As Kezra turned to face the three last survivors, Mrs Grinn, flashed her sight towards Beccus, making sure she had rolled out of sight of the dragon just as Kenneth had done. She half-smiled at the witch and the bard. Olen slung the strap of the bag over her shoulders, making the satchel look as small as a bum-bag. Beccus splatted onto the rocks dramatically. ‘And squish!’ said Kezra, bringing her wing down slowly onto the armoured woman. Hoping that Kezra was too focused on her own role to notice, Mrs Grinn twirled the wands of winds concealed in her sleeve, encouraging the bag to veer around and up level of the cliff just enough so that Olen could lean over and snatch it from the air. She squeezed her elbows into her sides as the bag sank beyond the edge. In that moment, her whole body visibly cringed. ‘Sir Wyatt!’ With the end of the strap in her hand Beccus swung the bag around her like a hammer and launched it directly to the space ten feet to the left of the rest of the party. To her dismay, Braegar had turned his attention back to her.’ The weathered swordsmith darted to a hiding spot amongst the rocks, shedding a single tear for her young apprentice, but in doing so, missing the best opportunity to re-join her group. ‘However, the young acrobat’s demise was not in vain, for in his sacrifice he had given his mentor Lady Dran enough time to retrieve the bag. Kezra giggled to herself and stomped her feet in glee. Kenneth unsteadily feigned his own death then hobbled down the side of the wall, out of view. ‘Thwack’ said Kezra nudging Kenneth with her dip-died tail. ‘Despite Sir Liddle’s unparalleled agility, he could do naught to avoid Bragaer’s swinging tail, which caught the boy on the side, casting him dead to the rocks below.’ Snatching it up mid-run she dived behind a rock, cradling it to her front. ‘I’ve been distracted.’īeccus sprinted towards the bag behind the hobbling dragon’s feet. ‘Try and get me if you think you’re fast enough!’ ‘Over here you great brute’ the knight yelled once upright again. Beccus prepared to run, just waiting for her queue. Just a moment, mouthed Kenneth, leaning over with his hands on his thighs. The inflexion on the words inferred that it was intended to be empathetic, but the tension in his throat made it into something more abrasive. ‘Let’s just say that’s high enough, yes?’ said Fllegm. ‘Just a little steeper than I thought it would be. ‘I can help you up if you like’ offered Kezra as herself. He was about a third of the way up the wall he needed to climb before he held his hand out to show he needed a breather. Squatting for longer than Mrs Grinn thought necessary or comfortable, he eventually found he could lean on the higher section of the wall to straighten out again. Turning around, the old knight perched his rear on the wall then brought his knees up gently.
He took a moment to stretch his limbs and assess how best to climb up. With a steady rocking motion, he levered himself off back onto the floor. He flapped his arms like a lame goose, stuck to the ridge of the wall by his armour. From this prone position, he was unable to swing his legs over to find any purchase. Kenneth eased himself onto the low wall belly first. ‘Using the skills gained during years raised as a circus acrobat, the youngest of Wyatt’s men leaped onto the highest ridge of the cliff with grace close to that of a leopard.’ ‘But I can discern no way to pass without the dragon seeing me.’ ‘Lady Dran’ hollered Fllegm in the voice of the heroic wyvern-slayer.
He counted his blessings, that despite his horse’s demise, the load it had carried still somehow remained. ‘It was in that moment that Sir Wyatt spotted his satchel, strewn on the ground beyond the wyvern’s feet. Beccus shot him a warning look, to which he reluctantly shook himself back into character. Mrs Grinn saw Fllegm tighten his grip on his sword and frown. To their backs, the deathly drop into the storm swelling waves of the tyrant’s sea to their front, the fearsome colossus Braegar Bluetail making his steady, implacable approach.’ Their armour worn and broken, their swords danced and chimed to bluntness, their bones weary, yet they remained resilient, shields raised high and feet pressed firmly into the blood-soaked footholds of the cliff edge. ‘Wyatt’s band were cornered’ said Fllegm.