Free Merek's Ascendance by Andrew Lashway Page B

other man’s eyes cleared, and he stared at Merek in an unshakable gaze.
    “Can you move your legs?”
    “Yes,” Thorald replied immediately, getting to his feet but immediately faltering.
    “Good enough, that can make do.” Merek looked up, trying to gauge how much time they had. The sky was about half black now. They would soon get swallowed up.
    He pulled Thorald to the bridge, trying to best figure out how to get the wounded man up the ravine.
    Then he got an idea born from having to carry his drunken father home from a tavern on more than one occasion.
    Quickly pulling out his hunting knife, he cut a length of rope and called Thorald to him.
    “Alright, I’m going to carry you up. But just in case you can’t hold on, we’re going to bind your hand so you don’t fall.”
    Thorald nodded once to show he understood, but his gaze was faltering.
    “Alright,” Merek said, turning his back to Thorald, “put one arm over my shoulder, and the other arm under my other shoulder.” Thorald did exactly that, resting heavily on Merek’s back. Merek tied his hands together as tightly as he could.
    “Hold on as tight and as long as you can,” Merek said, grabbing hold of the rope. He felt Thorald tighten his grip, though he was sure it wasn’t going to last.
    Then Merek began the climb.
    Carrying his own weight would have been taxing enough, but with the added weight of Thorald, the climb was nearly impossible. His arms shook with fatigue after only a few pulls, and beads of sweat ran down his face as he climbed.
    Then he put his legs against the side of the cliff, and the climb became marginally easier on him. But the difference in position meant Thorald was hanging almost exclusively by Merek’s torso, and if his grip should falter…
    Merek poured everything he had into climbing faster. He ignored the harsh breath that was torn from his lungs, and he ignored the sweat that climbed into his eyes that he couldn’t wipe away. He just kept climbing, even as his breathing became more and more labored. He had to make it to the top, and he would not be deterred. His hands were bleeding, coating every handful of rope in blood as his hands burned and stung, but still he would not be stopped.
    He was still very surprised when he actually made it. He got both arms on the cliff, hoisting himself part of the way up. But he could go no further with Thorald on his back.
    “Thorald,” he tried to say, but no word came out. He didn’t have enough air to speak it.
    Thorald had enough wherewithal to lift a leg over the side, taking some of the weight off of Merek. Merek was able to help push Thorald off of him, giving him a safe haven on top of the cliff.
    Then he couldn’t maintain his grip anymore. His hands bloody, his arms exhausted, Merek slipped from the cliff.
    Thorald caught him.
    Hands still bound by ropes, Thorald nonetheless grabbed Merek as he fell, pushing him into the side of the cliff. The pure force Thorald held him with did nothing to help his difficulty breathing, but it gave him enough time to get a better grip on the cliff. As soon as Thorald saw he was again anchored somewhat safely, he grabbed Merek by the shirt and helped pull him the rest of the way.
    “ I really didn’t…” Thorald wheezed, “Think that would work.”
    “Me…” Merek replied between pained gasps, “either.”
    Then Merek saw the full fury of the storm, and his breath vanished for an entirely different reason.
    The storm clouds, black as the night, had somehow broken free of their home in the sky and touched down to earth. The clouds spun in circles, kicking up dust that was soon swallowed up in the chaos.
    “A tornado?” Thorald said, his face blank from overwhelming shock.
    Merek simply nodded, though he didn’t have the first clue what a tornado was. He didn’t have to deal with any of those back on the farm.
    But at least that seemed to explain the uprooted trees and abandoned cottage. Merek wouldn’t want to live near a