Dave Smeds: The Sorcery Within

He sloughed it off with the Ezenean Offense, the maneuver Hoy of Orr had developed exactly to circumvent the Tiandra. The man knew his fencing. Not that she had doubted it.

She tried the Square next, and was nearly disembowelled. Likewise he mocked the Southern and the Rhidan Feints. By now she had backed up so far that her ankle came up against one of the dead men. She fell, making it appear that she had stumbled. He leaped forward. She thrust toward his groin. He sprang back, pinked in the inner thigh, while she rolled and regained her feet.

Bones and old flesh lay underfoot everywhere in this part of the room. Good – Elenya liked obstacles. Small in stature, she could avoid them with greater ease than a large opponent. She hopped from spot to spot. The assassin imitated her, graceful and sure – but not quite as fast. She had gained the respite needed to take the offensive.

She had realized her earlier error. She had used strategies that were too classical; they all stemmed from the days of the empire and would be well known to one of the Shadow Corps. When she attacked, she used the unique Cilendri Maneuver that had made the original Lord Garthmorron famous.

She was jolted by a sharp pain in her ribs. Suddenly she was on the defensive again, blood pouring out of her side. The shadow dancer had skewered her well that time. She tasted bile deep in her gullet.

He had her now. Already it was hard to hold the dagger on that side. He didn't even have to press the attack now. If he simply held her at bay until the loss of blood sapped her strength, she would be putty in his hands.

He obviously realized this. He broke off and retreated to the center of the room, where the clear floor put the advantage squarely in his territory. He wasn't going to leave her the opportunity for tricks. He was making it plain – she was going to lose.

She was. She could tell. She had met the one. Lonal might have been able to beat her and maybe not, but there was no question with this man. He was a demon. She dropped her dagger and held a palm against her wound. The blood leaked through between her fingers, sticky, hot.

"Amateur," he taunted. "You should have left this art to men."

She stumbled forward, already finding it hard to walk a steady line.

"Such a dainty babe," he said. "You would have made a fine ornament for a harem." He snorted theatrically. "Look. You are so tiny, I could blow you over."

Her rapier began to twitch in her hand. She was still walking forward.

He only smiled. "Put down your toy and – "

She lunged, swallowing the last few paces between them. His point speared her heart, the pain blacking out her awareness. But nothing was going to stop her. She buried her rapier in him up to the hilt even as she fell.

The impact with the floor woke her up again. She ached incredibly. She hadn't thought it could get much worse after the first two rooms. It took her several long, heavy breaths before she could lift her head up.

The room was empty.

Gradually she understood. She had ceased to care whether she lived or died. She was willing to sacrifice herself, as long as she could avoid defeat. In so doing, she had lost all fear.

Three times the spell had captured her. She should have felt like a fool; instead she laughed. She pitied the man who might challenge her with the sword in the future. After this, what could intimidate her?

Three rooms, three types of fear. In the first, primal terror – all the things that traditionally frighten human beings. In the second, the fear of the enemy, of sudden death at the hands of the Other whose greatest desire is to destroy you. In the third, fear of failure – self-doubt – not technically a fear at all, but just as threatening. What, Elenya wondered, would come next?

She stood up. Her knees were skinned, her jaw sore from banging it on the floor, but she had suffered no permanent damage. She was ready, full of an intoxicating sense of resolve, to enter the fourth room.

THE FOURTH ROOM WAS DIFFERENT,Elenya realized. It was smaller and contained none of the human remains that had distinguished the others. But like its predecessors, it resembled a vault, hollow and barren. Only after a few seconds did she notice that the walls seemed smoother than in the other chambers. They were marble, polished slick and so perfectly seamed that the cracks between the sections barely showed. There was no door on the other side of the room; the way she had come was the only visible access. She took a few cautious steps forward.

Four things happened.

First, the by now familiar blue illumination increased to full, white light, painful to her pupils. While she blinked, a stone partition sealed off the portal through which she had come. Simultaneously, a section of the far wall slid away, revealing a niche that housed a large, sealed tank of water. The tank contained objects Elenya immediately recognized as Elandri airmakers. Finally, a crack appeared in the floor, splitting it down the middle across her path. Both halves of the floor began to fold downward, as if hinged at the walls. The widening crevice smelled dank and led to darkness.

She could hear mechanisms whir within the structure. The floor dipped slowly but inexorably. It took only a moment for her to ascertain that neither the walls nor the floor would provide any hand or foot holds. She was going to be dumped into whatever waited below.

All at once she identified the scent rising from the opening. It was water.

The gap spread to almost six feet across. The slope was now almost thirty degrees. Cursing, she sprinted to the edge and jumped. She landed on the balls of her feet and scurried up the other side.

The tank lid was not locked. She lifted it, grabbed the nearest airmaker, and quickly set it over her head, letting go of the lid. By the time she had adjusted the fit securely, the floor was listing sharply. She could stay there until the room dumped her, or she could face the pit immediately. She made her decision, sat down on the floor, legs flat in front, and slid down past the edge and into space.

She fell only a dozen feet before she struck the water. She scissor-kicked, halting her descent. She didn't bother to rise; she was already breathing through the airmaker. To her relief, she had only been down a few moments when the light increased. Soon she could make out her surroundings.

Above, the floor of the room continued to unfold. It didn't stop until both halves hung perpendicular to the surface of the water. The fourth room didn't like visitors, but its riddle was now plain to Elenya.

It was a physical trap, not one of sorcery. Small wonder that no one had ever returned from beyond the third room. If, as she suspected, most of those who had tried over the ages had been Zyraii, then they had endured the most unusual cause of death the desert people could imagine. Except for occasional flash flood victims, no one in the nation drowned.

The room wanted only individuals who knew what airmakers were to survive.

The smooth marble walls continued downward on all four sides. Somewhere far below Elenya detected the convoluted rock that must have been the original, natural walls of the spring that lay under Setan. On one side, however, she could see a large, square opening some twenty feet from the surface.

She descended, rediscovering how good it felt to have water around her body. The coolness invigorated her and rinsed the sweat of fright from her skin. She took a moment to wash herself more thoroughly, feeling better than she had since entering Setan.

Such a long period without swimming awakened vivid memories of her first use of the airmakers. She had finally reached an age when Obo, her grandfather, and Lord Dran had agreed that she and Alemar could be told their heritage, and one of the first fringe benefits took the form of training to use the ancient devices. The experience by itself would have been memorable enough, but coupled with the idling through the deeps and shallows was the chance to fantasize about being an Elandri princess. She was young enough for that to seem grand and precious, and the airmakers had always thereafter represented the romantic visions that failed to come true once she neared adulthood. Thus far being an Elandri princess had meant little beyond hard training and personal sacrifice.