"How can you send Tris into training knowing that?" Carina demanded.

"Because without the training, I won't be strong enough to find that other alternative," Tris said quietly. "The stronger I am, the more choices I'll have, and the more chance there'll be for everyone else."

Taru nodded. "I agree." She managed a smile. "Enough of this talk. Eat something, and get some rest. Tomorrow morning, we start your new lessons. You'll have over a week to train—and recover. Late next week you'll face another trial. This one will use avatars. And it will be warded."

Tris hoped his nervousness did not show in his eyes. "I'll be ready."

Tris's new battle trainer Laisren, a vayash moru hand-picked by Gabriel for unquestionable loyalty, pushed Tris's fighting skills and reaction time to their limits. It was unsettling to fight an opponent that could regenerate from everything except all-consuming fire, decapitation, and a clean strike through the heart; Tris found that his nightmares now had a whole new quality of realism. The worst of the wounds from their skirmishes were healed, but the scars remained to keep the lessons fresh in his mind.

Sometimes, Laisren wore a null magic charm, forcing Tris to hold his own with fighting skills alone. The null amulet dampened his magic, pushing it out of reach. Fortunately, the charm's influence was limited and its power dropped off completely outside of the immediate presence of its wearer.

When Tris wasn't skirmishing with his undead opponent, Taru's lessons in defensive magic pushed him to exhaustion. Tris learned to counter the pain spells that Theron used against him, and to sense and deflect spells like the one that stopped Elam's heart. Tris guessed that Taru went well beyond the usual boundaries of acceptable gray magic to test him against an array of magical attacks. Tris was grudgingly proud of the fact that he managed to survive, and to send back counter spells that appeared to strain even Taru's defenses.

A week and a half after his return to the citadel, Tris stood before Landis, ready to go into the catacombs for his trial.

"What is the task?" Tris asked, hoping his voice was steady.

"The task is always the same," replied Landis. "Overcome the traps. Best the avatars. Defeat a mage and wrest the Orb from his possession. And, if possible, live through it."

"Your penchant for self-sacrifice is noble, but impractical. You must be willing to pay whatever price success demands. You may find that your own death is not the dearest coin." Landis flicked her wrist, and the door opened behind him to the catacombs.

"Now go. And may the Lady in all Her Faces look with favor on your battle."

Tris descended the stone stairs carefully, and felt the death warding snap into place behind him. Although he had expected it, the tingle of its magic was unsettling. Tris listened in the shadows with both hearing and mage sense. He knew that he was not alone.

Deep in the catacombs beneath the citadel, Tris stepped warily from the shadows. The dark, damp stones carried the imprint of old and powerful magic. At intervals, mage-fire torches lit the corridor, but between them stretched dangerous shadows. The tunnels formed a convoluted maze, with hidden rooms and real peril.

A rush of air was the only warning.

Tris pivoted, Mageslayer ready in his grip. Immortally strong hands seized him from behind. Tris could feel the chill of the vayasb moru's grip even through his tunic. "What now, Lord of the Dead?" Laisren's voice taunted near his ear, close enough to the blood pulsing through his neck that Tris fought the urge to shiver. While the other opponents he would encounter would be avatars, the vayash moru, exempt from the death warding, was very real.

"Lethyrashem!" Tris spoke the word of power, and the vayash moru dropped his grip as if burned. Tris turned, placing Mageslayer between them. The ensorcelled sword's faint glow lit the shadows. He had barely raised his sword when the vayash moru vanished from sight.

Tris swung with Mageslayer and felt the blade connect; his opponent withdrew to the shadows with a hiss. Mageslayer, possessing its own version of sentience, "understood" to blunt its magic against the vayash moru trainer. Laisren, in turn, agreed not to use his superior speed and strength to kill Tris. And while Tris believed that his Summoner's magic would make it unlikely for him to be brought across against his will, he did not want to find out how much blood he could lose before those magical protections set in.

Moving faster than mortal sight, the vayash morn pinned Tris from behind, and threw him sideways into the damp stone wall. Before Tris could find his feet, the vice-like hands tossed him into the air again. He landed hard enough to feel his collar bone snap and ribs crack, felt blood start along his side and face as he scraped along the rough wall.

Laisren struck again, avoiding Tris's swing with Mageslayer. Flung backward against the chamber's wall, Tris's head swam. He gasped for breath as impossibly strong arms lifted him and pinned him.

"Hurry, Lord of the Dead," the vayash moru whispered. The vayash moru's breath was cold against his neck, and Tris felt mortal fear fill him as teeth sank against his skin. Dizziness washed over him.

Tris fought panic and closed his eyes. He felt himself weakening, struggling to find the center of his •power. On the Plains of Spirit, he could see the vayash moru clearly, though darkness blocked his mortal sight. Tris summoned his power, and with the magic came a rush of spirits, called like moths to flame. The magic bore him up as his mortal body weakened. In his mind's eye, he saw his power fill him, saw it glow and burn through his skin and eyes, white-hot.

Laisren hissed sharply, lifting his teeth from Tris's neck and loosening his grip. Reeling, Tris relied on mage sight to swing Mageslayer, running his attacker through the belly. Tris staggered as the vayash moru's weight fell against the sword. Laisren's face came into focus, an ironic smile on his lips.

"Next time I shall make it more difficult," he said, falling still as Tris withdrew his sword.

Alone again in the darkness Tris gasped for breath, feeling his injuries fully. Left collar bone cracked or broken, at least one rib on the same side likewise. Blood trickled from the punctures in his neck, evidence that he had truly surprised his attacker, who had the means to leave a bloodless bite. Tris looked at the vayash moru's still form, and wondered whether his attacker would feel any worse for the wear after he regenerated.

Tris started forward again as soon as his heart slowed and the vertigo passed, alert for traps both magical and mundane. His Summoner's power meant that many traps that often protected magical places and items would not deter him. In winning Mageslayer, he had proved his ability to wrestle with hostile spirits, quell reanimated fighters, and dispel a demi-demon. But magic, he knew, posed only one threat. Even powerful mages were constrained by the limits of their bodies. Traps to ensnare mortals could just as easily kill an unwary mage. Tris moved forward cautiously into the darkness.

Tris's mage sense prickled a warning, and he tested the steps ahead of him with his power. At his touch a section of the floor gave way, yawning into blackness. Tris tested the other side of the chasm carefully. He used his newly-honed climbing skills to find toe holds in the rough stone wall and cross the gap. As he reached the other side, Tris heard wind roar up from the pit. Mageslayer brightened at the danger. Tris stepped backward against a solid rock wall. Trapped.

Rising from the chasm, a vortex of wind swirled with storm power, buffeting him against the wall. From the depths of the darkness it brought with it shards of stone and bone, blinding dust, and stinging grit. Tris flung up shielding, and struggled to hold it against the force of the storm.