The tunnel or chamber—whichever it was—might make a hiding place, if only for a time. No matter where she hid, Sten would find her, just as he always did. Still, T’Prynn needed only a short respite, a chance to bring her breathing under control and to check the extent of her injuries. She left the main tunnel, and the walls immediately began to veer away from her, disappearing into the ubiquitous fog and telling her that she had entered one of the chambers that had served as one of the mine’s primary excavation areas. How far below the surface had she descended? T’Prynn had no idea, just as she did not know how she had come to be here in the first place. The answers to those questions, along with so many others, eluded her.
“T’Prynn!”
The voice came from behind her, and T’Prynn turned in time to hear footsteps approaching from somewhere in the fog. A dark shadow loomed in her vision, and instinct made her duck an instant before the whistling sound of something slicing through the air passed over her head. She recognized the blade of the lirpaas it swung past, parting the fog before its wielder. Then Sten lunged forward, the fog moving away from him as though shed like an unwanted cloak. In his hands, he hefted the lirpa,the end with the weapon’s curved blade aimed toward her. His expression had lost all semblance of self-control; instead, he radiated fury and determination.
“Shall we continue,” he asked, his tone mocking, “or are you finally ready to submit?”
Her own lirpalost, perhaps somewhere in the mines, T’Prynn’s reply was to reach for the knife at her belt and draw it from its scabbard. The gesture seemed to satisfy Sten, and he even smiled as he waved his own weapon, its blade describing an arc through the lingering mists.
“Excellent,” he hissed through gritted teeth an instant before thrusting forward with the lirpa.
T’Prynn backed away, avoiding the attack and working to put distance between herself and her attacker. Conscious of her surroundings, she tried to sense when or if she might trip over a shaft’s protective cover or, worse yet, the edge of the shaft itself.
“There is nowhere to run,” Sten taunted as he pressed forward, swinging his blade before her face. “You cannot escape. Stand and fight, or give me what is mine.”
In the corner of her eye, T’Prynn caught sight of something dark behind and to her left. Risking a glance, she looked over her shoulder and saw the parapet circling a shaft opening. Its safety cover was askew, pushed aside far enough to permit a body to fall through the gap. T’Prynn stepped to her right, trying to give it a wide berth while keeping her attention on Sten.
She sensed his attack before he moved. When he did spring forward, she was ready for him and ducked to her right, his move exposing his left flank. T’Prynn swung at him with her knife, feeling the blade meet resistance. He grunted, and she realized that she had sliced into skin and muscle tissue. Sten fell away from her, growling in rage and pain, and the knife was yanked from her hand. The lirpafaltered in his hands, and he jammed the weighted end into the ground to maintain his balance. Still aware of the open shaft, T’Prynn scrambled away just as Sten regained his footing, once more bringing up the lirpaand readying for another attack.
“Sten!”
The new voice, raspy and perhaps even weak, called from somewhere to her right, and T’Prynn saw the flickering light of flames cutting toward her through the fog. Carrying the torch was an old, seemingly withered Vulcan, his robes identifying him as a healer. Who was he? T’Prynn had seen him before but could not identify him.
“Leave us, old man,” Sten warned, stepping forward and bringing his lirpaup. “This does not concern you.”
Instead of replying, the elder Vulcan thrust the torch at Sten, his strength and speed belying his age. The flames nearly caught Sten in the face, and he ducked to avoid them, but the healer pressed his attack, forcing his opponent to dodge and weave in order to avoid the fire.
“You’re beginning to annoy me,” Sten growled, forcing the words between his teeth. The blade of the lirpamoved toward the elder’s head, trying to keep him at bay. The healer was undeterred, swinging the torch back and forth and moving steadily forward. Sten responded by dodging backward, blocking the elder’s advance with his weapon.
And then he disappeared.
T’Prynn watched as the fog swirled where he once had stood, his cries of surprise and terror echoing in the chamber even as they fell away. Sten had fallen into the mine shaft. Standing at the parapet, the aged Vulcan dropped to his knees, drawing deep, ragged breaths as the torch fell from his hands. His entire body seemed on the verge of collapsing in on itself as he looked up at her.
“Run, T’Prynn. He is gone, but he will return.”
The fog wrapped around the healer, obscuring him until he vanished before her eyes.
Standing to the side of T’Prynn’s bed, M’Benga watched as Sobon released an anguished moan and removed his hands from the katrapoints on his patient’s face. Despite his decades of self-discipline and emotional control, the healer’s expression was one of pain and fatigue as he slumped forward, reaching out and placing one hand on the bed to steady himself.
“Healer Sobon, are you all right?” M’Benga asked, stepping forward to assist the elder. Well aware of Vulcan customs regarding casual contact, he stopped just short of actually placing his hand on the healer’s narrow shoulder. Standing at the foot of the bed, T’Nel watched the proceedings with an impassive expression.
“May I get you some water, Healer?” she asked.
After a moment, Sobon looked to T’Nel and nodded. “That would be appreciated.” Turning his attention to M’Benga, he said, “I am well, Doctor. Thank you.”
“What happened?” M’Benga asked.
Inhaling deep, regular breaths, the healer replied, “The fight within T’Prynn’s mind grows ever stronger. Sten’s katrais growing more determined, taking advantage of her decreasing ability to erect new defenses against him. Through our meld, I was able to force him into another dark, distant recess of her mind, but as before, it is at best a temporary measure. Sten will emerge from his exile and will attack her yet again.” Sobon pushed himself to a sitting position and wiped his forehead. “I believe we are running out of options, and I will have to attempt the Dashaya-Ni’Vareven though I do not yet feel I am prepared to conduct the procedure properly.”
Stepping forward with a glass of water that she offered to Sobon, T’Nel asked, “When do you believe you will be ready, Healer?”
“Soon,” Sobon replied, shaking his head. “So far, my meld attempts have kept me in a largely passive role. Because of the intensity of the meld locking T’Prynn’s and Sten’s katras,I am limited in how much influence I exert. For Dashaya-Ni’Var,I will have to take a more active role in their meld. In essence, I will need to replace T’Prynn’s katrawith my own, in order to draw Sten from her mind.”
Frowning, M’Benga said, “Forgive me, Healer, but that sounds dangerous.”
Sobon nodded. “It is, Dr. M’Benga. If I am not successful, I may find my own katratrapped within T’Prynn’s mind, locked in combat with Sten until death releases us all.” He paused, taking a sip of his water. “Though I have translated most of the scrolls’ contents, I do not think I possess an adequate comprehension of what is involved. At least, not yet.”