When the ground gave way under her, it did so quite slowly, which meant that at first she wasn’t sure what was happening. Shane was suddenly about a foot higher up the hill than he had been, and she had the vague notion that he’d taken a step up. Then she was listing sideways unexpectedly and there was nothing under her right foot and she realized that the section of trail she was standing on was sliding down the mountain and taking her with it.
She let out an undignified squawk and grabbed for solid ground—and got two handfuls of mud instead.
She slid sideways down the hill, mostly on her side. Everything felt strangely slow, as if she was moving through mud. Which I am. I just expected mud to be faster.
She came to a squelching stop. Marguerite looked around, confused, and realized that she had actually slid down the hill to the next switchback, about ten feet down. Both her legs were encased in mud up to the knee.
Is it over?
She tried to pull herself out of the mud, onto the trail ahead. It did not go well. Mud oozed over the tops of her boots and she stopped, realizing that she was going to lose both boots. Still, if I stay put, maybe one of the others can get to me and we can dig down—
The second patch of trail gave way.
Either this section wasn’t as solid or the weight of the mud was starting to add up, because it went a lot faster. Marguerite flopped forward on her belly, grabbing for anything solid that might slow her descent.
A small clump of sedge was the only handhold and she sank her fingers into it while the trail continued to pour out from under her, gaining strength and speed as it went. Mud pulled at her legs.
One boot gave way.
“Shit,” she said aloud. “Shit, shit, shit.” Her voice sounded very calm as she said it. It would have been rather nice if someone had been impressed by that, but Shane probably couldn’t hear her and Davith and Wren were presumably too busy trying not to slide down the mountain themselves.
Her focus narrowed down to her right hand and the sedge, which was now at the edge of the washed-out area. Possibly its roots were what was holding the remaining section of trail together.
What was the weight-bearing capacity of a grassy tuft less than six inches wide?
“Good plant,” she gasped. “Sturdy plant.” Could she pull herself up? No, she could not. Was there another handhold? She groped for one along the exposed edge of the trail, and clumps of earth calved away under her fingers. Shit.
And then an arm seemed to materialize next to her face, and Shane got a grip on her coat and pulled her up. Marguerite got a face full of mud and the fabric cut into her armpits in a way that would probably leave bruises later, but she didn’t care. Her arm went around his neck and she buried her face in his shoulder. Good paladin. Sturdy paladin. Even better than the plant.
He was saying something to her, in that marvelously soothing voice. She wanted to collapse into it and rest. Surely you would not be allowed to fall off a cliff while someone was talking to you like that.
…What was he saying, exactly?
“You have to let go,” he repeated.
Let go? She couldn’t let go. If she let go, she was going to fall. Still, he seemed insistent.
Marguerite reluctantly tried to loosen her grip around his neck.
“No,” Shane said, very patiently, “not me. Let go of the plant.”
Marguerite looked down the length of her right arm. It seemed very long. She couldn’t quite feel her fingers, but yes, there they were, dug into the sedge that was now very much worse for wear.
“Ah,” she said, and told her fingers sternly to relax. Thank you, good plant. I will make an offering to the Lady of Grass in your honor.
Shane, on his knees, began to shuffle backward along the trail, still holding Marguerite, until they reached a spot that seemed to be more stone than mud. He got to his feet and set her down. “Are you injured?”
“I don’t think so?” She tested her footing and excruciating pain failed to shoot up either of her legs. Her bare foot squelched. “I think I’m okay. Bruised, but nothing’s broken.”
“Good,” he said.
A moment passed, during which Marguerite realized that her arms were still wrapped around his neck. It occurred to her that it would be somewhat difficult to walk in this position.
“I should probably let go of you.”
“Only when you’re ready.”
She did not feel particularly ready, but another, more pressing thought struck her. “Wren! Davith!”
“They’re fine. But we do have a problem.”
Marguerite reluctantly let him go. As soon as she stepped back, the wind hit her again and the rain seemed to redouble. Rivulets ran down her face and her hair slapped wetly against the back of her neck.
Oh well, at least it’ll wash off some of the mud… She pulled the hood of her cloak up and turned back to look at the trail.
She was glad that the hood hid her expression because the sight made her blanch. A good twenty feet had been washed out, gone in a churn of mud that looked more like a cattle wallow than a trail. I rode that down? Another cold wave of adrenaline shivered through her as she realized just how bad things could have been, if not for the sedge.
Up the hillside, on the next switchback, she saw Wren and Davith looking down. She waved up to them and both sagged in relief.
But if they’re up there on the original trail…how did Shane get down here? “Did you get caught in the slide too?”
“No. I climbed down.”
Given the steepness of the trail, it had probably been less of a climb and more of a controlled fall.
She swallowed. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. My armor could be better. Mud and chainmail is not the best of combinations.”
Marguerite eyed Wren and Davith. Wren was facing toward the stone wall, and even with the lighting, Marguerite thought she looked remarkably pale. “How do they get over here?”
“I don’t think they do. There’s no way to cross that safely.”
The others had clearly come to the same conclusion, judging by the hand gestures. Davith nodded glumly, then cupped his hands around his mouth. “We’ll catch up with you!” he shouted, then turned back, tugging at Wren’s sleeve.
“They’ll have to backtrack to the last fork,” said Shane. “Hopefully the two trails will reconnect somewhere lower down. I don’t know how long that will take, but hopefully we can find shelter somewhere below and wait for them.”
“Think they’ll be okay?”
Shane watched the two, impassive. Davith appeared to be alternating talking and tugging Wren back down the path. “Will he take this opportunity to abandon her and escape?”
“Davith? No. I doubt it would even occur to him. He’s a cad, but he’s not actually a bad person.”
“Then I doubt their risk is substantially greater than ours. I cannot imagine any pursuers would give chase in this weather.”
Marguerite nodded. The Red Sail had deep pockets, but there were limits.
The pair vanished with a final wave. Marguerite dug into her pack and pulled out her spare pair of shoes. They were lighter, meant for court wear, and they were going to be absolutely ruined, but it was still better than going barefoot. She gazed at the embroidery with a touch of sorrow, then slid them onto her feet.
“Ready?” asked Shane.