Sorel was kneeling beside Palel, who was conscious but clearly in agony. "Broken collarbone," the medic said without looking up. "Maybe cracked ribs. He needs to be immobilized."
"Do it." I headed to Norel, who was digging at a mound of snow and rock. "Horrov?" I asked.
"I can hear him, Your Highness." Norel's face was pinched with worry and urgency. "He's under here. He's talking to me."
"Keep digging carefully. We shouldn't shift the larger rocks until we know what's supporting what." I dropped to my knees and began clearing debris by hand, working alongside Norel with a focus that pushed everything else to the periphery of my mind.
When we uncovered Horrov, he was thankfully conscious, just hurt and disoriented. One arm was twisted at a wrong angle, and he was covered with bleeding gashes.
After Sorel examined him, he declared that the arm was broken and that he had a possible concussion.
"Moran and Voser," I said. "Has anyone seen them?"
Jeffson shook his head, and the grim expression on his face told me everything I didn't want to hear. "Moran was on the outer edge of the trail when the debris wave hit." He pointedto where the trail had been, now buried and partially collapsed. "He was standing right there."
The implication was clear to all of us. If Moran had been swept off the outer edge of the trail, there was no ledge to catch him on that side. Just a long, steep slope of scree and rock that descended into a gorge.
"And Voser?"
"Behind Moran. They were walking together."
I closed my eyes for one second. Two men. Two men who had families, who had followed me past the boundary because I'd insisted the Silver Princess was worth the risk.
I opened my eyes. "Kelth, take a rope and check the outer edge. See if there's any sign of them on the slope below. Don't go over the edge yourself, just look. Norel, go with him and anchor him."
They moved immediately. Whatever resentment anyone might have felt toward me for pushing past the boundary, it didn't show. In a crisis, rank and blame gave way to the simple imperative of survival.
I turned to Jeffson. "We need to get Gavon off that ledge. He's about five meters below the trail, and his leg may be broken."
"I'll need rope and at least two people to haul him up." He turned to Stevan and Jorris. "You are with me."
When it was all done, and all the injured had been attended to, the impact of the final count devastated me.
Moran and Voser were gone. Kelth found no trace of them on the slope. They had been carried over the edge and down into the gorge. Even if they had survived the initial fall, which was unlikely given the distance, no one could reach them.
Gavon had a broken ankle and a badly sprained wrist. He was pale with pain but still tried to joke about the scene being too dramatic for his script, while Sorel bandaged his ankle, bindingit tightly enough to immobilize the joint and wrapping his wrist more gently.
Palel's collarbone was set and bound. Horrov's arm was splinted, his head wound cleaned and bandaged. Three others had sustained lesser injuries, mostly cuts and bruises.
Of our group of thirteen, two were most likely dead, three were seriously injured, and five more were hurt to varying degrees. Only Jeffson, Kelth, and I had escaped largely unscathed.
"We can't stay here," Jeffson said, standing beside me at the edge of the ruined trail, looking up at the mountain. "The seismic activity could trigger another slide. We need to descend to base camp."
"Can they make it?" I looked at the injured.
Gavon couldn't walk. Palel could manage slowly. Horrov was dizzy and might lose consciousness.
"Not all of them, and not quickly enough." Jeffson pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "The trail below is partially buried. It'll take hours to clear a path wide enough for a stretcher, and we'd need to improvise the stretcher from our packs."
Hours we might not have if the mountain decided to shrug again.
"How long will it take us to reach base camp?" I asked.
"Under normal conditions, the descent would have taken six hours. It will take twice that with the injured and a damaged trail."
Twelve hours. In deteriorating weather, with a mountain that had already proven unstable, carrying people who needed medical attention that Sorel's field kit couldn't provide. Horrov needed a hospital. Gavon's ankle needed to be properly set. Palel's ribs could be worse than Sorel suspected, and a punctured lung would kill him before we reached flat ground.
"We need the red flare," I said. "We have injured who need evacuation, the trail is compromised, we're above the boundary in unstable conditions, and there is no way we can make it to base camp before dark. We will die out here if we don't get help."
