The Essence Gate War: Book 01 - Adept (18 page)

Then the bloodb
easts were upon them, and there was no more time for study. The one in the lead launched at Amric, slavering jaws open wide. One sword swept up to shear through flesh and bone, dropping the creature without a sound, and the other darted forward to pierce the breast of the next fiend hot on its heels. A dark form hurtled by him as he freed his weapons, and filament-like tentacles caressed his forearm, leaving a stinging wetness in their wake. He felt a familiar surge of revulsion as he saw rivulets of his blood lift away from the wound and drift through the air to join the ghastly coating of his attacker. The bloodbeast emitted a frenzied whine of pleasure. Spinning to one side, he cut it down before it could get behind him, avoiding the lunge of another and hacking the front legs from beneath yet another. Beside him, Valkarr was shifting back and forth, unerring intuition guiding his footing as the press of straining, crimson forms broke against the web of steel he wove before him.

Amric’s blades flickered forth, deflecting raking talons and dealing death
with every stroke. Instinct and reflex took over as each strike flowed unbroken into the next. Foes fell all about him, crashing to the ground atop one another.

Their
footing became treacherous as the hillside ran red about them, and the warriors backed up in unison. A snarling form clambered over its fellows and sprang at him, fangs flashing. His boot lashed out to send it tumbling down the hill. Murderous tentacles writhed against his leggings, and his skin prickled as they penetrated the leather. A sweeping downward cut stilled them, but he felt a spreading wetness there. More tentacles peeled at the chain mail around his chest and shoulder, making contact at last with the bare flesh of his upper arm. Starlight danced on his blade as he parted the appendages from their owner, and he sent a reverse stroke that aborted the resulting howl of rage.

And still they came on
. Foot by grudging foot, the warriors gave ground, backing up the hill before the relentless tide. Blood flew wide from their swords as they found their mark time and again, and though Amric could not spare the attention to watch the cast-off fluid slow in midair and arc back to be absorbed by the ravenous bloodbeasts, he could hear the patter of it alighting on their bodies.

A red haze rose before his eyes, the lifeblood from his many lacerations rising in a fine mist to be consumed by the fiends
. A glance aside showed the same cloud before Valkarr. The bloodbeasts did not need to strike a mortal blow; instead they could wear their prey down gradually, draining and weakening it over time until it became too feeble to withstand the rest of the pack. If the battle went on much longer, he and Valkarr would slow and be dragged down. The shriek of a terrified horse at his back told him that they would not be able to retreat much further, either. Very soon, even if the animals did not panic and bolt into the midst of the bloodbeasts, the warriors would lack sufficient maneuvering room to prevent members of the pack from slipping past.

Amric set his jaw, watching for his opportunity
. There was a brief lull in the ebb and flow of battle, and he seized the moment. He lunged forward into their midst, a blur of motion as he laid about with demonic ferocity. A bare instant behind him, Valkarr plunged into the thick of the pack as well, a second whirlwind of biting steel. Here at the center of the maelstrom, there was no room for finesse or grace, no precision to the dance of death. Instead there was only force and fury, and a merciless, indomitable will.

The razor-edged kiss of lashing tentacles became a constant pain as the throng closed about them
. Amric clove one of the bloodbeasts nearly in half, smashed away slavering jaws with a fisted hilt, shouldered aside a twisting form, and sent a snapping head spinning into the night atop a scarlet fountain. His blades sang in the night air, such was their blinding speed, and he gave rein to his wrath. He felt tireless, unconquerable, but he knew it was the heady illusion of combat. His rage would sustain him only so long. They had to break the charge now, or they were lost.

Suddenly it was over
. The snarling creatures faded back from them, and Amric and Valkarr stood alone among the strewn heaps of bodies, gasping for breath. The handful of remaining bloodbeasts gathered down the hill, drawing to themselves the last of the blood from the air and a few long strands from their fallen fellows. The fiends glared up the slope at them with burning eyes, and Amric glared back, his own lip curling. He would show no sign of weakness now, or invite another rush. At last the bloodbeasts turned and loped down the hill, melting into the forest without a backward glance.

Valkarr sank to his haunches, wobbled there for a moment, and then sat down heavily
. Amric turned and was relieved to see that all of the horses were still present, and were beginning to subside. Then he noticed Halthak staring open-mouthed at him.

“I–I have never seen the like,” he
stammered. “Standing fast against such odds…. And the speed! I could not even follow your movements. When you charged into the midst of those dreadful things, I was certain you would be swarmed under.”

“There was little choice,” Amric said with a
rueful chuckle. “And I must admit I was not much more confident of the outcome. It was a close thing, and we were very fortunate.”

He flicked his swords to either side to clear the blood from the blades, and sheathed them both
. He then peered past the Half-Ork and into the deeper darkness at the base of the cliff.

“Where is Bellimar?” he asked.

Halthak spun around in surprise, his head craning from side to side before he faced Amric again with furrowed brow.

“I do not know,” he said
. “He never uttered a word once the battle began, and I heard no hint of a struggle behind me. I did not see him slip away either, but I was engrossed in the battle. Where could he have gone, unseen?”

Amric frowned
and shook his head as he continued to scan about in vain. “The darkness could have concealed much, and we can certainly claim distraction. At the same time, we can see most of the slope from here, and we are backed by the sheer face of this cliff.”

“We are in no condition to chase after him,” Valkarr muttered in a thick voice from where he still sat on the ground
. “And we do not dare call for him, for fear of attracting more predators. There is nothing we can do for him until the morning’s light, and until we rest.”

He gave a wet cough as he finished speaking, and
Halthak started, hastening forward with wide eyes.

“How stupid of me to prattle on while you sit there, exhausted and bleeding!”
the healer said.

H
althak handed the gathered reins of the horses to Amric, and knelt by Valkarr. The Sil’ath, shoulders sagging, made no objection as the healer pressed a hand to the flesh of his arm and closed his eyes. After a moment, those eyes flared open and the look of concern upon the Half-Ork’s coarse features was unmistakable. Amric heard his friend’s ragged breathing, and realized with a chill that Valkarr had taken more grievous wounds under the veil of night than he himself had.

“Valkarr, listen to me,” Halthak said, his tone low and urgent
. “Your injuries are severe, and must be treated. By your leave, I wish to heal you now, as I did this morning.”

Valkarr looked at him
with black eyes that were dull and unfocused, and he slurred something in the Sil’ath tongue that not even Amric could understand. Halthak glanced aside at Amric, who nodded. The healer turned back to Valkarr and continued in a rapid whisper.

“This will make you very tired, warrior, and you may succumb to sleep before I am even finished
. This is normal, as your body must give some of its energy to the healing process, and you have precious little to spare just now. Do you understand?”

Valkarr mumbled something else unintelligible, and gave a bubbling chuckle
. Halthak bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut in concentration. He gave a low gasp through clenched teeth, and Amric watched in fascination as a dense, scarlet latticework of stripes sprouted across his grey skin, even as they dwindled from the other’s scaly green hide. Valkarr stiffened at first, then relaxed, and when the last of his wounds faded from view his eyelids drooped and his chin fell to his chest. Halthak eased him to his back on the rocky hillside, already asleep. By the time he stood to face Amric, the many lacerations he had assumed had vanished as well.

“It is your turn,” Halthak said.

“Not just yet, healer,” Amric replied. “We are exposed on this hillside, and must take cover at the base of the crag before I would risk being too fatigued to move.”

Passing the reins back to Halthak, he
knelt and slid his arms beneath Valkarr, and rose to his feet with a grunt of effort. The Sil’ath people were dense with muscle and always heavier than they appeared, and the loss of blood had sapped Amric’s strength. He climbed the hill with legs that burned and quivered, and he was intensely grateful to reach a large cleft in the side of the crag before they gave out beneath him.

The fissure was open to the sky far above, with a tumble of boulders at the back, and
it was spacious enough to screen men and horses alike from the forest edge below. Amric laid his unconscious friend down at the back of the cleft, wiping clammy sweat from his brow as he looked around. There was still no sign of Bellimar, but this location was as well hidden and defensible as they were likely to find. They would remain here until morning. He sat with his back to a leaning boulder as Halthak came into sight with the horses in tow. The Half-Ork saw to the horses as Amric had taught him, and the warrior remained seated, resting in silent gratitude.

Halthak brought him a water skin and some salted beef.

“You should eat. Valkarr will be famished when he wakes.”

Amric accepted the rations and chewed slowly
. His eyelids were growing heavy, and he shook his head to clear the fog. It would be a long night without Valkarr to split the watch duties. They ate in silence for a time before Halthak’s gentle voice floated to him.

“Amric, it is time to heal you as well.”

“And if you encounter the same resistance as before?” Amric queried.

“Then I will persist until I succeed, as before.”

Amric hesitated, and then sighed. “Very well, but I must remain awake to keep watch, so do not reduce me to slumber as you did Valkarr. Perhaps only enough tonight to seal the wounds and staunch the bleeding, and the rest can heal on its own.”

“I will
do only as much as I think you require,” Halthak promised.

“Thank you, healer.”

Halthak nodded, little more than a soft silhouette against the starlight as he hovered over him. The healer sat at his side, and Amric felt a warm hand against the corded muscle of his arm. A long moment passed, wherein only the insects, bold in their numbers, spoke into the night.

“I feel nothing, healer,” Amric said
. “Are you blocked and straining again?”

“No,” Halthak responded
. “This time I am proceeding very slowly and not trying to force it. This may take some time; will you answer me something as I work?”

“Ask it.”

“I would know more about your Sil’ath friends, the members of the party we seek. Tell me of them, their names, their natures, their temperaments. Make them real to someone who has yet to meet them.”

There was another long pause, and Amric smiled.

“Halthak, you are without a doubt the most human among us all.”

And so Amric told him of the five
. Innikar, whipcord-tough and instigator of countless pranks. Beautiful Sariel, who lived for the joy of battle and was graceful as a dancer in its midst. Prakseth, jovial and powerfully built. Sharp-eyed Varek, the most gifted marksman Amric had ever known. And Garlien, sister to Varek and a shrewd strategist, with the potential to be warmaster herself someday.

He spoke of their loves and families, of their mischiefs and maturing
. He spoke of them as the friends they had been to him since childhood, and he described their many accomplishments with a swell of pride. With a catch in his throat, he recounted their unwavering support of him as their warmaster, he who was born an outsider and yet proved foremost among them. He spoke at length, and felt something ease deep in his chest, a tightness he had not realized he was carrying. They might have perished out here somewhere in this deadly forest, and he would not stop until he knew their fates for certain. Here and now, however, it felt so good to revel in their lives and triumphs that he rambled on much longer than he intended, grasping at memory after memory.

Somewhere in that time,
though he was unaware of the transition, his wounds were healed, his words trailed off, and his memories became dreams.

Halthak sat wrapped in his cloak in the pre-dawn hour, knees drawn up before him and
whiskered chin resting upon folded arms. He gazed out from the deep, narrow recess of the cleft and onto a lightening sky, like watching through a door ajar as the darkness yielded in grudging steps to the coming day.

He had dozed several times, he knew, for the night had flown by in passages, and he was not nearly
as fatigued as he should have been after concluding the events of yesterday by standing watch all night. The fates had been kind for a turn, and nothing had stumbled across their place of concealment. The only moment of concern had come late in the evening, when he heard noises from down the hill where their battle with the bloodbeasts had taken place. He had listened, striving not to draw breath, as a ponderous tread grew louder, accompanied by snuffling noises that sounded like a great bellows at work. There followed a muffled crunching of bones for a time, and then the lumbering creature departed. Halthak, who had been debating on waking the exhausted warriors, sat back at last with a sigh of relief to resume his watch.