James West - Shadow and Steel

His toes slipped an inch, then two. The cliff’s rough face scraped over his bare chest. Leitos clawed his way onto a ledge no wider than his palm. Rock crumbled. He grasped wildly at empty handfuls of night. A shout climbed up his throat-

— and became a grunt when the fingers of one hand caught the edge of a shallow crack. The jolting halt wrenched his shoulder, and he bit back a groan. He quickly reached up with his free hand and secured a firmer hold. A hundred feet below, barely seen for the darkness, the Sea of Sha’uul crashed over boulders draped with seaweed. The wind sang a haunting song as it passed over the island the Brothers of the Crimson Shield called Witch’s Mole.

Leitos turned his attention to climbing the cliff. The wan moonlight of the Sleeping Widow showed him many knobs and outcrops dotting the face of the sandstone cliff.

Picking a likely route, he swung his feet to a narrow lip, and then inched his fingers along the crack until he stood upright. He gulped a few deep breaths, willed his heart to beat slower, then stabbed his toes into a shallow fracture. Secure as he could hope to be, he reached overhead, and let his fingers seek like blind worms until they crawled over a stony ridge. He gave the lip a little of his weight, then more. It held. Repeating those movements, he resumed his ascent.

He had climbed another twenty paces when Ulmek’s gruff voice called, “There’s the weanling!” Leitos could picture the Brother’s swarthy skin clinging to the sharp bones of his face, his long dark hair held back in a rope-like braid. Not given to smiles, the second in command of the Brothers no doubt smiled now at the opportunity to heap failure upon Leitos, an escaped slave who had inadvertently brought destruction upon the Brothers’ last sanctuary. Where the rest of the Brotherhood had forgiven Leitos, Ulmek held his grudges.

Keeping his face and chest plastered against the rock, Leitos searched the curving rim of the cliff. Fifty feet above and off to one side, a torch moved down a line of shadowed figures, pausing at each man to make smaller flames….

Fire arrows!

As soon as he thought it, the first arrow whooshed across the dark gulf, struck the cliff, and exploded in a hail of sparks. The smell of singed hair flared Leitos’s nostrils as the tiny embers fell over his head, bare arms, and shoulders. He bit back the discomfort, letting it fuel his determination.

More fire arrows followed. All struck near Leitos, but none close enough to prove a true threat. Dark as the night was, that could change if he moved. The longer he stayed put, the more the Brothers derided him. The strain of dangling from the cliff began to cramp his fingers and toes, and his legs and arms trembled. Still the arrows fell, effectively keeping him in place. Doubts, like seeking adders, rose up to poison his will.

Fight until there is no breath in your breast, or blood in your veins , Leitos’s father said within his mind. You are a child of the north, and that is our way.

“I will,” Leitos answered through gritted teeth, and renewed his ascent, doggedly ignoring the barrage of flaming arrows, and praying to the Silent God of All that no errant breeze fouled the Brothers’ aim.

Picking his way up, he soon discovered a hollow just large enough to provide him with shelter and a place to rest. Leitos wedged himself in by cramming his chest against his knees.

“End this farce,” Ulmek called. “Say the word, and I’ll toss you a rope.”

“Never!” Leitos shouted.

Derisive hoots and laughter answered his defiance. Another arrow arced through the darkness, and burst a foot above Leitos’s shelter.

“Mind your aim,” Ba’Sel cautioned. Unlike Ulmek, the sable-skinned Brother was a kind and gentle man. Although they never said it within his hearing, some Brothers grumbled that Ba’Sel had grown too soft to continue leading the Brotherhood. Leitos understood their concerns, but for the last year his entire focus had been on training for this moment. And besides, he owed Ba’Sel his allegiance for taking him in, when any other would have cast him out.

After a final volley of arrows struck the cliff a pace higher than the last, the Brothers vanished. Leitos waited a little longer, then uncurled his legs and let them dangle below his precarious seat. Careful to make no sudden movements, he felt around and found a few suitable wind-carved pocks in the stone above his hollow, and used them to make his way to the rim.

As he stood up on solid ground, a promise Ba’Sel had made earlier came to him. “If you ascend this cliff, there are few obstacles built by the hands of men or gods that will bar your way.” He still had a long night ahead of him, but Leitos could not suppress a wave of joy brought by his latest accomplishment.

Under the cover of darkness, Leitos crept inland, relishing the feel of dew-kissed grass caressing his raw feet and scraped knees. After a few paces, he threw himself facedown, and pressed his lips to the ground.

Leitos hunkered in the damp grass, motionless and silent. Other initiates in years past might have blundered headlong after their prizes, but he had decided to wait, hoping the Brothers would lower their guard.

Clad in only a breechclout, he shivered in the cool night air. Thirst assailed him, and his belly rumbled with hunger, but he ignored these discomforts. It was easy, after spending all but one of his eighteen years clawing ore from the earth, and suffering the ceaseless abuses of demon-born slavemasters.

Despite knowing the Brothers would do him no intentional harm-except maybe Ulmek-Leitos nevertheless felt uneasy, stalked.

Near and far, brush, trees, and deep shadows concealed six Brothers and their treasures. Somehow, he needed to avoid being seen, and to steal those treasures before dawn. Previous tests taken over the last few days had proven his ability with dagger and sword, staff and bow, even his hands and feet. Other trials-swimming around the island for an entire day, only to drag himself out of the sea at dusk to run back and forth across Witch’s Mole until dawn-had confirmed his endurance. This final test required stealth and cunning, patience and discernment, an altogether different set of skills.

Unable to go on resisting the press of time, Leitos finally took to his belly and crawled inland, making for the first of many places he would investigate. He soon reached a broad thicket with a grassy area at its heart. It was a perfect hiding place for a Brother.

Leitos slid under the prickly foliage, and wriggled through moldy leaves until almost reaching the thicket’s center. Careful not to make a sound, he got to his knees and looked around. His breath caught when he saw a shadow creeping through the moonlight, not twenty feet away.

Clad in close-fitting robes colored after the sands of Geldain, and wearing a sword strapped to his back, the Brother strode a few feet and halted, head turning toward Leitos. It was Sumahn. Only a handful of years older than Leitos, It was Sumahn who had found Adham wandering in the Mountains of Fire, some many days after the old man had risen up against the slavemasters in order to free Leitos.

Hoping he resembled a bush, Leitos did not move.

After a time, Sumahn set out again, pausing every few feet to peer about. Leitos relaxed when the warrior moved beside a tree, and tugged aside his robes to make water.

Leitos dropped down and slithered to the grassy spot where he had first seen Sumahn break cover. He was about to crawl into the open, when a contented sigh froze him. Next, he heard the rustle of the man’s clothes. A heartbeat later, he detected the soft crunch of leather-soled boots approaching.