Bill Fitts

Sokhal's Star Bill Fitts

Kenrad adjusted his position, wedging himself in the crevice. His free hand found nothing but soft rock that crumbled at his touch. Now what? Leaning his forehead against the cliff, he breathed out once, twice, and then again. He loosed his handhold, sagging back on his right foot, then sprang out of his crouch. His free foot dug at the crumbling soil on the cliff's face and his left hand grabbed frantically for the rock he knew was there. With the surge of his leap fading, he suddenly found the rock, lower than he had remembered it. He pushed down with his left hand, reaching for the cliff edge with his right. His searching fingers met long, thick blades of grass. His foot struck solid rock. Without another thought he forced himself up and over, collapsing facedown at the top of the cliff. Gasping for breath, he rolled over. A tall man loomed above him, his face shielded by his hooded cloak. Sitting bolt upright, Kenrad never saw the other man or the club in his hand.