The climb pressed on, steady but relentless, each step a careful measure of weight and will. Ilyrana led from the front, her elven grace giving her the ease of a mountain cat as she sought the most forgiving paths across the rocky face. Behind her trudged Vartha, wide-shouldered and powerful, his bulk making the narrower ledges bow beneath his weight. At the rear, Luke followed, his gaze sweeping back now and then, making sure their trail remained unbroken and that nothing strange followed them from below.
The morning sun had long since passed into its zenith, but here on this face, the blaze never touched them. They were climbing in shadow, spared the sting of noon, though the mountain air was dry enough that their throats felt parched. The pace was not quick, yet neither was it idle; every handhold, every foothold needed care. One slip could spell disaster.
