"Likely!" he barked back. "Jump, you son of a bitch!"
Ulbarich's boots slapped hard into wet stone, and with little imbalance he managed to swing himself into a shoulder roll. Behind him stone was grinding on stone. At least, his mind knew it was behind him. The terrible vibrations made his boots think that it was happening all around him. That panic traveled from his boots to his brain. Bravin shouted something. Ulbarich was aware only of the sound. The words themselves were lost in that death knell of a temple. His breath was short. Escaping his throat in violent, visible bursts of white. How red were his cheeks just now? How violent were the heartbeats tearing through his chest. A thousand men and more had died as violently as he was just now living.
The wall of the temple was beginning to lean outward, where a bank of snow-drenched trees was waiting. Everything he'd planned on doing was lost now as the wall began to topple. He'd gone from one terrible situation to a far worse situation. Captain Uthral was somewhere ahead of him. Yet the wind was whipping blinding snow sideways. He could barely see himself, let alone either of his comrades. Leaping and catching one of the trees that was rapidly drawing closer might save his life. It probably would not, but if he wanted to survive, it was the only option he could think of.
So he sprang into the great yawning whiteness, arms outstretched, as the stone began to strike the pitch below. He could hear each thunderfall, feel it as the snow settled on the earth below roared into the air around him. Being a soldier in this wilderness was fast becoming an obstacle to his continued drawing of breath. Every part of him hurt. A branch struck him in the chest, hard as a lash, and only desperate instinct allowed him to seize that branch despite the stinging in his chest.
The whiteness killed his sight. And he was left there, dragging breath into his lungs with hard wheezes.