Free The Dream Spheres by Elaine Cunningham Page A

comprehension and relief flooded the elf’s visage. This was a foe he could fight without reservation. With the speed of a striking snake, he darted forward, blades raised high to intercept the first slashing blow.
    Arilyn heard the clash of steel on steel, but her gaze was fixed upon the two creatures charging her. They held their knives in their massive fisted hands, blades pointed straight down for a quick, stabbing attack.
    It was a difficult assault to defend against. Arilyn sidestepped the nearest tren and lifted her sword in a glancing parry, point slanted back over her shoulder. The descending knife slid harmlessly down her blade.
    She disengaged quickly, ducked under the slashing blow of the second tren, and spun around as she rose. Careful to keep beyond reach of the wicked spikes that thrust back from the tren’s elbows, she whirled past the creature, bringing her sword around level in a hard, slashing, two-handed attack.
    With speed and agility remarkable in a creature so large, the tren managed a nimble two-step dodge and leaned sharply away from the attack, its long arms flung up to retain balance.
    Arilyn had anticipated this. She changed the direction of her stoke, shifted to her back foot, and then came in straight ahead with a hard thrust. Her sword bit deep into the tren’s exposed armpit. She felt the blade grate against bone, and she threw her weight into the attack.
    The moonblade sank deep into reptilian flesh, piercing the lung and seeking the creature’s main heart. Blood burst from the creature’s maw, a sign that she had struck true.
    Arilyn planted one foot against the tren’s body and kicked herself off. As the sword came free, she spun back toward her first attacker. The moonblade cut through the air with an audible swish, which ended with the rasp of metal against reptilian scales. A line of blood welled up across the breadth of the creature’s chest.
    She retreated a few steps and assessed the situation. The cut she had dealt the tren was not a mortal wound. Grunting with outrage, the tren reached up with clawed hands to pinch the edges of his hide together. His reptilian eyes glazed as he called upon his next attack.
    Immediately a foul miasma filled the tunnel. Arilyn fell back, choking and gagging at the stench. Elaith was at her side in a moment, pressing a square of linen into her hands. Though she doubted this would prove much of a barrier to the debilitating spray, she clapped the cloth over her nose.
    A faint, floral scent swirled deep into her, filling her with a sensation like sparkling wine drunk too quickly and deeply. The terrible stench faded into memory as the antidote took effect. Arilyn blinked tears from her streaming eyes and brought her sword up in guard position.
    Just in time. The wounded tren, thinking her beyond battle, was coming in confidently for the kill. One of his clawed hands still clutched at the wound, the other
    reached for her throat. Behind him came the leader, his sickle blade raised in anticipation.
    Arilyn danced beyond the reach of the wounded tren’s grasping claws. Before she could take the offensive, a small, silver knife spun between her and her attacker, burying itself deep into the narrow gash Arilyn’s sword had opened.
    She glanced over at Elaith, wondering how he could consider her situation in the midst of his own battle. That was all but over. He had felled one of the creatures, and his twin daggers dealt with the last as a shark might dispatch a wounded whale—slicing off one bloody bite at a time.
    Anger rose in her like a hot, bright tide. Elaith might have aided her, not once but twice, yet what of his own battle code? There was little honor in his methods, none at all in the dark pleasure written on his face.
    She set her teeth, determined to end this as quickly as possible. Two of her assailants were finished. The knife-struck tren had stopped its advance as sharply as if it had hit a magic wall. Its claws made small, fluttery