Skyfall by Catherine Asaro Page A

”
    “It is our best chance of survival.”
    Roca closed her eyes. “Gods help us.”
    Eldri answered in a low voice. “Yes.”
    The climb seemed to take forever. The animals would walk a short distance, then stop. Apparently they had to wait as each rider executed the jump. Every time the line moved again, Eldri exhaled behind her.
    Then came the long stop.
    Roca knew tragedy had hit before the call came back. Shock reverberated from the riders. Then the word reached them: someone hadn’t made it. He and his lyrine had plunged down the side of the mountain.
    Eldri leaned his forehead against the back of her head. His pain fell over her like a great weight.
    “I am much sorry,” she said softly. “Know you him?”
    “Yes.” His voice caught. “We grew up together.”
    “I am so very much sorry.”
    He said nothing, but she realized he was crying silently, his shoulders shaking.
    After a while they moved again. Eldri lifted his head, but he spoke no more.
    When they finally reached the break, Roca stared in disbelief. Their path here was more a ledge than a road, and it ended in a jagged breach. It didn’t resume until several meters beyond, leaving a broken stretch longer than a lyrine. Garlin was standing on the other side, bundled in furs, coiling a rope that had one end tied to several ringbolts in the cliff. Dark blue clouds covered the sky and cast a pall over the waning day.
    Garlin threw the free end of the rope across the gap. Eldri caught it, then tied a length around Roca’s waist and his own. She doubted it was strong enough to hold them if they didn’t make the jump, given what had happened to the rider they lost, but it was better than nothing.
    “Ready?” Eldri asked.
    She took an uneven breath. “Yes.”
    He backed his mount down the trail. Then he leaned forward and kicked with his heels. The lyrine surged up the path, its muscles bunching under them. With a great leap, it sailed into the air. Before Roca had a chance to breathe, its feet hit the other side and rocks went flying. As the animal stumbled, one hoof going over the edge, Garlin reeled in the rope, trying to pull them toward him.
    Then the lyrine caught its balance and stepped unevenly down the trail. Eldri whispered in his own language.
    “What say you?” Roca’s voice trembled.
    He too spoke shakily. “By Rillia’s Arrow.”
    “I know not Rillia, but if his arrow bring us here safely, I thank him.”
    “I also.”
    “Eldri?”
    “Yes?”
    She breathed in, trying to settle her pulse. “How go we back tomorrow?”
    “I will send people to bridge the break.”
    “You can do this? You say it never happened before.”
    “My rock-builders have made many bridges. They can fix worse than this.”
    She touched his arm. “My sorrow for your friend.”
    “Thank you.” His answer was so quiet she barely heard. She felt the tears he kept inside, unable to shed them in front of his men.
    They continued on, so other riders would have room to jump. The line of lyrine hugged the precarious path in the last light of the fading day.

4
Windward
    T he castle rose out of the dusk. Roca had sagged over the neck of the lyrine, but now she sat upright, gaping. Windward was literally sculpted from the mountain, with ethereal stone spires, flying buttresses, and soaring towers. Her breath caught. No primitive culture had created this keep. It stood on an island encircled by a canyon so deep, she couldn’t see the bottom. They were crossing an arched, buttressed span of rock that provided the only access to the fortress.
    “Gods above,” Roca murmured. Wide enough for four lyrine to ride abreast, the bridge led to a portcullis in the massive wall of the fortress. “This is incredible.”
    “You like my house?” Eldri asked.
    “House?” She laughed shakily as they rode under the portcullis. “It is a monument.”
    “It is as old as all time.”
    Roca smiled. “All time?”
    “Since before history.” He waved at the sky. “Legend