The wet rock offered little friction, forcing him to rely on upper-body strength, which, thankfully, he had plenty of. Still, it was not an easy feat, and sweat mixed with ocean spray on his face.
Fifty feet up. A hundred. The rocks below became dark shapes.
At a hundred and fifty feet, he reached the first intermediate anchor—three bolts arranged in a triangle, a bombproof system capable of holding several climbers at once.
Okidu had placed these during Carol's rescue, and they'd held solid through years of weather and corrosion.
Yamanu clipped a safety sling to the anchor before continuing. If the rope above failed, the sling would catch him.
He kept climbing.
At two hundred feet, he could hear voices from above. Female voices. Tula and Areana, playing out their scene.
Almost there.
Two-fifty.
Two seventy-five.
The cliff's edge was close now, less than thirty feet above.
That was when he extended his thrall and began shrouding.
It was like throwing a blanket over reality. It wasn't heavy or difficult, but it required constant attention.
Any humans witnessing the drama would see Tula standing at the cliff's edge, with Areana trying to talk her down, and they would see Tula jump. Yamanu would plant in their heads that they had already rushed to see what happened to Tula and had seen her white nightgown being swallowed by the waves.
Yamanu pulled himself up the final few feet, transitioning smoothly over the cliff's edge and crouching in front of a stone bench that was positioned close to the edge. He didn't do it to hide from the guards because they wouldn't see him thanks to his shroud. He did it in case one of the other ladies of the harem decided to investigate what was going on.
Though if that happened, the whole rescue would fail, and he would have to abort the mission.
From his position, he could see the entire tableau—Tula in her white nightgown, Areana reaching for her, two guards watching the drama from a couple of hundred feet away.
He checked the compact emergency chest sling on his back, made from reinforced webbing with quick-release buckles, designed for exactly this kind of rescue. He pulled it free while still keeping low.
Tula looked at Areana, and something passed between them. Then she started backing up toward the cliff edge, toward where Yamanu waited.
She looked over her shoulder, finding him crouched behind the bench, and her eyes went wide with panic. For a split second, he thought she might actually scream for real, but she caught herself, gave him the slightest nod, and continued backing toward him.
As she reached the very edge, Yamanu stood, wrapped the chest sling around her torso in one practiced motion, and clipped the carabiner to his harness just as she stepped backward into space.
Tula gasped as the sling caught her weight, her hands instinctively grabbing for his arms.
"I've got you," he whispered. "Arms around my neck."
Above them, Areana screamed. Shouting followed—male voices.
Tula tried to comply, but she was trembling, probably from fear, and her grip was weak.
One hand slipped, then the other, weakened by emotional turmoil or fear or both, and suddenly she was sliding down, the chest sling catching her but leaving her dangling below him.
She screamed in raw terror.
Areana lunged forward as if she could catch Tula, her foot caught on the wet stone, and she pitched forward, arms windmilling.
She went over the ledge, but Yamanu's hand shot out, catching her wrist. The sudden weight nearly pulled his arm out of its socket, but immortal strength let him lock his position, one hand on the rope, one holding Areana.
"Let me go," she gasped, eyes wide with shock. "Save Tula. Let me?—"
