The hours crawled by.
― ᛟ ―
When twilight deepened into a moonless night under heavy clouds, the darkness was complete. Prince Sylvian drew his spider from the thorn scrub. His gaze surveyed the ravine, now drowned in shadow, as a fine mist rose and crept across the loose stone.
Cautiously, he led the spider along the right-hand cliff face. After several hundred steps, he pulled the reins taut, and the spider began its ascent. The rock was smooth and damp, eight legs seeking purchase in cracks and small ledges while Prince Sylvian leaned far forward to maintain balance. Halfway up, he guided the creature slightly left, angling toward the wall. The stone became brittle. Every step was perilous.
Suddenly, a fragment broke loose beneath a rear leg. As the rock splintered softly, a surge of cold terror struck him, instantly quelled by rigid control. At once, he threw himself sideways, pressing his body against the spider's flank and driving his shoulder against the falling stone. With all his strength, he intercepted its weight and wedged it soundlessly against the rock face. His heart hammered. Yet he forced his body into stillness, listening intently until he was certain the sentries had noticed nothing. The spider climbed on at a measured pace, pressed flat against the rock face, until it reached the height of the palisade.