The Essence Gate War: Book 01 - Adept (24 page)

“Naturally,” sneered Syth, glaring from his cage at the
Wyrgen, but the latter did not appear to have heard him.

“We built this chamber like a giant focusing lens to tap into the ley line, to divert a tiny fraction of its force for study, and to contain it within well-shielded confines
. But we did not realize to what extent the energy had swollen. So powerful, so concentrated had it become that it took visible form here, bursting past all our carefully constructed restraints. All in the chamber itself were slain in an instant. Those beyond were bathed in a wash of radiant energy that permeated their forms even as they fought to contain it in the chamber below.”

Amric stared in horror even as Halthak put it to strangled words, “So all your people, with the
fiery eyes…?”

“Infected,” Grelthus nodded
, his voice tight. “Corrupted by Essence. Many died in the days that followed, retching and bleeding. The ones who survived became what you have seen. The magic affected individuals differently, manifesting as different elemental energies such as fire, or ice, or worse. They have reverted to base savagery, and show no recognition whatsoever when they gaze upon me. I am now an exile, forced to flee my own kind.”

“How did you survive the event?” Amric
inquired.

“I was in this very viewing chamber,” Grelthus said
, “perhaps the only one that withstood the eruption, through some stroke of luck or hellish misfortune.” The Wyrgen put a tentative hand to the transparent wall. “I know it is a force of nature, no more sentient than a thunderstorm. At times, however, I think it probes at my barriers like a live thing, looking for any weakness, tireless in its pursuit of the one who eluded it…”

“Were there no other survivors, then?” Valkarr
interrupted.

Grelthus
let his hand drop and gave a barely perceptible, defeated shrug. “I have seen no uncorrupted Wyrgens, save myself. Any who did not succumb to the Essence were probably torn asunder by their erstwhile comrades. By limiting my exposure to compromised chambers and always hiding from my people, I have survived these past months.”

Amric
felt a chill travel his spine as he envisioned mysterious forces contaminating their flesh as they traversed the halls of Stronghold on their way in, oblivious to the unseen danger. “And you hope yet to cure your people?” He failed to keep a note of skepticism from his voice.

The
Wyrgen wheeled on him, snarling. “I must!” he hissed. “What alternative is there? We are a people rightfully proud of our mastery of arcane science, sitting atop what might well be the greatest source of power in our world. If the answer can be found, it must be here!”

“Of course, and it is a noble endeavor,” Amric soothed at once
. “It is just that I know very little of the intricacies of magic, and would be lost as to how to proceed, were I in your place.”

He waited until some of the tension eased from the bristling form, before asking his next question, careful to frame it in a neutral manner
. “Is this Essence Fount then responsible for the sudden spread of dark creatures in the region?”

The
Wyrgen shook his head. “Nay, the Fount itself is but a sliver of the elevated currents coursing through the lands. It is an effect localized to Stronghold and possibly its grounds, but no further. But its underlying cause, the greatly increased Essence throughout the region, will continue to amplify many things and cause them to strengthen, to swell in numbers.”

Amric frowned, absorbing this
. “With so much magic in the area, how does it not corrupt all life as it has done your people?”

“You have a sharp mind, warrior
,” Grelthus said, regarding him with a hint of new respect. “You could do more than swing a blade. As I said, this is a localized reaction. Consider your body’s response to an invading infection, how the flesh swells and becomes an angry red in color, discharging unhealthy fluids and scabbing over. The body, a wondrous machine, focuses its defensive efforts on repelling the invader. In our zeal, our hubris, we provoked such a targeted response, and secured our own downfall.”

“You sought to study and harness the symptom, then, while the true source remains unknown.”

“Regrettably true,” Grelthus said. “Though I suspect the answer might lie further east, at the convergence of these major ley lines, if one could but forge a path there and somehow survive whatever forces have congregated.”

In silence they turned back to study the blazing fountain, each in the room alone with
his own thoughts for a time. Amric’s mind raced over their options from this point. It seemed tantamount to suicide to continue further east, but if there was any evidence his Sil’ath friends had gone that way, he would follow. Since they did not appear to have made it even here, however, the logical course was to double back and resume the search. Even if the source of the spreading corruption was far to the east, they would need to join forces with their comrades against this hostile land. And if their friends had perished, there was the requisite matter of avenging their deaths; if necessary, he would attend to that matter before making any further decisions about how best to complete their mission.

Amric
felt dizziness wash over him once more, and the roaring sound returned to batter at his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the sight. Why was the damned thing affecting him so? And why only him?

Grelthus uttered an angry growl, interrupting the warrior’s thoughts
. The Wyrgen stalked over to the cage and halted several paces from the crackling blue energy bars, bowing his shaggy head before the prisoner.

“I regret the necessity to detain you, thief, but even more so I regret that distress and distraction have made of me a poor host
. Pass your water pitcher through the bars, so that I may refill it for you.”

Syth folded his arms across his chest and shook his head, glaring at the
Wyrgen. “You cannot part your jaws without lies spilling forth, you mangy cur. There is no food or water in this room, and if you depart this chamber alone you will surely betray your guests and imprison them down here, even as you have done to me.”

“Very well,” Grelthus sighed, spreading his hands
and turning to Halthak. “Healer, would you do this mistrustful prisoner the kindness of refilling his water urn, from the barrel by the door in the chamber above? I will prepare his meal later, for that requires travel to another chamber and I would not ask it of you. While you are gone, I will remain here, guarded by your warrior friends.”

Halthak looked from the
Wyrgen to Amric, and then to the prisoner. He took a step toward the cage, but Grelthus raised one clawed hand to forestall him.

“First kick the jug out of the cage, thief,” Grelthus snarled
. “The thief moves like lightning, and is too cunning by half.”

Syth favored the
Wyrgen with a dark scowl, but did as he was bid, toeing the water jug a safe distance from the bars. “What are you playing at, Grelthus?” he asked, brow furrowed. “Why this sudden show of concern for my welfare?”

The
Wyrgen ignored him as Halthak retrieved the pitcher and started for the stairs. When the Half-Ork had passed out of view, Grelthus strode back to the glass wall.

“My people sometimes come to the chamber below to gaze upon the Essence Fount,” he rumbled
. “Once corrupted, they seem no longer troubled by its energies. They treat it with some primitive reverence, almost worship. Perhaps it has become a god to them, in their weakened minds. Sometimes I can see them lurking behind the great columns, or in the far-flung shadows of the chamber, and I try to catalog the energies afflicting them. I know the red is fire, the blue a bitter cold, and there is a sickly green that eats at the flesh about wounds…”

The
Wyrgen muttered in a low tone, seemingly more to himself than to any other in the room. He pressed himself against the glass wall, peering downward in search of the self-same subjects of his discourse. He slid back and forth along the wall, seeking various viewing angles as his ongoing chatter became a detailed recounting of his many failed attempts to cure his compatriots. Amric began to tune out the rambling jargon, and he found himself glancing down as well to seek hidden figures below.

S
uddenly he realized their mistake.

He
had stepped back from the viewing wall in an unconscious movement to allow the Wyrgen to travel its length, and he noted that Valkarr had done the same. Grelthus, in his wanderings, and seemingly intent on the scene below, had put himself closer to the stairwell than either of the warriors by almost a full pace. And the chase earlier had already proven the astonishing speed of the Wyrgens.

Even as
awareness struck, the furry figure burst into motion. He crossed the room in a single explosive leap and vanished up the darkened stairwell. The warriors sprinted in immediate pursuit. Amric cursed his weakness as the strange dizziness returned and clutched at his trembling legs, and he forced obedience from his unwilling muscles with an effort of will.

They
reached the foot of the stairs with Syth’s roar of outrage echoing behind them. From above came a startled cry, the heavy thud of bodies colliding, and the booming crash of the thick metal door slamming shut. Amric and Valkarr vaulted up the stairs, taking several at a time. A clattering sound reached their ears, and the water jug followed, sloshing water as it tumbled end over end down the stone steps.

The warriors
gained the landing at the top and hurled themselves against the polished door, but they might as well have been slapping at the base of a mountain for all the good it did them. They hammered at the handle with their sword hilts, and pried at the outline for exposed hinges or other mechanics, but to no avail.

At last they fell back, panting, the acrid taste of defeat risi
ng in their throats like bile. It was no use. Halthak was taken, and the door was impervious to their efforts. They were trapped.

Amric
slammed his fist into the metal door and glowered at it, as if the seething intensity of his fury could do what physical efforts had not. There was no sound from the other side. The traitorous Wyrgen had either rendered Halthak unconscious or taken him from the chamber.

At his side
, Valkarr lashed out at the door with his sword; an array of sparks flowered in the gloom, but the glinting surface of the door was barely marred. The Sil’ath let out an angry hiss between bared teeth. The warriors exchanged dark looks, and Valkarr stepped back to crouch in the shadows behind the door while Amric turned and stalked down the stairs. As he descended, the swordsman cursed himself for a fool. He had witnessed first-hand the speed of the Wyrgens, and yet had allowed the enemy to separate them and gain the momentary advantage of position.

N
ow they might all pay for his mistake with their lives.

In the chamber below, Bellimar and the prisoner Syth had not moved
. Their faces were drawn with apprehension, but otherwise they were a study in opposites. The old man stood still and straight, cloak wrapped about him, eyes gleaming, a storm roiling beneath a calm surface. In the cage, Syth had his feet planted wide apart and his fists clenched, and his clothing swirled and whipped about his lean frame in a frenzy of motion. Amric stalked across the room and stabbed a finger at the man who claimed to be half wind elemental.

“Did you know aught of this?” he demanded.

“If you could not guess, I am not privy to that demented beast’s plans,” Syth retorted. “I warned you that Grelthus planned betrayal of some kind, though I did not then know what form it would take.”

“A man in a cage does not inspire
trust,” Amric snapped.

“
Remember your words when some other fellow finds
you
here months from now.”

Amric sighed, and struggled to rein in his anger
. “I apologize, Syth. My worry for my friend, now a captive of that mad creature, has sharpened my tongue.”

Syth regarded him a moment,
a sneer twisting his lips as his hair swirled before his face. Then he grunted and waved a hand in curt dismissal.

“How did you know Grelthus intended betrayal?” Bellimar asked
. “Did he know of our approach, and perhaps speak of his plans?”

Syth shook his head
. “No, but I am not the first captive Grelthus has held here. I am merely the last. Grelthus was uncertain as to what use my magical nature could be in his efforts to cure his people, but at the same time he was unwilling to dispense with a potentially useful subject. Others were more clearly valuable––or clearly not so––and thus did not last as long.” His jaw clenched and his eyes blazed. “For the first time in my life, I find I am thankful to be an enigma.”

Amric studied the unusual man, reading anguish and rage in every line of his
bearing. He found himself believing that the fellow had survived a great deal, and his own thoughts darkened as he considered the implications for Halthak.