Too old for this by far. Men his age didn't reach his age falling for stupid plans like this one. Was he getting soft? Soft-brained.
He pulled himself round a chiselled projection, scrabbled with his feet for a moment, then edged over, drew himself up and found ledges that would take his weight. A whimper escaped him, sounding pathetic even to his own ears, as he settled against the stone.
A while later, he lifted his head and began looking round, searching for a suitable outcrop or knob of rock that he could loop his rope over.
Quick Ben's rope, conjured out of nothing. Will it even work here, or will it just vanish? Hood's breath, I don't know enough about magic.
Don't even know enough about Quick, and I've known the bastard for bloody ever. Why isn't he the one up here?
Because, if the Short-Tails noticed the gnat on their hide, Quick was better backup, even down there, than Kalam could have been. A crossbow quarrel would be spent by the time it reached this high – you could just pluck it out of the air. As for Stormy – a whole lot more expendable than me, as far as I'm concerned – the man swore he couldn' t climb, swore that as a babe he never once made it out of his crib without help.
Hard imagining that hairy-faced miserable hulk ever fitting into a crib in the first place.
Regaining control of his breathing, Kalam looked down.
To find Quick Ben and Stormy nowhere in sight. Gods below, now what?
The modest features of the ash-laden plain beneath offered little in the way of cover, especially from this height. Yet, no matter where he scanned, he saw no-one. The tracks they had made were faintly visible, leading to where the assassin had left them, and at that location there was… something dark, a crack in the ground. Difficult to determine scale, but maybe… maybe big enough to swallow both of the bastards.
He resumed his search for projections for the rope. And could see none. 'All right, I guess it's time. Cotillion, consider this a sharp tug on your rope. No excuses, you damned god, I need your help here.'
He waited. The moan of the wind, the slippery chill of the mist.
'I don't like this warren.'
Kalam turned his head to find Cotillion alongside him, one hand and one foot holding the god in place. He held an apple in the other hand, from which he now took a large bite.
'You think this is funny?' Kalam demanded.
Cotillion chewed, then swallowed. 'Somewhat.'
'In case you hadn't noticed, we're clinging to a sky keep, and it's got companions, a whole damned row of them.'
'If you needed a ride,' the god said, 'you'd be better off with a wagon, or a horse.'