She whispered, "Jarl, I'll never make it...." Her words died in a quavering sound of pure hysteria.
A trickle of sweat dripped from Jarl's chin. He dug his fingers into her ankles till her blood spurted and ran down his nails. "You'll make it...."
"No, Jarl—! No! I can't—!"
The sweat dripped faster. Jarl could feel Sais' terror. It crawled in her voice and breath and body, quaked and quivered in the very air.
But behind there was only the tender mercy of Bor Legat's raiders.
Ahead, at least they had a faint, slim chance to reach the carrier.
The carrier ... so near, and yet so far.
Through clenched teeth, he said, "You'll make it—or I'll drop you down the crack!"
He tilted her forward.