The Essence Gate War: Book 01 - Adept (50 page)

“But now I am here,” Amric said.

“Yes,” the queen said softly, hunching low in her cone of rock. “Now you are here. But we did not know this when I sent my forces against the city. How did you learn of our presence?”

He ignored her question because he had no answer to give, hoping that she would interpret
the omission as a mortal foe refusing to divulge such information. “So you will hurl your minions against the city to the north? You said yourself it was no threat to you, and yet you are willing to lose many, battering against their high walls.” He decided to venture a guess. “You may lose more numbers than you gain, and then where will you be?”

“
Arrogant Adept!” she snapped with indignant rage. “Think you we know nothing of tactics? Our numbers will swell tonight, for the city will be yielded up, ripe for the harvest, by one of its own.”

Amric paused
. “One of its own?”

Her laugh was
lilting and harsh. “Indeed, Adept. We have not faced your kind in centuries, but we remember well your tactics with the lesser races. One of the primitives encountered our strength, and sought to curry favor for himself by making an alliance with us, claiming to be a man of some power among his people. He believed our assurances that we have no wish to rule this world, as well as our promises that he would be made supreme among his kind once we have what we need. As if there will be anyone or anything left to rule.” She gave a dark, ugly chuckle. “He knows so much of what is happening, and yet understands so little.”

Amric felt a chill at the casual certainty of her words, but he did not allow
any interruption in his casual stride as he continued to make a wide circle around her. “This ally of yours sounds too gullible to be a man of influence here,” he scoffed. “By what name is this pretender known?”

“I think not,” The Nar’ath queen snarled, her distended jaw twitching and flaring slightly
open to reveal a glimpse of the human face beneath, contorted in anger. “I have use for him yet, and I will not have you interfering in our deception. The Adepts, above all, know well how credulous these creatures are, but do not think to treat us the same way.”

“Naturally not,” he said in a dry tone.

“Do not mock us, Adept!” she hissed. There was a sharp report as the edge of the stone rim encasing her cracked beneath her clenched claws. He stopped walking and turned to face her. At the corners of his vision, he saw her hulking minions appear at the mouths of several tunnels, shouldering their way partially from the shadows. Their dull, hateful eyes fixed upon him, their ponderous heads swaying back and forth in response to their queen’s agitation. Without taking his own eyes from the queen, Amric mentally marked the positions of his warriors and waited for her to give the command to attack. His hands tingled, aching to reach for his swords, but he held himself utterly motionless. For a long, tense moment they stood thus, gazes locked together at the core of a brittle silence, and then the queen relaxed and settled back with a speculative look. Her minions shuffled back with a sulking reluctance and were swallowed once more by the dark maws of the tunnels.

Releasing a pent breath, he resumed his slow stroll around the
chamber. He noted that the Sil’ath warriors had stolen around the cavern perimeter and reached the captives. Valkarr knelt among them in hushed discussion while Innikar and Sariel stood over them. It would be several minutes before his unhurried pace brought him near enough to them to exchange quiet words. It took Amric long seconds to locate Bellimar, as he did not want to crane his neck back and forth searching for him and thus risk drawing undue attention to his position. He finally discerned the vampire standing at the edge of a pool further around the room. He stood tall and straight with his cloak folded tightly about him, little more than a sliver of night in the cavern’s gloom. His attention appeared to be absorbed by something in the glowing waters.

“The city will fall this night,”
the Nar’ath queen assured him. Though she had to be aware of the presence of the others within the chamber, she still seemed to pay them no heed whatsoever.

“You
sound very certain of that.”

“Even now my forces gather there
,” she said. “When night falls, the city will bare itself to us, and by morning’s light my minions will have harvested them all.”

He glanced upward through the opening far above and onto the
tortured sky. The oppressive blanket of clouds had walled off the sun at last, and the light that poured down now into the chamber was a dim grey shroud. He wondered how long remained until nightfall. Under normal circumstances there would be several hours of daylight remaining, but if this cloud cover rolled over Keldrin’s Landing as well, a serviceable darkness––and the accompanying assault––might come all the sooner.

“Why bother with the city at all?” he asked
. “If, as you say, conquering this world is truly not your goal.”

She gave a long and sibilant hiss, but he could not decipher whether the sound indicated pleasure or annoyance
. “We are after bigger game, as you must realize by now. But we must build our forces, and maneuver them into proper position.”

“
Again you speak of ‘we’, and yet all I see here is you.”

She uttered a keening, triumphant shriek that he realized was a laugh
. “Then you have only begun to look, arrogant one. My sisters and I have grown in strength slowly over the centuries, recovering in secret from the blow you dealt us so long ago. And had you not activated the Gate and begun to draw upon this world, it might have taken many more centuries before we were ready to strike at yours. Now our hives fill the wasteland, draining the land dry of life, and we build our forces to hurl against you. The time for hiding and preparing is almost done.”

He paused, reeling with the implications of her words
. He quailed at the thought of many more monstrosities like this one, each building its own army of black creatures, their sinister hives pockmarking the land like a spreading disease. They were stealing the beings of this world and converting them into their own blasphemous parody of life, and growing stronger all the time. Very soon, if it had not come to pass already, they would need fear nothing on this world. The Nar’ath queen leaned forward, her long black claws rasping against the stone, as she mistook his partial comprehension for something more.

“Did you truly think
that you had eradicated our kind? You, whose avarice granted our existence in the first place? We are a growing cancer on the ley lines that feed your world. We know your addiction. You cannot survive without it, and yet the more you draw upon it, the stronger we continue to grow.”

Her tone grew more heated with every word, and he could see her
huge form tensing and swelling.

“We have adapted, Adept, evolved over these many centuries that we might more perfectly hunt your race
. In your arrogance and greed, you have given us the means to strike at you in more ways than you even realize.”

“Calm yourself, foul one,” he said quickly, striving for a dismissive tone
. “You are not ready to pit yourself against the might of the Adepts.”

She gave a deep, grating chuckle, still poised on the verge of action
. “I hear ‘we’, and yet see only you,” she said, twisting his own words and casting them back at him.

He threw back his head and boomed a laugh that echoed eerily around the vast chamber, warping the sound until he did not recognize it as his own
. “And did you truly think that I came alone?”

It had the desired effect
. The Nar’ath queen hesitated, eyes widening to dart suspiciously around the cavern. Her malevolent gaze slid over the Sil’ath warriors, whose position he was nearing now, and dismissed them as inconsequential. She tilted her head upward and froze. Thalya stood upon the rim of the opening high above, silhouetted against the silver sky, her bow drawn and leveled at the creature. Amric hoped she had nocked one of her ensorcelled arrows, as he had a strong suspicion that nothing less would suffice. Another head peered over the edge; Syth’s, by the shape of it, though the height was too great to pick out his features.

The queen’s ridged skull swung back toward him
. “That is no Adept. You bring the fleshlings of this world against me? What game are you playing at?” The last was almost a murmur, more to herself than to him. Good, he had her confused, and she was suspending action against him once more, at least for the moment.

His circuit of the room had finally brought him to the cluster of captives
. His heart sank when he saw that all seven of them were human, not a Sil’ath form among them. Valkarr rose and stole to his side with a shake of his head. He stood so close that the words that followed were more breath against Amric’s ear than actual sound.

“The men say they are the last
to survive,” he whispered. “They have seen no other Sil’ath, and no prisoners have been removed from this chamber.”

“Can they all walk?”
Amric whispered back, barely moving his lips as he spoke from the side of his mouth.

“Some were injured in the taking,” Valkarr said
. His dark eyes glittered with barely restrained fury. “But they do not lack for motivation. They are ready.”

“Good
. I will continue around. Take them swiftly up the stairs when the moment allows.”

The Sil’ath warrior
inclined his head in the barest of nods and stepped away to hold a hushed conversation with Sariel. Amric resumed walking, looking over the captives as he went. They had the look of soldiers, hard and rough-hewn, but they were also pale, haggard, haunted. Their sunken eyes met his as he passed, and he saw reflected there the specters of what the men had been through since their capture.
I can promise you only the chance to live or die on your feet, as men, fighting for your lives
, he thought.
Nothing more, but let it be enough.

“Adept.”

It was Bellimar’s voice, the timbre of it hollow and strained. The vampire was staring at him from the edge of the pool he had been studying, the soft green glow writhing along the underside of his features. Amric moved toward him, holding himself to an unhurried stride. The Nar’ath queen, hissing to herself, twisted within her enclosure to follow his progress around the room.

Bellimar thrust out a hand as he approached
. “Your knife.”

Amric eyed him, but drew his knife from his belt and passed it over without comment
. The old man knelt by the side of the pool, watching the dark forms churning within its viscous, luminescent depths.

“Do not touch the waters,” he
warned. “They are anathema to living flesh.”

H
is hand darted out with lightning speed, fastening to one of the cocooned forms and dragging it toward him.

“Tell me,”
Bellimar said, “does not the shape of this one strike you as familiar?”

Amric felt a tightening sensation in his chest as he
gazed upon the wrapped figure. At first it looked no different to him than the others, just another long, amorphous shape twisting and heaving with corrupted vigor. Then he saw it. Against the folds of soaked cloth-like material, he could pick out broad shoulders and powerful arms pushing at the silken bonds, a narrow waist flaring to flexing legs that were not quite jointed correctly for a man, and behind that a thrashing appendage that suggested nothing so much as a Sil’ath tail. There was understanding and pity in Bellimar’s eyes as he held the knife poised, looking a question at him.

“Do it,”
Amric said between gritted teeth.

With a flick of his wrist, Bellimar swept the knife through the
coils around the head. A glistening black wedge-shaped visage thrust its way clear, ebon eyes rolling against the sudden bite of the air. Amric’s breath caught in his throat, lodged there, and became stone. Prakseth. Burly Prakseth, jovial and honorable to the last fiber of his being. First to defend, first to comfort.
Oh my friend, what have these monsters done to you?

Those
malignant orbs darted from Bellimar to Amric. There was recognition there, of a sort, but not the kind he would wish. That glimmer was not a greeting for a familiar friend, but rather a sighting of prey. The jaws parted, and the mouth began to work furiously, open and shut, open and shut, as if shrieking without sound. Amric closed his eyes, sickened. When he opened them again, an unspoken agreement passed between him and Bellimar.

The vampire tightened his fist in the folds of material and
raised the body partway from the waters as easily as if that hand had been empty. Amric slid backward a step and spun on his heel. One of his swords rang free with a sound like the chime of a bell. In a blur of motion he whirled, and his blade hammered down in a gleaming arc, cleaving through the black skull and into the chest. With one jerking spasm, the figure went still. Amric dragged his sword clear, and Bellimar laid the body gently at the edge of the pool.

Amric panted, struggling to rein in the rage that threatened to overwhelm him
. He had known what to expect, he reminded himself. He had seen it happen to that hapless man when they arrived, and from that instant he had feared the worst for his own. In point of fact, he had known for weeks that death might be all he found on this mission. Soldiers die in battle, the rational part of his mind insisted, and it was, after all, far from the first time he had lost friends to the callous whims of war. It was never easy, would never be easy. His teeth ground in helpless fury. So why did it feel so different this time?