Yells of triumph broke from the path. One of the archers had hit Jirvy in the shoulder. The shaft of the arrow stuck out of the warden’s flesh, blocking the movement of his left arm. He wedged his bow between his thighs and, his entire posture a scream of pain, snapped the shaft in two. Despite the head of the arrow still stuck in him, he drew his bow and nocked another arrow.

The pursuers sped another flight of arrows upward. An arrow buried its head deep in Jirvy’s thigh and another struck his chest below the already wounded shoulder. Even so, he held on to his bow and loosed an arrow. Then he slumped forward.

“Jirvy’s down,” Elen shouted.

Xilsi ran down the path to Fulmo. Using the gagast as her shield, she commenced loosing arrows at the soldiers exposed on the path. They shot back, but their arrows hit the rock or the gagast, who might as well have been rock himself as the metal points bounced off him. Xilsi hit two of the enemy before the pursuers retreated.

Luviara reached the far side. She knelt, heaving and trembling. In a whisper, she said, “Had I known, I’d have let you rig the rope around me and haul me up that cursed shaft, dignity be damned. Then I could have used my last strong air spirit for this cursed crossing.”

“Better if you had a means to get Jirvy across,” said Elen, before shouting, “Simo! Come now!”

“I can’t leave the prince!” he called back.

She pointed above him, and he looked up just as the haunt leaped down and onto the ledge. Or flew down. Elen couldn’t be sure; she’d been watching Jirvy, so if the haunt had climbed down the cliff face, she’d missed it. How he had managed it so quickly she couldn’t know, because she saw no trace of wings or smoke. He said something to Simo and ran down to where Fulmo blocked the path. He and Xilsi squeezed past the gagast. With Xilsi covering him with her bow, the haunt climbed up to Jirvy and, impossibly, got the groaning, half-conscious warden down to the path. Once on level ground, even as narrow as it was, he draped the warden across his shoulders as easily as if Jirvy were a child. He and Xilsi retreated back to the ledge. A scattershot of arrows followed as the pursuers realized their prey was fleeing. A shouted order from their leader demanded the troop advance. Fulmo did not shift, still blocking the path.

Simo crossed the bridge, followed by the haunt, who balanced as deftly on the planks as if he were on solid ground, even with Jirvy hanging across his shoulders and the bridge sagging alarmingly from the extra weight. Xilsi careened after them like a wild drunk and was sobbing by the time she reached the pier.

“I hate heights,” she wheezed out to Elen.