The Sorcery Within

XLII

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.

Armed with a little bit of feckless confidence of a more naive point in life, she passed through the opening into a tunnel. She saw no markings or side openings. The passageway tilted slightly upward, and at the far end the light seemed brighter.

The distance was greater than could be expected of a man holding a single breath. Finally the tunnel ended and her head popped up into clear air.

Alemar found himself in still another barren chamber. But this one, unlike the others, contained a living man.

Alemar pulled the airmaker off his head and jumped out of the pool. He knelt down beside the stranger and gently lifted his head. The man opened rheumy eyes. He was middle-aged, emaciated, and ripe with the odor of diarrhea and vomit. He wore a tattered robe similar to that of a Po-no-pha, but so soiled and worn that it was difficult to tell if it had ever been white. Only his sword seemed to be in good condition.

"Who are you?" Alemar asked in Zyraii. "How did you get here?" He saw no other entrances.

"Eehhhhh," the man said. Just to exhale seemed to cause him strain.

Alemar took the man's hand and concentrated. What is wrong? Why do you suffer? How may I ease your pain?

The voices of the man's body were faint. Alemar felt like a beginning apprentice, his attempt feeble when the man's condition required sure and tested talent. He heard hollow echoes. It was nothing like any other living human he had ever scanned before. It was almost as if the man were… empty.

"Help me," the stranger rasped.

But Alemar didn't know what to do. He couldn't tell if the man's intestines were inflamed, if his lungs were rotted, if he had been poisoned, or even if his heart were beating normally. The Sight had left him.

He had only one choice. He opened the man's collar and placed both hands firmly on the latter's chest. He called on his energies and felt them begin to flow from his finger tips.

The man screamed.

Alemar broke contact, smoke rising from the spot he had touched. Livid imprints of his hands still remained, seared into the man's skin. The man emitted a rasp and his eyes glazed over.

"No!" Alemar cried. He looked at his betraying palms.

The smoke increased. Hissing and popping, the man's hair, skin, and clothing began dissolving away. Alemar stepped back, horrified. Greasy pools formed beneath the body, themselves bubbling and evaporating away. The rib cage appeared, at first covered with red, brown, and grey coatings of tissue, until these in turn fumed away, leaving only gleaming white bone. The eyes exploded. Foul gases burbled out of body cavities. Finally, every last bit of soft tissue had vanished. The floor contained only a skeleton, an ancient one at that.

All except the sword. Its belt and scabbard had melted along with everything else, but the blade sparkled in the artificial light.

The skeleton reached out and grasped the sword hilt.

Alemar retreated halfway to the pool. The skeleton clambered to its feet, joints rattling and creaking, united as if tendons, muscles, and cartilage were still present. It advanced toward Alemar.

It's not real, Alemar told himself. It is another spell. Another test of the mind. Though filled with a preternatural dread, he planted his feet and waited for the creature to come.

It didn't hesitate a moment. When it came within range, it swung the sword like an axe at Alemar's neck.

Just in time, Alemar fell back. The sword tip nicked his throat, leaving a superficial but profusely flowing cut.

The skeleton laughed.

The blood convinced Alemar. The wound was real. This spell wasn't like the others. It had found a fear he could not conquer. He would always hold inside the worry that one day his healing talent would fail him. The skeleton wouldn't go away. It could, and would, kill him. As the knowledge settled into his mind, the room shifted. The dust of the centuries appeared. Lying in molding piles were the remains of three previous visitors who had penetrated this far. To his shock, the freshest corpse wore the insignia of the Claw, Gloroc's prized cadre of assassins.

The skeleton waited patiently. It knew it had no need to rush. It had waited centuries for its few victims. It might wait many more before another breached the chamber. In the meantime, it would enjoy the diversion. Alemar felt the trickle from his neck pass his belt and start down his leg.

Tentatively he drew his weapon.

The hilt felt alien. He had not wielded it in actual conflict since the pass of Hattyre. But his childhood training had been exhaustive, and his general physical condition was as good or better than it had ever been, though impacted by the ordeal of the past few hours. Perhaps he had a chance.

The skeleton, as if reading his thoughts, cackled again and began with a thrust.

Alemar avoided it, returning a riposte. The skeleton ignored it. The tip of the saber slipped between two ribs, inflicting no damage. The skeleton casually lapsed into the Ezenean Offense. Alemar parried and retreated. The classic move was not a potent one, but it was difficult to counter or redirect – a safe, time-consuming way for a superior player to wear out an unskilled challenger.

Alemar swore. This was a situation for armor and a battle axe. The only threat he could pose to his enemy were in hacking blows designed to break the bones. His saber wasn't meant for that.

Nevertheless, he had to try. The skeleton taunted him, left him openings, so he took one. He slashed toward the thing's ribs again. The edge of the weapon clattered against the target, creating sparks and leaving a numbing tingle in Alemar's wrist.

More sorcery. The skeleton was not only animate, it was invulnerable. At any point, whenever it tired of the fray, it could simply step in and butcher him.

Alemar fenced for his life. He was far better than the thing. Its movements were mechanical; it was slow as well. Even out of practice, Alemar would have won in seconds if the contest had been against a mortal being. But each time he successfully jabbed or slashed, the only reward was a bell-like clang and more sparks. Once, he knocked a few grains out of the skeleton's collarbone, but the blow left Alemar's arm so nerveless that he had to transfer his weapon to the other hand.

Alemar had always been an ambidextrous swordplayer, and he continued now to fight with nearly equal skill, but it was increasingly hard to motivate himself. He adopted a strictly defensive strategy. But he was tired and could only get more tired, while the thing never wore out.

Finally, the skeleton thrust more strongly. Alemar parried. Another thrust, another parry. Five more, and Alemar met each one. Then the thing nicked him on a bicep. A few blows later, another scratch on the thigh. Within another two minutes, he was wounded superficially in several places, and droplets of blood splattered the floor. The time had come. The creature was through with its games.

Alemar wept. All these years and miles, just to be cut down like so much wheat. He clenched his teeth in rage.

The skeleton battered at him again. This time, he returned a savage cut to its neck.

The saber burst in two. Alemar jumped back, narrowly avoiding a stab at his chest. His feet landed on something slick, and he tumbled down.

He landed on his back, the shock to his kidneys knocking the wind out of him. He had slipped in a pool of his own blood. With one arm numb from the slash that had destroyed the saber, he could do no more than lift the remaining arm to ward off the killing cut.

The skeleton raised its weapon and stepped forward to finish its victim. Its foot stepped in the pool of blood.

And it paused.

It looked down at its foot. The bones smoked. Within a few seconds, it had dissolved up to the tarsals. The creature let out a plaintive whimper.

"The blood of the Dragonslayer!" it said.

The remainder of the skeleton dissolved rapidly, momentarily leaving a cauldronish puddle; then this, too, boiled away. Only the sword remained.

The mountain trembled with the sound of a thundercrack. The wall opposite the pool vanished. A small pentagonal chamber was revealed. Another loud boom followed, and abruptly the side walls disappeared as well. The new chamber was now the center of a much larger pentagon, the increased area composed of Alemar's room and four other identical spaces, obviously the end points of the other routes into the citadel. In one of them, Elenya was lowering her rapier, amazement on her face. She spotted Alemar and gasped. Together they stared at the center of the room.

On a five-sided dais in the center of the area stood a short dark-haired man, clothed in wizard's robes. In his hands he held two jewel-studded mail gauntlets. He stared out at an indeterminate location, as if unable to see either of the twins.

"I am Alemar Dragonslayer," the wizard said.

The twins blinked. No, it wasn't their famous ancestor in the flesh. The figure was translucent. If they tried, they could see the far walls through him. Only the gauntlets seemed substantial.

"That you can see this image means that the blood of my blood has successfully unwrought the spell I laid upon this sanctuary. You can only have come because the child of Faroc and Triss has at last appeared, and that which I prepared to meet this eventuality is now needed." He raised the gauntlets. "These are my greatest creations. Wear these, and you cannot be dragon-touched. Their very proximity will cause any dragon great pain. You must have these if you are to successfully challenge this monster. Dragons can weave illusions on a grandiose scale – only the wearer of these gloves will be able to utterly thwart this power. But do not depend on these alone. I have left other things, as you no doubt know. I hope that there are those among the present generation of my family with the proper attunement to use any or all of my legacies. But have caution. These and all my talismans were designed for use by me or my sister. They will not work as well for any other. Put your trust not merely in my trinkets, but in your own abilities and courage."

The wizard dropped the gauntlets to the floor. They grew more solid than ever, while the man began to fade. "I can offer you only one other small bit of advice, and hope that not so much time has passed as to make it useless: Seek the followers of Struth, the frog god. In my time, their main temple was in Headwater, the capital of Serthe, where I spent my boyhood. They will know how to defeat a dragon."

Then he was gone. The gauntlets waited on the floor where he had stood. Alemar walked forward and picked them up.

They were light, lighter in fact than if they had been made of leather or cloth, but the feel was that of cold metal and polished gems. Tiny jewels were strewn like sequins everywhere except the palms. A large gemstone, each of a different type and color, decorated the base knuckle of every finger and thumb. The mail seemed to be made of gold. Alemar tried one on.

The weight increased so suddenly he dropped to his knees, his hand slamming into the floor. The impact dented the stone. At once, the world changed. He could see that the floor beneath him was actually the lid of a well. A few feet below him lay another branch of the pool that ran under Setan, a passage leading away toward what Alemar guessed was the outside. He could see waves of light around Elenya, each one exuding a particular character and intensity. Stretching his new perceptions, he could see the gossamer web of sorcery knit into every crack of the mountain. Even as he watched, its structure was dissipating. The purpose of the magic had been fulfilled; there was no longer any need for the energies to maintain their ancient cycles. It was so potent a work of thaumaturgy that it might take hours for the entire work to vanish. Setan, as Gast had feared, would never again serve the ken as it had for centuries.

He was so mesmerized that he only belatedly realized that he was standing, buoyed up by a strength greater than any he had ever felt. It flowed from the gauntlet, but he could sense that the source, as in the case of his father's belt, came from himself. The gauntlet took that power, magnified it, returned it to him, and then drew off of the increased amount, recirculating the same energy to ever-higher levels. Its principle was much the same as his and Elenya's necklaces, but instead of the strength being squared, it was limited only by what he could physically endure. Unlike his father's belt, it would not enable him to lift boulders. He sensed that it suited itself to its wearer's character. In his case, more than anything else it multiplied his endurance.

"Here," he said, holding out the other gauntlet to Elenya. "No one person could wear both of these."

She came and took it. He watched her go through a similar period of orientation. When it was over, he noticed a phenomenal quickness to some of her movements. She tested it, sheathing her weapon and drawing it again, spinning, flipping, and simply running. She uttered a laugh of pure enjoyment.

"The Dragon doesn't stand a chance," she said.

He pursed his lips. That, unfortunately, was simply not true. "Come. Let's be on our way."

They retrieved their airmakers from where they had dropped them, found the handle in the dais that opened the hatch, and jumped into the water.

Gast sat at the edge of the pool of Setan, slightly apart from the others who waited for the two who had gone into the citadel. He was almost forgotten now. A knot of several dozen members of the ken, as well as the Po-no-pha who had arrived with Lonal, had surrounded the entrance. Gast could see their angry faces by the torches they held, and he wished for the return of the High Scholar and the latter's calming influence.

Gast wondered how long the vigil would last. When the twins failed to emerge, how many days would they wait? Would they send men inside to find them? He thought not.

The healer's eyes wandered to the mountain's face. Was it his imagination, or was the emblem – the sigil that his apprentice had assured him was that of Alemar Dragonslayer – actually glowing? Though the night was dark, he could clearly see the outline of the convulsing dragon. It seemed to be growing brighter, although curiously, the arrow in its belly remained dim, like the stone it had been carved in.

Suddenly the water of the pool bubbled. A moment later, two heads broke the surface. The Po-no-pha beside him jumped up. Gast shouted with joy.

The twins clambered out onto the tile at the pool's edge, only a few yards from Gast. They stood naked, shivering, and marked by wounds, their skin pale in the starlight. They were alive! God had been merciful.

As the twins drew off the strange devices covering their heads and dropped them back into the water, the crowd of warriors and priests rushed to the site. But even as the twins turned to face the charge, all present stopped short and gasped.

The emblem in the mountain blazed. The figure of the dragon moved, became three-dimensional, a phantasmal bluish outline – abstract, obviously not real, but more terrifying by that fact. It spread wings wide and pounced toward Alemar and Elenya.

Both twins raised the strange gauntlets they wore. A nimbus of orange light surrounded them. The dragon veered off, uttering an angry cry. It circled three times, then streaked away into the northwestern sky. Toward Elandris.

"He knows," Alemar said.

As everyone's disorientation faded, the Zyraii pressed forward, surrounding the twins on three sides. Angry voices murmured. Gast sighed. The westerners had come so far and done so much. His countrymen had always been their greatest obstacle. Including himself.

"Stop!"

The voice sounded old and wavered, but it carried. At once, every Zyraii present halted in his tracks. They all knew the speaker, and when he spoke, all in the land listened.

The old man came forward, black robes rustling. He was the only member of the ken in the nation who wore black. He went straight to Alemar and Elenya, his stride bold and steady in spite of his advanced years.

"Give me your names," he told them. "Your true names."

"I am Alemar, of the dynasty of Alemar," came the reply. "My sister is Elenya."

Gast saw the old priest's shoulders shift, as if the burden of his entire life's work had been removed in one moment. Black cloth whirling, he turned to the crowd.

"Let them go."

Silence. Then all members of the ken backed swiftly away. The Po-no-pha hesitated.

"You heard High Scholar Esidio," Lonal said from the forefront. "His word is law." The warriors obeyed, some grudgingly, though in truth the priesthood had more reason to be offended at the violation of the sacred site.

"Let no one hinder their path from our land. If any should molest them, they and all their clan will be banished from Zyraii forever." In a softer, worried voice Esidio added, "They are the hope of all Tanagaran. Without them, the desert will be blackened, and our people killed or enslaved."

The crowd backed even farther away. The only ones left near the twins were Lonal, Esidio, and Gast. The latter produced the twins' clothing, which they gratefully put on. Esidio went to Alemar and Elenya and grasped them both firmly, as if to be sure they were real. "I have waited a long time for you."

"We owe you our lives," Alemar said.

"No. The debt is not to me," Esidio said somberly. He turned to Lonal. "I wish your father had lived to see this day." Without another word, he turned and walked back toward the community. The crowd parted quickly. Esidio had been one of the kindest, and most good-humored, high scholars within memory. He had never before threatened countrymen with banishment, the greatest punishment of all.

"God seems to let you get away with anything," Lonal told Elenya.

Alemar saw that it was time to look the other way. He helped Gast untie his bonds. "I feared for your life, master."

"As did I. But blood is not spilled in Setan, and no Hab-no-ken in history has ever been put to death. It would have taken some time for them to decide what to do with me. Esidio cooled their tempers. He seemed to be expecting all this."

"The aura around him was unlike anyone in the entire group," Alemar murmured.

"Eh?"

The young man held up his gauntlet. "I'll explain later. Whether God is on our side or not, the sooner we are away from here, the better." He nodded toward the still observant assemblage. "They are only part of it. Gloroc knows we are here. That was his spell that attacked us when we came out of the pool. He must have known about this relic for some time, and set an alarm. I found the body of one of his servitors inside."

He turned to his sister. She and Lonal finished a whispered conversation.

"Time to go," Alemar said.

Elenya nodded.

"We located your oeikani," Lonal said. "I will see that they are brought." He left to issue the command.

From deep within the mountain came the rumbles of falling rock. The Zyraii stirred uneasily. Gast shot a quizzical look at Alemar.

"Its job is done," he answered. "Not everything is going to hold together anymore." He stroked the gauntlet. "But what a work it was."

Alemar sighed as Gast tended his injuries. The healer and the twins were a few miles from Setan. Dawn teased the hills. Nearby the narrow tributary of the Ahloorm gurgled over cobbles, its lullaby taking Alemar to other lands, where one never worried about getting enough to drink. Home. That would be their first goal. If the Dragon Sea were impassable, they couldn't deliver the gauntlets to Elandris. Keron would eventually look for them in Cilendrodel. Together they might pursue the lead concerning the temple of Struth.

"What will you do now, master?" Alemar asked, though his attention was on Elenya. She sat at the stream's edge, glancing frequently back the way they had come.

"Do not call me master," Gast said. "Your training is complete. You have been through the rooms of Setan. You are Hab-no-ken now."

Alemar assumed he would be glad when either his quest or his study of healing was fulfilled. Now both had culminated in one night, and he wasn't relieved. "I pray that I do the art justice."

"I rather think you will have more opportunity to practice than most of us. As for me, I have the implied protection of the High Scholar. I will make myself inobtrusive for a season or two, then return to my old haunts. Fear not for me."

They detected the clop of hooves. Elenya sprang to her feet. A single rider appeared around the last bend.

"I was wondering when he'd show up," Alemar said.

Lonal reined up nearby, but remained on his oeikani. They all looked at one another and hesitated, as if reluctant to disturb the dawn quiet.

"I came to say I'm sorry," Lonal said finally.

"For what?" Alemar asked.

"I put many obstacles in the way of your quest. If what Esidio says is true, your mission may mean more to Zyraii than my whole life's work."

"You couldn't have known that. Even we can't be sure it's true."

"Nevertheless it is humbling. I wish that I had been able to give you something as worthy."

Alemar lifted the material of his green robes. Elenya, just as emphatically, held out her scarred wrist. Lonal raised his eyebrows, then laughed merrily. "You are kind. But then, Esidio did tell me that there were reasons why it was necessary for you to become a healer. I suppose we were all following God's plan."

"Or someone's," Alemar said.

Lonal looked at Elenya, and his eyes rested there for a long time. "You are taking my best war-second," he said mournfully, still speaking to Alemar. "Where will I ever find another like her?"

"You'll find many more," Elenya replied with conviction. "Xurosh has seen to that."

"I think you're wrong," he said in a husky voice. "It would take another miracle." He turned to Alemar. "Tell me, are all the women in Cilendrodel like her?"

"None."

"You see? Your brother understands." He urged his mount forward with a subtle pressure of his knees. He and Elenya touched wrists together, joining the scars of thehai-Zyraii. They parted slowly. Lonal headed back to Setan.

"I will not forget you," she called after him. He didn't answer.

"Last night Esidio told him he would becomeopsha," Gast said of the departing figure.

"I don't have any doubt," Elenya said. "I envy him, you know," she told Alemar.

"Why?"

"Because Lonal wants his destiny."

She looked at her gauntlet, which she wore on the left hand. She picked up a small cobblestone and squeezed. It broke. "I have a Fear," she said. "I think you will understand what I mean. I am afraid of a life where I am nothing but a warrior, fighting for causes not my own. Sooner or later I'd be left standing in the midst of open desert, and all the people I've known – friends, lovers, and even you, brother – would turn and run from the killer I've become, leaving me alone, with only myself to fight."

Alemar came forward and held her.

"If you hadn't defeated our ancestor's spell when you did," she said gravely, "I might have died of loneliness."

"I understand." Only after he had said it was he aware that he had bespoken her. The amulets took so little concentration now.

"I don't know what's ahead,"she replied in kind,"but at least we'll be out of this mad country." She pulled off the gauntlet and regarded it. "Let's see if we can put these to good use, after all."

Alemar nodded. They climbed into their saddles and began riding. The lands of the Dragon Sea were calling.