Adept (The Essence Gate War, Book 1) - By Michael Arnquist Page 0,203

life here would perish. Rather than a reduction of its intake, Aetheria would receive a veritable flood of new energy to meet its needs for a time. The Nar’ath scourge waiting to cross over would be dead, and the troublesome wilding as well. A hard smile spread across Xenoth’s features. It was a way to protect Aetheria and fulfill his mission at the same time. In any event, the Gate’s current activity level was an indication that this world was scheduled for harvest soon. He would merely be accelerating the schedule somewhat. He could only hope the Council would see it that way as well.

The Essence Gate seemed to beckon to him from its platform. The device was an ancient and formidable magic, but it would take some time to reach full operation. It would take longer still for it to drain the essence from this world. The sooner he started, the sooner Aetheria would be safe.

Xenoth squared his shoulders and strode into the mist.

“Did you kill him?”

Amric tore his gaze from where the glowing rift in the air had vanished, and shifted it over to the huntress. The wilding magic was flitting about inside him in a state of wordless elation, and the sensation, akin to a persistent buzzing in his ears, was very distracting. “What did you say?”

“Did you kill him?” she repeated. “The Adept, with that last attack of yours.”

Something inside the warrior flinched at the wary mask she wore as she regarded him. He shook his head. “No, I do not think so,” he said. “It was a weak strike, but it caught him off-balance and gave him a good push while his attention was elsewhere.” He gave her a steady look. “You have my gratitude for your intervention, Thalya. I owe you my life.”

Her cheeks colored and she lifted her chin in a clipped nod.

“Foolish girl,” hissed a voice that brought them both sharply around. Bellimar had withdrawn to the light’s edge, and was once again wreathed in deepest shadow. His eyes burned blood-red from the darkness. “You had your opening, girl. You should have taken the shot. I may not have the strength to offer you another.”

Thalya’s features hardened. “I made the choice to save Amric’s life over ending yours, Bellimar,” she snarled. “I hope I chose the greater monster for that last arrow. Do not prove me wrong!”

The huntress spun on her heel and stalked away, muttering about the need to find Halthak so they could depart this place. Syth was weaving a drunken path toward them, and she brushed past him without a word. He craned his neck to watch her stomp into the darkness.

“What is she so angry about?” he demanded in a too-loud voice, knuckling his ear and shaking his head to clear it.

“She questions herself over the shot not taken,” Bellimar responded. Then he gave a dry, sibilant chuckle. “And she wishes for one more such arrow.”

Syth eyed the old man, exchanged a meaningful glance with Amric, and then turned to follow Thalya. “I will help her look for the healer,” he called over his shoulder. “He cannot have been thrown far.”

Amric faced the vampire, and they regarded each other without speaking. At last, Bellimar broke the silence with a whisper. “You already know what must be done, swordsman. Freed of the binding that suppressed my demonic nature, I will once again be more monster than man, soon enough. You will be forced to end me, if you can, or I will slay you all.”

The warrior shivered at the quiet conviction behind the old man’s words. He opened his mouth to speak, but Bellimar was already shaking his head. “There is no salvation for me this time, Amric. Last time, it took a group of Adepts, each far more powerful than the one we just fought, to change my very nature in this way. Even if the Adepts of today are still capable of such acts, we simply do not have the time before I once again become a scourge of death upon this world––starting with all of you.”

“How long can you hold out?”

“Not long, I am afraid. My hunger has been long denied, but its victory is now inevitable. My control erodes with each passing moment, and I find it harder and harder to remember why I should fight against it.”

Amric folded his arms across his chest, fixing storm-grey eyes upon Bellimar. When he spoke, his voice was level and edged with the steel of command. “You staved