The Essence Gate War: Book 01 - Adept (27 page)

Amric knew the instant he entered the chamber that it would be much like the others, and at the same time, very much unlike them.

He tucked away the cube-key device and pushed open the now unlocked door with his free hand, noting with surprise how the door wobbled very slightly on its hinges
. He slipped through into the room like a stalking leopard, one sword extended. The others followed him, fanning out into the chamber in silence. They had been exceedingly fortunate thus far, as they stole like ghosts through the winding innards of Stronghold, in that they had not yet run across any of Grelthus’s corrupted brethren. They had taken pains to guard this good fortune, using hand signals in place of conversation when possible, and speaking in hushed whispers only when it could no longer be avoided. No amount of quiet on their part, however, could mask the scent of their passage, should the wild occupants of the fortress chance across their trail.

Most
of the doors they encountered had been locked. Amric recalled Grelthus’s rueful comment about how the infected Wyrgens could no longer manipulate even so rudimentary a tool as the key device, and it seemed Grelthus had used this fact to his advantage in securing entire sections of the place from their intrusion. This room was identical in most ways to the last several they had traversed, dusty and empty but for isolated stacks of mundane clutter, but it was also different in several key respects.

First of all, this room led to a viewing chamber below, as they had not seen since departing the room in which Grelthus had trapped
them; Amric knew this by the shimmering hues registering faintly in the gloom through the open door at the far end of the chamber. Second, that thick metal door had yielded to violent stress, for it hung loose on its top hinge, bent and warped as if by some titanic wrathful hand. For the third and final difference, the swordsman was struck as he crossed the threshold by a wave of dizziness and nausea, even more potent than he had felt when looking upon the Essence Fount through the wall of glass. His breath came in labored gasps, hissing between clenched teeth, and his knuckles whitened on his sword hilt as his vision darkened at the edges. He felt like a war horse had kicked him in the midsection, and then sat upon his chest for good measure.

Bellimar appeared at his elbow, his pale forehead creased in expressions that were by turn appraising and concerned
. Again, the others seemed unaffected. An icy weight settled in the pit of his stomach as he wondered if his lack of aura somehow made him more vulnerable to the Fount’s effects. Would it kill him outright, or would he become savage and twisted like the Wyrgens, turning upon his friends without a glimmer of recognition? Even as his thoughts darkened, the strange affliction receded somewhat, the weight upon him lessening. He dragged in several deep breaths, forcing his weakness behind an inner wall forged of anger and determination. While it did not dissipate entirely, he found he was free to operate once more.

Syth star
ed at him with one eyebrow raised. “This is madness. We could spend a lifetime within these stone walls and never find the Half-Ork. And in your condition, you will be of no use at all if we blunder into a group of Wyrgens.”

“You talk too much, Syth,” Amric gritted
. “If you want to reconsider your options here and now, you will find I can still muster some strength.”

The thief’s gaze flickered to each of them in turn before returning to Amric
. Then Syth broke into a lopsided grin. “Let it not be said that I took unfair advantage of you in your weakened state, warrior. We will settle our differences when you have recovered.” He wagged one finger in the air, sheathed in the black metal of a gauntlet. “But do not think to put off our reckoning forever.”

Amric snorted and walked toward the damaged door.

“Do not turn your dead eye on me, you lumbering reptile,” Syth said, scowling at Valkarr. “You can take your place in line behind Amric. Just keep it fair, mind you. I will not fight you both at once. I have seen your kind fight recently, and though I am very skilled, I am no fool.”

Amric froze in mid-stride, and wheeled
about to face the thief.

“What did you just say?” he asked.

Syth’s brow furrowed. “I am no coward, but fighting you both at once seems less than––”

“Not that,” Amric
interrupted with an impatient wave. “You saw Sil’ath fighting recently?”

“Yes,” Syth answered, eyes darting between Amric and Valkarr as he took in their sudden interest
. “I mentioned earlier that I was far from the only victim of Grelthus’s deception. Some weeks ago, the Wyrgen led a small group of lizard folk––like your friend here––into that huge Fount chamber. He brought them through the chamber containing my cage, just as he did with you, and fed them the same story about me being a dangerous criminal and he the compassionate diplomat for sparing my life. I think he meant to capture them, as he did me. But he caught me alone and unawares, and these five Sil’ath were all quite alert and bristling with weapons, just like the two of you. Regardless, the biggest of them seemed suspicious of his tale, and kept measuring me with his eyes.”

“That would be Prakseth,” Valkarr
murmured. “He has a strong sense of justice, and will not be swayed until it is satisfied.”

“Go on, Syth
,” Amric urged.

“Grelthus convinced them to follow him into the amphitheater, insisting that the answers they sought could be obtained by closer examination of the Essence Fount itself
. He was lying, of course. That cur cannot move his mouth without lying, but he bolsters his deceit with enough facts to make his words seem sound. The big one gave me a surreptitious nod as they left, though I know not what he meant by it.”

“Prakseth meant to return for you,” Amric said softly
. “He would not have left you here, if it was within his power. What transpired then?”

Syth
shifted his feet before continuing. “I surmise that Grelthus intended to trap them in the amphitheater, to study the effects of exposure to the Essence Fount on another race. These plans went awry as well, however. Dozens of infected Wyrgens flooded the chamber and gave chase. Grelthus, slippery eel that he is, escaped with his life, leaving the reptile warriors battling the rabid Wyrgens.”

“
The Sil’ath, did they perish?” Amric asked. His words, quietly spoken, carried a hard edge and promised death. Syth flinched and cleared his throat.

“I cannot say for certain,” he said
. “I was trapped in my cage, and though I nearly burned myself on the bars striving for a better vantage, they became obscured from my view by the lip of the terrace below. They were giving a ferocious accounting of themselves, however, for the Wyrgen dead were heaped about them as they fought toward one of the chamber’s exits. I saw at least one of the warriors fall in battle, but the others fought against the surge to retrieve his body, and were dragging him as they retreated. Given the numbers they faced, I do not see how they could help but be overwhelmed.”

“Many foes of the Sil’ath have made the same
assumption,” Valkarr grunted. “Much to their later regret.”

“Did you ever see their corpses?” Amric said.

Syth shook his head. “No, but Grelthus went looking for them, when everything had grown quiet once more. He returned furious, and when I broached the subject he flew into a rage. He roared at me that the Sil’ath were gone, and he threatened vivisection if I mentioned the episode again. He did not search for them further, so I believe he truly thought them gone. Whether they died or escaped from Stronghold, however, I know not.”

“The list of crimes for which Grelthus must answer grows longer and longer,” Amric said, exchanging a dark look with Valkarr.

He stalked to the battered door with sword in hand, and peered down the stairwell. As before, colors cavorted along the darkened walls in twisting, maddening arrangements, and a wave of vertigo blasted against him like a tangible thing. Amric kept it at bay this time with the seething heat of his rage, and he started down the narrow stairs. The roaring sound built in his head as he went, and by the time he reached the chamber below he feared his skull must split. As he and the others entered the lower room, they discovered a fourth difference between this viewing chamber and the previous one.

T
he glass wall was shot through with great cracks, shattered and gaping open over almost half its expanse while large shards of the material were splayed about the chamber. A web of cracks radiated outward on the stone floor and ceiling bordering each section where the clear sheet had failed, and the bottom steps of the staircase were gnawed and crumbled at their edges.

This explained the ravaged door
s above, Amric thought. The blast that shattered the wall had channeled up the stairwell with enough force to wrench the thick metal portal from its very hinges as well as weaken even the outer door. It also explained the heightened effect of the Essence Fount upon him here, for they were directly exposed to the deadly geyser here through the breaches in the wall.

And that was not all they were exposed to here, he observed
. A throng of hulking, furry forms was gathered outside the broken glass wall, their fiery eyes narrowed to hateful slits as they glared at the chamber’s occupants. Amric spat a sulfurous oath under his breath. Whether due to disastrous timing or because the unguarded conversation in the room above had carried far enough to draw them here, the corrupted Wyrgens had found them.

With glowing talons
of all hues, the creatures gripped the yawning fissures in the glass wall and pulled themselves through, dropping into feral crouches and crawling forward. Amric and Valkarr both drew their second swords, and Syth flexed his sinister black gauntlets as his robes whipped about him. Bellimar withdrew into the shadows of the stairwell, folded within his cloak.

The shifting, shimmering light of the fountain reflected from bared steel in the ruined chamber as the beasts
crept toward them.

Halthak
crashed to his side on the stone floor, the echoes of his last scream chasing each other throughout the chamber. Sweat and blood mingled in rivulets that slid across his face as he lay there, panting. There was a crimson tinge to the froth caking his lips as well, and he tried to muster enough saliva to clear it by spitting, but his throat was too cracked and raw. His vision dimmed dangerously at the edges, and he felt for a long, precarious moment like he was falling down a darkened well and watching the hazy light of the opening recede above him.

H
e fought to remain conscious. It was too soon, he thought. He was not ready yet. He drew one ragged breath after another until his vision cleared. Then, clenching his teeth, he pushed himself on shaking arms to a sitting position once more as the rope bindings bit into his wrists, and he met the furious gaze of his tormentor.

Grelthus stood a few paces away, glaring down at him, deep chest heaving like a bellows.

“What is this idiocy, healer?” he stormed. “Why endure this pain merely to thwart me?”

Halthak said nothing, striving to compose his ravaged face into a tranquil mask
. In truth, he was not certain he could have answered in any case, for his tongue was swollen and dry as parchment.

The
Wyrgen spun away with a curse and slammed the blood-slicked weapon down on the table with such force that the other silvery implements there leapt jangling and spinning into the air. The device itself seemed to quiver even at rest, and the inset green orb pulsed hungrily, drawing blood along the blades to vanish into its glowing surface.

Halthak felt his stomach turn with revulsion
and fear as he eyed the sinister device. Beyond even the considerable damage Grelthus could inflict with the thing, it seemed to magnify pain to a level he had never before experienced. He was not sure how much longer his will could hold out against that evil instrument.

Grelthus took several deep breaths, and then turned back toward him,
outwardly calm once more.

“There is no need for you to suffer so,” he said in a voice laden with concern
. “Your frail form cannot take so much damage, and you will surely die if you do not repair the wounds. I ask but to observe as you employ your magic, and there need be no further pain inflicted.”

Halthak knew
it for a lie the instant he heard it. He decided it deserved company.

“My staff,” he croaked
. “It serves as my focus, and I require it to direct my magic. Perhaps if it was retrieved––”

“Do not toy with me
! There was no affinity for magic in that object,” Grelthus said, muzzle peeling back to reveal a mouthful of teeth like daggers. “Your friends are back in that room, trapped and alive only at my whim, and I will not return there until I decide what to do with them.”

The
Wyrgen dropped to all fours and stalked forward until the stink of his hot breath washed over Halthak’s face. “It is within your power to save them, healer. Give me what I want, and I will release your friends and aye, even usher them from Stronghold. What say you?”