Adept (The Essence Gate War, Book 1) - By Michael Arnquist Page 0,210

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 trance 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