The Rise of Fortune and Fury (Chronicles of the Stone Veil #5) - Sawyer Bennett Page 0,51

thick pylons for support. The slats in the wood appear quickly, and I’m actually able to run across it. As I near the opposite edge, I magically build a staircase sloping downward and ending right at the opening where the lone torch exists.

That was actually pretty easy.

I can see that there are no snakes blocking my way as I walk through the opening. It’s another short passage leading to what looks like another room that has an ambient glow coming from it. Something is moving in there, but I can’t tell what—only that there are leaping shadows and a slight whooshing sound that echoes through the chamber I’m in.

Using my torch to assure the floor is clear, I make my way quickly through the short passage and come to the opening of the next room, my next obstacle readily apparent as there are plenty of torches providing enough light to see what I’m facing.

Between me and the next opening across the wall is a dark pit of nothingness. I move to the edge, leaning over, but I can’t see anything. Looking around, I find a chunk of packed dirt and pick it up, tossing it over the edge. I listen for it to hit against anything, but it’s silent, so it’s clearly a long drop to wherever that pit leads.

Maybe more snakes.

Certain death if I fell.

There is a way across to the other side of the room, though.

A single log, felled from some type of thick tree. It’s about three feet in diameter, and it looks pretty solid. It’s wide enough that I could easily make the walk without worrying about balance issues.

But for the swinging pendulum axes that are hanging from a horizontal steel pole above the log. The ax blades affixed to the end of metal bars are at least two feet in width and curved wickedly on the edges with sharp points.

They gleam in the torchlight, and there’s no doubt that they’d cleave parts of my body off with no problem at all.

There are five total, and they are swinging back and forth at odd intervals with only about five feet of distance in between.

I watch the swinging axes for a few moments and figure I can carefully maneuver through if I take my time.

But I don’t feel like taking my time.

I want out of here, and I decide to tap my magic again.

Holding both hands out, I imagine taking control of the momentum of the poles and pulling them all out to the side so I can freely walk across the log.

My magic works, shooting from me to coalesce around the arcing poles, but rather than taking control, something happens. With a loud clang, two more axes appear in between the existing ones. Now I have seven to contend with and some of the spaces in between just got noticeably tighter.

“Shit,” I mutter, trying to figure out what happened. My magic felt right, but something went wrong.

With my mind, I probe outward toward the pendulums and I can feel something coating the structure.

Not just something.

A spell of some sort.

Hesitantly, I hold my hands out and try to wrest control over just one ax this time—the first one.

There’s another loud clang and one more swinging ax appears.

Now there are eight, and the message is clear.

I’m not allowed to use magic to cross here like I could with the snakes. This is a test of my dexterity and nimbleness, as well as a big old heaping of courage.

I can do this.

I’m going to have to or else I’m going to end in pieces at the bottom of the pit.

I’m in the best shape of my life. My confidence is at an all-time high, and I’m no dummy. Part of this is strategy.

I take my time and merely watch the axes as they swing, counting seconds in between each one, estimating the distance between each set. I don’t know how much time passes, but I easily could have been watching for half an hour before I think I have the pattern of the pendulums memorized and my plan of attack.

I’m going to move through as quickly as I can, knowing I’ll have to pause twice between two of the sets, but otherwise, I think I can make it safely to the other side.

With my mind made up to be swift of foot rather than overly cautious, I step up onto the log and, with relief, note it feels very solid. I still need my arms for balance and to