably close to the action. Taryn began to wonder if he would have to stay in his hiding spot all day, but a couple of hours before dawn none other than Liri came into view. Accompanied by a small group of elves, she was led along the cliff face to stop five paces east of his hiding place. Suddenly an elf bounded into view with Taryn’s discarded pack in hand. By their behavior, Taryn couldn’t tell if Liri was a prisoner or not, but at least she wasn’t bound . . . or dead.

  One of the elves grabbed the pack from the newcomer and spoke sharply to Liri. As the elf leaned in to ask his question, the moonlight glinted off his light blue armor. Although Taryn couldn’t hear the question, it was evident that he wanted Liri to explain the source of the pack. Liri shook her head with a fairly convincing bewildered look. At first Taryn thought the captain would explode in anger, but for some inexplicable reason he visibly cooled his feelings before responding. For several minutes the two of them argued back and forth until another elf cut in timidly with some comment.

  The leader seemed angry with the younger soldier, but Liri responded to whatever the young elf had said with another shake of her head. Her response must have calmed the captain somewhat, because he paused for a moment and then gave out some quick orders to several of the elves. As they jumped to obey, Taryn noticed that they appeared to avoid Liri—and not in a bad way. Almost like water slipping around a rock, they flowed past her, giving her a wide berth. The odd behavior spoke of deference, rather than suspicion or fear. It reminded him of the recent conversations they had shared, causing him to consider for the first time that Liri had kept far more from him than he’d originally thought.

  Who was Liri?

  The next sixty seconds were a blur of activity as most of the patrol returned east towards the city with Liri in their midst. Several of them remained and took up positions along the base of the cliff and, Taryn assumed, in the forest as well. Unfortunately for Taryn, one of the elves decided to stand almost directly below where he was concealed.

  Unnatural silence returned to the forest below within seconds of the elves departure, leaving Taryn alone in his fissure with several alert elves spread out below him. Relief flooded through him as he realized that his ruse had been successful. On Sri Rosen, the lessons on tracking had been . . . difficult for him, and despite his best efforts to practice, he’d never once been able to track someone down. But he had managed a passable effort at evading capture. He still considered his efforts to elude the elves more luck than skill though, and hoped his luck would hold.

  But as more time passed, he began to think he’d made a mistake. The elves below him gave no sign of leaving, placing him in a difficult situation. Considering what to do, he took a few minutes to weigh his options and wonder at the elven leader’s actions. The blue-armored elf had done almost exactly as he’d expected right down to bringing Liri to the trail. What surprised him was the fact that he’d left guards. There was no way an intruder would return on the same route by which he had escaped, so why post the sentries?

  After a few minutes of considering it, Taryn realized that the elf had left guards because he didn’t know what to do—and the strange fear affecting everyone had pushed him to do something, even if the action didn’t make sense.

  Whatever the reason for the sentries, it sharply limited Taryn’s options. With the coming of dawn his hiding spot would be revealed for any wandering eyes. He could either risk staying through the day, or start his climb right now and try to make it most of the way before the sun came up. Glancing down at the elves, he made his decision. He would have to make his attempt immediately. At least the sentries were facing into the forest and weren’t likely to turn around unless he broke the silence.

  Extricating himself from the small crevice proved to take more time than he’d expected, but he forced himself to move slowly to keep his weapons from scraping the rock. Once clear, he took a good grip on the wall as soon as he had the chance and began to climb.

  Unfortunately he was unable to use the rope he’d kept. He found no place to tie it, and even if he could it would do him no good, but there was no other option. Dropping it or leaving it in his hold would have revealed his presence, and his route. He couldn’t risk it.

  Knowing he didn’t have much time before he got tired or the sun came up, he scaled the massive cliff as rapidly as he could. Despite his speed he was careful to plan a route, climb, stop, and th
en plan another route. He didn’t end up climbing straight, but his crooked path kept him from hitting the frequent smooth patches that would have taken precious time to backtrack and circumnavigate.

  Thirty minutes before the first rays of light graced the horizon, Taryn had scaled nearly half of the Giant’s Shelf. By the time the sun had come up enough for anyone to spot him easily, he’d climbed another two hundred feet. He was beginning to think it wouldn’t be too difficult—until the cliff abruptly turned sheer.

  Eight hundred feet off the ground the stone had been smoothed by the elements, leaving precious few handholds. Pausing for a moment, Taryn wiped the sweat that had begun to sting his eyes and flexed his forearms, trying to restore their weakening grip. It was taking longer and longer to find a route with fewer and fewer places to grasp. His tired hands and sore feet slowed him even further, forcing him to find paths with easier grips. To make matters worse, the wind had picked up, grabbing and tugging at him as it blew past his struggling form.

  The next hundred feet took nearly two hours of painstaking and exhausting effort. Time and time again Taryn was forced to backtrack, lowering himself to a previous position before taking a second look. Carefully he would climb sideways in search of some tiny ledge or nook that would support his weight.

  At nine hundred feet he got lucky and found a ledge nearly four inches wide that curved gently up and to the side. Grasping it gratefully, he looked for something to pull himself up so he could stand—but didn’t see anything. No holes or bumps were big enough to grip, no sections of rock offered enough surface for even the tips of his fingers . . . nothing. Looking west he saw that the ledge ran for at least a hundred feet and with its rise in elevation, would take him to within fifty feet of the top. Glancing down he checked to see if there were any toeholds but didn’t see anything below the ledge either.

  For a second he considered using his father’s sword to cut into the rock and pull himself up, but immediately dismissed the idea. He was quite high, but not invisible, and the flash of magic would almost certainly draw unwanted attention. Using his sword would have to be a last resort.

  Taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady his tired muscles, he took all the weight off one hand at a time. Clenching and unclenching his hands, he tried to prepare for the only option he had left—let himself hang from the ledge with nothing to support his feet while he inched his way along it.

  Tired and sore, Taryn allowed his body to dangle nine hundred feet off the ground . . . and began to slowly work his way along the ledge. Sliding one hand, and then the other, he pushed himself sideways and tried to ignore the angry wind whipping at his clothes. With sweat dripping from his nose, he reached the halfway point. Hoping to find somewhere to place a toe and provide momentary relief he paused to check the wall above and below, but he found nothing and had no choice but to keep going.

  As he approached the end of the ledge, it began to taper off, thinning to two inches . . . and then to barely enough for a fingertip. Now little more than a hairsbreadth of stone kept him from plummeting to his death. With shaking arms he reached the end and looked around for something to grip. The only thing within reach was a crack in the wall that started a foot above the ledge. Slightly smaller than his hand, it ran up and curved a little before ending five feet from the top.

  Seeing that the crack was completely smooth on the sides, Taryn braced his fingers and lifted himself up. Face smashed into the cliff and clinging to the rock with trembling fingers—he let go with his right hand. Quickly reaching up, he forced his hand into the crack and formed a fist, pressing his flesh against the sides of the crack. Clenching the fist with all his might, he let go with his left hand . . . and began to slide down.

  Gritting his teeth, he forced his hand into a tighter ball that stopped him from falling by pressing against the sides of the split stone. His skin began to tear, eliciting a growl, but he had no other options. Pulling himself up with all his weight resting on his fist, he placed his left hand into the crack in the same manner and was finally able to lift himself up enough to rest his feet on the tiny ledge.

  Taryn took the moment to rest and take stock of his situation. The crack would take him close to the top, but it would require his last shred of strength to do so. Glancing at the location of the sun, he was surprised to see that it had already passed its apex. He’d been climbing for almost ten hours!

  Knowing his life depended on it, he tried to steady his breath before placing both fists into the crack. By putting his foot sideways into the crack and then twisting his leg until it was upright, he was able to place enough leverage on the rock that it could support his weight. Wincing against the pain in his hands and feet, he drove himself to continue. Fist after painstaking fist, he scaled the tiny crack, and forty feet later he found himself only five feet from the top.

  With every ounce of strength he had left, he braced his left fist into the very top of the crack and reached as high as he could with right hand. One thousand feet off the ground, Taryn found an extremely good grip that would take him to safety—six inches out of reach. He cursed under his breath and with his face pressed against the cliff, looked around for something else.

  All around him the rock had been worn smooth, leaving nothing with enough purchase for him to use. Clenching his eyes shut, he listened to the ragged sound of his breathing, wishing there was another way, but in his heart he knew there wasn’t.

  Exhausted, he wiped the sweat off his right hand, rubbed it against the wall to get some sense of grip back, crouched on cramped feet . . . and jumped.

  Chapter 12: Azertorn

  Taryn propelled himself upward only a few inches, but it felt like much further. With muscles shaking in protest, he forced his hand to grab the jutting piece of rock . . . and hold on tight. Knowing he didn’t have much time, he reached up with his left hand and grabbed a tiny crack. From there it took two tries before he was able to get high enough to place his left hand on the very top of the Giant’s Shelf. Lifting himself up, he inched his way forward until more of his weight leaned horizontal than vertical. Then he rolled himself onto the plateau with a grunt of effort.

  Chest heaving from the exertion of climbing for so long, he felt a rush of relief and pride wash over him. Grinning wide he almost laughed, but for some reason his mind turned to Murai. What would he have thought of what he’d just done? The pang of sorrow lanced through him, replacing the relief with a bitter taste.

  He missed him more than he realized.

  Distracted and weary, it took him half an hour before he felt able to continue. Lying flat, he scanned his surroundings, checking to make sure he hadn’t been seen. With the exception of a few lonely pine trees, the Giant’s Shelf was remarkably barren. Rarely a scrub oak or other plant reached higher than a man's chest. A couple of miles back a forest grew thick and strong, but the space between the edge and the tree line remained dominated by small brush struggling to find purchase in the flat stone. East of his position he could see the trees growing thick next to the river that fed the western falls of Azertorn.

  After resting, Taryn took some time to flex his muscles to assess his condition. His arms and legs were sore and at least still functional, but his forearms and hands were another story. In the short time that he’d lain there, they had cramped to the point where he could barely grip with his hands. He could deal with the pain, but his grip had lost most of its strength. He doubted he would be able to hold his swords well enough to fight for a few hours.

  Deciding there wasn’t much he could do about the situation, he rolled his body over and rose into a crouch to look around. As he forced his legs to respond, he was unable to stop a groan of protest at the effort. Checking one more time for any sign of movement, he attempted to stretch the sore muscles all over his body. It didn’t help much, but at least he was able to move in silence.

  His immediate position offered some concealment, but not enough to allow him to stay for long. If anyone came within a hundred yards
he was sure to be spotted. Preferring to move towards the city, he began to work his way in that direction. Without a sound, he moved from one barely adequate cover to another, feeling grateful as the movement began to ease his sore body.

  Before the sun had begun to set, Taryn slipped into the trees that grew beside the river. He was a little surprised at the lack of elven presence. There should have been guards along the cliff top, but not a single soul could be seen.

  Entering the forest, he took even greater care than he had on the plateau—and it was a good thing he did. Within ten steps he encountered a sentry hidden behind the trunk of a tree. Inching past him, he bypassed the soldier without event, but before long found another elf, and then another. Every twenty feet another sentinel would force him to slow down and sneak past. It took nearly an hour to pass the five sentries and reach the river.

  The sun was just beginning to sink into the horizon when he came to the flowing water, and he slid into a shadowy vantage point. Fifty feet of white water separated him from the wall of stone that rose up on the opposite bank. The wall rose out of the water for nearly a hundred feet with the first half made of solid rock, while the second half appeared to be built of layered stones to create a strong defense against intruders. Battlements crowned the wall, and from Taryn’s position he could see numerous guards manning the top. No section of ground separated the city wall from the water, which created the illusion that the city grew straight out of the river. Swimming would be out of the question. Not only would the current carry him over the cliff in an instant, there would be no way for him to climb the wall before someone sunk an arrow into him.

  Seeing no opening, he began to follow the bank of the river to the north in the hope that another opportunity might present itself. In his heart he doubted the river would really be an option. He’d been hoping the elves would not have been so vigilant above the shelf, but the unnatural fear must have caused them to place more security than normal. As he worked his way through the trees along the bank, he considered his various ideas on how to get into the city—until he walked into a sentry . . .