His skin burned with the grit that swirled in the air around him as his shields snapped into place. The wind was powerful, and the close quarters seemed to double its force. Such a storm could rage for days, far longer than he could hold his shields. Around him the wind howled, full of debris that could strip skin from bone. Despite Mageslayer's glow, it was almost impossible to see.
The winds were not sentient, so his spirit magic was of no help. The storm surged, threatening to break through his shields; Tris knew he could not hold out forever. Even if the wind storm doesn't kill me, it can make enough of a mess of me that it will take forever for Carina to put back the pieces, he thought.
The winds howled louder. Tris seized on a slim hope.
He threw his cowl over his head and took a deep breath, tightening a two-handed grip on Mageslayer. He let his shields fall.
As the storm howled toward him, Tris focused on Mageslayer, willing his energy and power to become one with the blade. Firel he willed, letting his magic thrum along the blade until the metal glowed hotter than forged steel. The winds reached him and the grit and shards began to tear at his clothing and exposed skin. The force of the storm threatened to sweep him off his feet into the pit, but Tris closed his eyes, willing his power through the blade.
With a roar, fire erupted from Mageslayer's blade, so hot that Tris felt his breath leave him. A blast of concentrated flame struck at the heart of the winds. Long ago, the palace smithy told him that fire burnt air; a fire in a closed place will take the air until there is none left to breathe. As the heat rose, Tris held firm to Mageslayer's grip, though the metal burned his hands and the buffeting of the storm strained his outstretched arms. The air filled with the smell of scorched rock, but Tris felt the wind weaken, dropping its lethal cargo of grit and shards. Arms aching, Tris held on to the sword. A reaction headache was beginning to pound in his temples. Then with a rush, the winds died.
Sweat-soaked, bleeding from tiny cuts, and heaving for breath in the thin air, Tris dropped to his knees. Mageslayer gradually dimmed to a faint blue light.
I'm alive! Tris thought, lightheaded from the scorched air. Just as quickly, he remembered that he was trapped against a sheer stone wall, with the pit between him at the cool, sweet air of the passage.
Aching in every muscle, Tris reached for a flask at his belt and took a drink. Carina swore that the herbed water would sustain him from minor injuries and fatigue. While it did nothing for the pain in his ribs, Tris felt the pounding of his headache recede. The sting of his cuts and burns faded. Still dizzy from the loss of blood and the thin air, Tris searched a pouch at his belt for a wad of pummeled rope vine, about as thick as the tip of his thumb. He pushed the wad between his back teeth, and bit down hard, hoping it would help to clear his head. After a few moments he felt strong enough to stand, Mageslayer held warily against any surprise from the pit.
When nothing stirred from the blackness, Tris turned his attention to the rock wall at the back of the passage. He felt his way toward the magic that tingled in the rocks. As Tris slid his free hand across the rough stone, he also let his mage sense play across the wall until both touch and magic located a loose stone. With Mageslayer gripped in his right hand Tris carefully felt the edges of the stone with his left, finding that it would neither pull nor push, but could be rotated with effort.
The stone clicked into place and the wall gave way, sliding very slowly backward. But before Tris could withdraw his hand, a whirring noise buzzed from within the hole and a sharp pain in his palm made him jerk back his hand.
A tiny dart was embedded in his palm. Tris pulled it free, but already the wormroot burned through his veins. He staggered into the newly opened corridor, falling against the cold stone wall.
He clenched his fist around Mageslayer, drawing from its power to fight the poison. Tris chewed harder on the rope vine, letting its bitter juice course down his throat.
Sweet Chenne, Tris thought, willing himself not to be sick. I'm barely in one piece, and I've yet to face the avatars!
With the help of Mageslayer and the rope vine, Tris clung to his power. He was flushed with fever and the headache pounded, but he willed himself forward. Although his palm burned from the poison, he reached for a dirk from his belt. The corridor turned and he saw pale red light glowing from an open doorway.
The Soulcatcherl Tris thought, remembering the deadly orb in Arontala's study, the prison of the Obsidian King. It took conscious effort for Tris to keep his power within his grasp as he made his way carefully down the corridor, Mageslayer gripped white-knuckled in his hand.
Tris reached the doorway. Inside the stone room, Soulcatcher lit the vaulted ceilings of the chamber, glowing like a captured sun on a pedestal in the center of the floor. A cowled, red-robed figure stood, arms upraised over the orb, his back to the door. Tris heard Arontala's cold chuckle from an avatar that looked to be a perfect replica. But unlike in his confrontation with Alaine, neither the orb nor the avatar radiated the imprint of Arontala's power.
"Come to join your sister?" Arontala baited with a smile that showed his long eye teeth.
Tris loosed a burst of power toward Arontala and the Fire Clan mage brushed aside the assault without raising his shields. His counterstrike nearly tore Mageslayer from Tris's grip.
"Come now. You'll have to do better than that."
The mage's next strike almost broke through Tris's shields. Tris could feel the poison in his veins growing stronger, eroding his control, making his magic a wild and unpredictable force.
Tris clasped Mageslayer tighter, drawing from the spelled blade against the poison, and he ground his teeth on the rope vine. His ribs throbbed and his head pounded, making it difficult to focus his vision.
"I have the offering," a familiar voice said. Tris's blood ran cold. Straight from his nightmares, Jared stepped into the room from a side door, dragging with him a battered and bound Kiara.
They're just avatars, Tris struggled against the anger and instinct that boiled up in him. It's not really him, not really her. Not real. Can't be real.
"We have a visitor," Arontala purred, inclining his head.
Jared's familiar leer twisted his handsome features. "Hello, Tris." He intentionally pulled on the ropes that bound Kiara's wrists, eliciting a groan. Her eyes were closed, one cheek bruised, and her tunic was smudged and bloody. The gash on Jared's sleeve and his torn shirt told of the fight that victory had required. "My mage assures me that once we feed her soul to the orb, what remains will be sufficient for my... needs."
A cold, rational corner of Tris's mind calculated his odds. The battle with the vayash morn, his injuries .from the storm, and the wormroot had already taken a toll, pushed further by the exchange with Arontala. He would have one chance, if his magic would obey his will at all. Although he stood equally close to Arontala's avatar as to Jared's, a move toward either would bring a counter from the other. And there was Kiara. Avatar or not, he would not accept her sacrifice.
"Bring her," Arontala ordered. Jared dragged the Kiara-double forward, forcing her to kneel beside the glowing orb.
In the back of Tris's mind, one possibility presented itself.
Tris plunged onto the spirit plains and found the glow that was Mageslayer's power. His magic was waning as the poison worked its way through his blood. Drawing on Mageslayer for support, Tris hurled the dirk in his left hand, catching Jared in the chest.