Faramund, Guardian of Celeibra's prince Alcaeus, only cares about two things: keeping his prince safe and following the rules. With Alcaeus' rule in jeopardy, a bumbling mage failing at spying seems the least of his problems -- at least until the ma...
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Faramund and the boy flung from the sky in flash of light, left to the whim of gravity. His eyes widened at the fast approaching ground. The boy screamed. Faramund let go of his ankle and shoved him aside. He needed a better position to land - but then the nausea hit.
God, he hated teleportation.
Faramund hit the ground, hard. As his body rolled down the steep hill, he scrambled for something to hold onto. His feet and hands clawed at the dirt, blowing dust in the air and catching nothing. His vision was spinning, but from rolling or teleportation sickness he couldn't tell. He flung his legs once more in hopes of finding a rock or outcropping, but his feet only met air.
Air?
A ravine. They'd been dropped right above a ravine. He needed magic, now - instead his head felt a sharp pain. After two centuries, this was how he'd die? His crystal shattering after falling off a cliff because of teleportation sickness? Pathetic. At least the humans weren't here to see it. His body slipped past the cliff side. Faramund slammed his eyes shut.
His whole body jerked to a stop. Two hands had grabbed one of his. Faramund's eyes flew open and gazed upwards. Though his vision was still hazy, he could make out the boy as the one holding him. And trying to pull him up, he realized.
"What are you doing?!" he exclaimed.
"You're going to die!" the boy yelled back. "What do you think I'm doing?!" He grunted, trying to will more strength in his body to pull Faramund up. An impossible task, Faramund noted. Even with his sight blurred he could tell he was scrawny. The boy glowered down at him. "I'm not exactly known for my strength, so if you could help, that'd be great."
Faramund stared, momentarily forgetting he was moments away from dropping to his death.
"Are you stupid?"
The boy laughed, a cackle mixed with an irritated exertion. "Apparently! Yes! Yell at me later!"
Well, fine. Faramund could do that. He was no use to Alcaeus dead anyway. He swung his other hand up for the ledge. Another wave of nausea hit and he missed.
"You have got to be kidding me," the boy grumbled. He pulled harder. Faramund took a deep breath and closed his eyes again. He tried not to think about the drop below - focus! - and threw his arm again. This time his hand found the ledge. The boy took that as his cue to give an even harder tug, pulling him close enough that Faramund's feet met the cliffside. His boot finally found an outcropping to push himself up as the boy pulled. With a final jerk, Faramund made it over the top - and let himself collapse on the ground. His head was pounding. The boy flopped down into a sitting position and let out a sigh of relief.
"I didn't think Guardians got teleportation sickness," he said as Faramund rolled onto his back. Faramund laid his arms over his forehead and grunted in response. "Are you okay?"
