The Essence Gate War: Book 01 - Adept (23 page)

T
he cage, with its sinuous bars of fire, was an unsettling sight, but it was not the only source of shimmering light permeating the chamber. The eyes of all in the room were drawn to one long side of the room, which overlooked a scene that dazzled and baffled the senses. At first it appeared the space was enclosed only on three sides and the entire right side opened onto a vast amphitheater. The tight echo of their own footsteps indicated a enclosed area, however, and the dull sheen hanging in midair soon gave the lie to that first impression. The whole of the wall was forged of a single great sheet of glass, or some other transparent material, several feet thick. Amric stepped over to it and brushed his fingers against it to confirm what his eyes doubted. He rapped his knuckles against the unblemished surface, and was rewarded with a feeble tapping sound that was quickly swallowed in the tomb-like silence. Clear as crystal it might be, but the wall seemed as solid and strong as the outer hide of any castle. Grelthus and the others joined him at the wall of glass, and together they looked upon the spectacle below.

The
circular amphitheater was enormous, dwarfing even the expansive architecture they had passed through in their harrowing passage into the dark heart of Stronghold. Colossal stone columns stood like a grim ring of sentries, mounting from the floor far below their vantage point to a vaulted ceiling far above. Past the transparent wall, a wide set of stone stairs fell away before them to spill onto a broad terraced landing. Stairways of more modest size flowed downward and away on either side to one of a series of mezzanines encircling the room. The floor itself was comprised of a series of concentric circles, each dropping in elevation from the last to reach the lowest point at the center of the chamber. The entire gigantic coliseum seemed constructed around that center, focusing inward upon some unnamed, anticipated event there.

Looking down, Amric somehow doubted that the builders of this vast chamber had intended for what he was witnessing now.

A ragged fissure gaped at the center, the stone crumbling at its edges. The force which had torn the floor asunder had been sudden and explosive, for huge shards of granite were scattered from the crater to the distant walls in every direction. Adjusting for distance, Amric observed that some of those chunks of rock were better than the size of a cottage, and yet had been hurled hundreds of yards like the toys of a child. Portions of the surrounding pillars and walls had been torn loose in the passing of those ponderous missiles, with a spider’s web of cracks radiating from each point of impact.

From that
angry wound in the ground rose a titanic geyser of flame, spearing upward almost to the ceiling. They watched, open-mouthed, as the fountain jetted and heaved, writhing like a live thing. It changed colors in fitful bursts, sometimes lingering on a multi-hued arrangement for several seconds and other times strobing through luminous colors in a sequence too rapid for the eye to follow. The fiery display pressed against Amric’s senses in a dizzying assault, forcing him to shade his eyes against its brilliance even as a dull roaring filled his ears.

The swordsman shook his head again, averting his gaze
from the fountain. In truth, the shimmering, light-filled chamber in which they stood was little better, with their shadows dancing and twisting against the back wall in a mad mockery of their forms. Amric turned to study Grelthus, and found the Wyrgen staring down at the fountain, barrel chest heaving as his breath whistled through bared fangs.

“You are looking upon the remnants of a grand experiment,” Grelthus whispered
. “It was to be our greatest triumph, and has instead become our darkest chapter.”

“What
are we looking upon, Grelthus?” Amric asked.

The
Wyrgen drew a shuddering breath. “I call it an Essence Fount, and since my people may be the first to have achieved such a thing, I think I can legitimately claim the right to name it.”

“The flame does not appear natural,” Halthak said, frowning.

“Natural?” Grelthus snorted. “A meaningless distinction. There are only the laws of the cosmos we understand, and those we have yet to decipher. The ancients were far beyond us on this path of comprehension. But I take your meaning, Ork. It is not a flame at all, but raw essence itself. It makes no heat or sound, and yet its power dwarfs any mundane fire––even of this size––to insignificance.”

“
No sound?” Amric said. “It roars in my ears, within my head, fit to split my skull!”

Grelthus swung to look at him, head tilted to
one side. “I hear nothing.”

Bellimar too was studying him with a
pensive expression as he asked the Wyrgen, “Raw essence? You mean to suggest that we are looking upon a manifestation of pure magical force?”

Grelthus inclined his head
. “Indeed, exactly so. But forgive me, you came seeking answers as to the region’s disruption, and I should start a few steps closer to the beginning.”

“Yes, closer to the beginning,” came
a new voice from the back of the room. “So that he can form more gradual lies and thus steer you wrong undetected.”

They all
whirled, and bare steel flashed into Valkarr’s hands. Amric gritted his teeth as dizziness washed over him. This place was somehow befuddling his senses, he thought fiercely, for his own swords should have been in hand against any threat with equal speed.

There was movement in the cage at the end of the room
. The strange, wind-tugged pile of cloth lurched upward and became the standing form of a man, swathed in flowing robes. He was dirty and unshaven, and both his soiled clothing and grimy shoulder-length hair swirled with that same unfelt wind. He folded his arms across his chest and sky blue eyes raked over them in a baleful glare.

“My name is Syth,” he said
. “And you are being lied to.”

“Pay no heed to this vermin,” Grelthus spat
. “He is a violent criminal, detained here until he can be returned to face justice in Keldrin’s Landing.”

Amric looked from the prisoner to the
Wyrgen. “What is this man’s crime?”

“He is a thief, caught invading Stronghold, and he
wounded several of my people in his capture,” Grelthus responded.

“He lies,
I have not harmed a one of these dogs,” Syth responded at once. He fixed the Wyrgen with a level stare as a slow, wintry smile crept onto his features. “But rest assured I will harm at least one when I leave.”

Grelthus gave a deep, menacing growl and took half a step toward the cage
. “The pest is fortunate that I hold our peaceful relations with the human colony in such high value, for he would otherwise face immediate death under Stronghold’s laws for his intrusion.”

“Oh, indeed,” Syth snarled
. “What a kindness you have done me, holding me here these many long weeks as you ponder how best to make use of my nature in your frantic experiments.”

“And what
exactly is your nature, Syth?” Bellimar asked.

“I am a half-breed,” Syth said
. “I am half human, and half wind elemental.”

“Marvelous,” Bellimar breathed
. “Of course, I should have seen it.”

Amric studied the man anew, astonished
. The few elementals he had encountered had been wild and unpredictable, more capricious forces of nature than sentient beings; the only air elemental he had seen before had lacked even a solid form. He tried and failed to imagine how they could produce offspring with humans, or how being infused with such a tempestuous, magical force would affect a man. He realized the man’s clothing, which had seemed rustled by a breeze when he was in repose, now whipped and curled about him as he grew agitated.

“This
deceitful fool is grasping at any chance, however remote,” Syth continued in a heated tone. “He seeks redemption for himself, and for a people he destroyed. I warn you, do not trust him, for if he has brought you this deeply into Stronghold, it is only because he hopes to make use of you as well.”

The
Wyrgen took another furious step toward the cage, claws flaring open. Then, with a visible effort, he shook himself and turned his back on Syth. “I offer my… apologies for my churlish behavior, friends. I grieve for my people, and have seen very little rest since this all began. I am not myself, and this one provokes me at every opportunity, so that I was forced at last to move his cell down here where he could no longer disrupt my work.”

In his cage, Syth made a
short, rude noise and rolled his eyes. Grelthus stiffened where he stood, but did not turn. Amric looked from one to the other. He certainly needed no additional reason to mistrust their Wyrgen guide, but the whole exchange had supplied much food for thought. He knew the truth hovered somewhere in between at best, though which direction of center he could not say. He knew as well that the Wyrgen had more yet to reveal. He stepped in front of Grelthus and waited until the shaggy head lifted to meet his gaze.

“
You mentioned starting your tale from the proper beginning?” he said.

“Not
the
beginning,” Grelthus corrected. “There is much that remains a mystery even to us who sought to study the phenomenon. But certainly it is
a
beginning, and I will share what I do know.”

The
Wyrgen turned away, and approached the glass wall once more with slow, shuffling strides. He stood there in silence for a time, staring at the blazing fountain as its shifting colors undulated over his thick, unruly fur. He was quiet so long that Amric began to wonder if he had become enthralled with the thing and forgotten their presence entirely. He spoke at last, however, and his low-pitched voice was ragged with sorrow.

“The ley lines are a place to begin
. Just as life-giving blood moves through our bodies, so does magical force circulate throughout our world in a network of ley lines. Magic, as you know, has many aspects and manifestations, from elemental to Unlife; but at its most primal, its most fundamental, this force is called Essence. It is neither good nor evil, but instead is merely energy in its purest form, containing the power to create or destroy, to heal or enslave. It becomes tainted and altered by the artisan, the purpose and the vessel through which it is used.

“
Essence pulses and flows about our world––and perhaps even between worlds, we know not for certain––through invisible ley lines. Some ley lines are major, like arteries in the body, and can be detected by those sensitive to matters arcane; some are minor, like a web of veins finer than hair, significant only in aggregate. This network of energy, and the field of power it creates, imbues all life on our world and gives rise to all manner of magical creatures. Those that possess sufficient affinity for the energy can learn to manipulate the Essence within them, and about them.

Grelthus threw a glance over his shoulder
. “Forgive me if I am covering familiar ground,” he said, “but I find it easiest to organize my thoughts if I am thorough.”

He drew a deep breath, and exhaled slowly before resuming his lecture.

“This region has always been highly magical because a series of major ley lines pass through it. Stronghold itself was built atop one of these major ley lines, and truly the creation of this fortress was only possible by harnessing a fraction of the line’s power to amplify the methods of the builders. We have tried to map the course of these arteries, and we believe they converge somewhere deep within the forest at the eastern end of the bay. What a place of power must be found there, if we could but get close enough to study it––!”

Grelthus paused, a shudder passing through his tall frame
. After a moment, he continued. “But I am digressing. The lands to the east have become more and more hazardous, and were impassable by the time we realized their importance. As I was saying, Stronghold stands astride a major ley line, which has enabled rapid advances in our studies. When your kind invaded the region, we met your overtures with some reserve. Certainly, we could have eradicated the interlopers, for Keldrin’s Landing was but a paltry fort of twigs and savages at the time. But more would have followed. They always do. Your kind had scented the riches to be obtained, and nothing would forestall their greed. So we let the lesser races have their minerals and shiny baubles, and we entered a restrained trade arrangement with them, all the while making evident our superior technology to curb any imperialistic notions. The true wealth to be had was in studying and harnessing the unique concentration of power here. The merchant Morland, when he came, understood this. He sought a means by which to share in our research, by way of incentive or leverage. Or, as is more commonly his wont, by both methods.”

The
Wyrgen’s muzzle split in a predatory grin. “A fool he was, but useful in his way.”

“
What went wrong, then?” Amric asked.

The grin faltered, faded
. “A handful of years ago, the ley lines in the region grew even stronger, and magical activity rose in proportion. The energy flow continued to intensify, past all expected limits, like stately rivers suddenly overflowing with raging floodwaters, wreaking havoc on the surrounding lands. We cannot explain it, but it is as if something is drawing an unprecedented amount of current from all directions to this region. We, of course, saw this as an opportunity.”