The Essence Gate War: Book 01 - Adept (68 page)

Bellimar did not glance at him, but he laid her hand upon the stone and stood back
. Shadow gathered to him once more like ebon sands flowing into an abyss. “Calm yourself, thief,” he said. “Even if I wished it, she is beyond my influence now.”

Syth growled something at him and knelt again by Thalya’s side.

“Wilding.”

Amric turned at the single word, spoken with iron determination
. He faced the old man, who had fixed upon him with an unwavering gaze.

“Come,” Bellimar said
. “We have much to do, you and I, and precious little time left to do it.”

“
What is your plan?” the warrior asked.

“To do the impossible
.” Bellimar’s eyes were like windows into a blazing forge as he shifted them to the fallen huntress. “And to fulfill her last request.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Syth demanded.

Amric did not reply
. He wanted to smile at the irony of the man’s words, but he thought it would merely agitate him further, so he refrained. He sat cross-legged on the ground, hands resting upon his knees. The dawn was still hours away, but the gibbous moon found its way at last through the thinning cloud cover to spill light down upon them. It gave the wasteland a bleak, otherworldly cast, and left Amric feeling like a wayward ghost intruding upon a world in which he was no longer welcome.

Caught between worlds, he mused
, as ever.

Valkarr and Sariel stood at Amric’s shoulders, flanking him
. They appeared relaxed, but he knew better. There was a tension to their stances that was only obvious to one who knew them well. Taut as bowstrings, he thought with a sad smile as he thought of Thalya. So many lost already. Of the warriors he and Valkarr had set out to find, only Sariel now remained. And countless more would perish if this did not work. Some distance behind him, the grating sound of rock against rock informed him that Halthak was still fretting at the crude cairn they had built, as far to one end of the crag as had been possible. It had taken precious time to dig even a shallow grave for the bodies and cover them with rocks, and to rake sand over the spilt blood as well, but it had seemed a judicious precaution.

Amric’s jaw clenched
. He was about to put his life and his sanity in the hands of a creature consumed with demonic hunger. The less temptation at hand, the better.

Directly opposite
him, perched upon the outermost rim of rock, was Bellimar. Whether he sat as Amric did, or crouched like some great black bird of prey, the swordsman could not say. A pallid face, a leering nightmare apparition, hovered amid the enveloping shadows at a height that could have been either. Red eyes remained fixed upon the warrior in an expectant stare.

Syth stepped in front of Amric, breaking his line of sight
. The troubled winds swirling around the man sent cool night air washing over him. “This is a
terrible
plan,” Syth insisted.

“And yet, we have no other
,” Amric returned quietly.

“You cannot let that
––that
thing
into your head,” Syth spluttered, gesticulating at Bellimar.

Amric sighed
. “You know the situation as well as I, Syth,” he said. “Xenoth means to activate this Gate device and destroy our world. It would take us several days to ride there, even if we manage to recover the horses. On foot, it would take us much longer, and we would be without the provisions we lost in the packs that left with the horses. The land between here and there is crawling with Nar’ath and worse, and we have seen almost no water or game. We could detour to Keldrin’s Landing for mounts and provisions, but the city may be overrun. If the Nar’ath queen words were true, we would be marching right into the bulk of her returning forces as well.” He lifted his eyes to the other’s face. “When we rode to Stronghold, the forest became more and more dangerous the further in we went. According to Bellimar, the ruins of Queln are deeper yet into that forest. And if we survive the journey, we would likely be too late to stop Xenoth.”

Amric watched objection and doubt war in the man’s expression
. “Do not misunderstand me, Syth,” he said. “I would be walking even now, if there was no other alternative. But Bellimar says he has another way, and I have to try.”

“By laying yourself open to
him?” Syth asked in disbelief. “Are you mad? Do you even believe he can make you a match for the Adept?”

“I never made that claim,”
Bellimar interrupted, his voice a raw, guttural growl. “I mastered sorcery over years––nay, centuries––of study and use. No, I can only implant a minute portion of my knowledge in the time we have, and even at the height of my powers I could not have faced the likes of Xenoth directly. I can give you the means to seek out the Adept, and perhaps the basic tools to live a few seconds longer than you otherwise would. The rest will be up to you.” He grinned. “You have a penchant for the unpredictable, swordsman, and for surviving against all odds. You will need it.”

“And what of you, Bellimar?” Amric asked
. “Will you not fight with us at Queln?”

Bellimar shook his he
ad, the death’s-head grin fading. “Regrettably, I cannot. I can no longer endure the direct touch of sunlight, as my protection from its effects was removed with the last vestiges of my curse. Dawn is mere hours away now, and we will consume most of that time in your preparation. I would be of no use to you, there.”

Amric’s eyes narrowed
. “Then where will you go?”

“There is something more I must do, before I become lost entirely,” Bellimar said.

Amric regarded him in steady silence for a long moment. “I cannot let you become a plague on this world again, Bellimar. I will not stop one monster only to free another.”

The red eyes brightened, blazing with defiance, and the shadows gather
ed and rose to spread over them all like huge black wings. Valkarr and Sariel dropped into crouches, swords flashing free, but Amric did not move. Bellimar shuddered, faltered, and then sank back, his eyes dimming to their low, feral glow once more. “It will not come to that, warrior,” he said in a strained whisper. “You have my promise.”

Syth stared at Bellimar, and then rounded
again on Amric. “Look at him! See the monster he has become, the fiend of legend once more. If you let him in, how do you know that he will not strike at you while you are vulnerable? What assurance do you have that he will ever relinquish your mind once he is in there?”

“Only my word,” Bellimar
hissed. “And the fading strength of my will. We should be about this, before I lose even that. Look to the east. Our time draws short.”

Amric followed his gaze
. The clouds extended in a ceiling high above, churning like a storm-tossed sea. In the wasteland, the cover had thinned, and fitful gaps had appeared, permitting the light of the moon and scattered fragments of star-flecked night to show through. Far to the east, however, the clouds were knitting together, growing dense and dark. An ember glow flickered there among them, and Amric might have thought it the first touch of dawn if it were not still some hours too early. As he watched, he felt a curious tugging sensation, akin to the inexorable pull of the earth below him, but pulling at something
within
him toward that distant site. The wilding magic stirred, uneasy.

“Yes, you can feel it,” Bellimar murmured
. “What has been a slow, steady stream is becoming a torrent. The magic of the land is being drawn to Queln, even stronger than before. It seems Xenoth has made good on his threat to activate the Essence Gate. We have very little time now. It may already be too late.”

Amric swung back to face him
. “We had best get to it, then.”

Valkarr looked down at Amric, his lean, reptilian features pinched with concern
. “You mean to go through with this, then?”

Amric’s jaw tightened as he nodded
. Syth threw up his hands with a snort of disgust and stalked away.

“Very good, swordsman,” Bellimar said
. “Let us begin.”

The vampire fixed upon him with a rabid gaze, and Amric met it, unflinching
. Glowing red eyes narrowed to pinpoints, burning with new intensity, and then began a slow widening, like a rising pool of flame. The warrior felt himself drawn into their depths. Every instinct flared at him to break the contact, but he fought the impulse and forced himself to remain steady. Bellimar’s voice rolled out of the shadows, and the raw edge to it was gone. Instead it was rich and deep, smooth and purposeful.

“We will enter a t
rance state together, you and I. When you are ready, I will enter your consciousness. You must lower your defenses and allow me in. I must go deep enough to implant knowledge where you will retain it, at least long enough to serve you in your battle against the Adept.”

There was a soothing, hypnotic quality to the man’s
voice, something lacing his speech that numbed the senses and made Amric’s eyelids grow heavy. It stole over him so quickly that he had to shake himself to alertness in order to focus upon what the other was saying. The wilding magic stirred within him, uneasy.

“With most anyone else, I could just force my way in,” Bellimar continued
. His words fell in a steady, rhythmic cadence. “But you, my friend, represent a unique challenge. In any event, there can be damage incurred in such a boorish, aggressive approach. No, our situation demands an expert touch, and fortunately for us both, I can provide one.”

Amric drifted, sinking into the molten pools that were the old man’s eyes
. There was a note of anticipation, of hunger in the vampire’s tone that triggered a small warning at the back of his mind, but it was a distant annoyance and easily ignored.

“You must realize that there is no small risk to me in this venture,” Bellimar
murmured as his mesmerizing voice dropped ever lower. “While you know the necessity of this, your wilding magic may not react well to the perceived intrusion. If it acts on its own to strike out at me while we share your mind, the consequences could be disastrous for us both.”

Amric swayed where he sat, his eyes half-lidded.

“Are you ready, swordsman?”

He mumbled something that might have been an affirmative, and
there was a hiss of muted triumph in response.

Bellimar entered his mind like a knife.

The pain was sharp and sudden, a sliver of ice stabbing into his skull. Amric jerked upright, and a bestial growl escaped through his clenched teeth. An unfamiliar presence writhed in his mind, something dark, cold and unclean. Foul tendrils snaked through his consciousness, lodging there with thousands of tiny hooks like a creeping vine laden with thorns. Anger rose within him, primal and powerful, burning away rational thought. His wilding magic roared its outrage. As if from a great distance, he heard the exclamations of those around him, and the keening edge of bared steel.

“Warrior!” hissed Bellimar’s voice, and this time it came from within his own head
. “Amric! Remember our purpose here! I cannot afford to be gentle in the time we have, not against a mind as strong as yours. Even though you try to leave yourself open to me, it is like trying to worm my way in through a crack in a fortress wall. Call them off, or all is lost!”

Amric hesitated, the pyre of gathered power burning in his chest
. He grunted something unintelligible, but the sounds around him stopped. He tried again. “Wait,” he gritted. His voice sounded harsh and alien in his own ears. “Do not interfere.”

“Good,” Bellimar assured him
. “Now bring your magic under control. I do not like how it is eyeing me.”

Amric
took a deep breath, and his throat felt dry and raw. He sent a pulse of reassurance to the bristling wilding, and calmed it over long seconds of effort. It faded back, grudging and tense, still vigilant. Amric had a moment to catch his breath, and then the cold presence of Bellimar flowed the rest of the way into his mind, eliciting another gasp of shock and filling his head until he thought it would burst. More dark coils slithered forth, and lancing pain followed each as it dug in. Amric clenched his jaw and waited.

The agony subsided, replaced by a numbing sensation that flooded his limbs
. He tried to curl his hands into fists, and nothing happened. He realized with a flicker of panic that he was no longer in command of his own body.

“Now then,” Bellimar said with
a chilling note of satisfaction. “Shall we finally get some much-needed answers?”

“W
-what?” Amric demanded. His thoughts were scattered, sluggish, but he forced the fragments together.

The other’s dark presence swirled about
. “Mystery is your constant companion, warrior. I believe the answer to one of those mysteries, at least, is buried deep within your own mind, in your earliest memories. I intend to find that answer.”

“Is this a betrayal, Bellimar?
” Amric made no attempt to keep the threat from his tone.