Adept (The Essence Gate War, Book 1) - By Michael Arnquist Page 0,211

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.

Bellimar snorted. “Hardly. Now that I am established, I do not know that you could unseat me, but even so, I have no interest in a contest of wills with you.”

“Then what is the meaning of this change of plans? I thought we had no time to spare.”

“We do not,” the vampire confirmed. “But time runs at a different pace in here, in your mind, than it does out there. And I suspect the information to be gained will prove crucial to your survival in the days to come. I think we have to take the risk.”

Amric hesitated. A sting of anticipation mingled with icy dread coursed through him. “And what if I do not want to know?”

There was a pause, and then Bellimar said, “You may have suppressed an inner magic for the better part of your life, Amric, but I do not think you are capable of turning away from the truth, once you know of it. Even a painful truth.”

Amric grimaced. It was true. He had spent his life in open honesty with all he encountered, and most importantly, always with himself. Or so he had thought. Still, he had never been one to back down from what had to be done, no matter the personal cost. Could he do any less now?

“How do we proceed?” he whispered.

Bellimar made a pleased sound that contained notes of eagerness and what might have been admiration. “As I mentioned, I will not have the luxury of being gentle.”

The hooks constricted, and the pain began again.

Captain Borric stormed through the courtyard in the shadow of the city’s massive southern gate. The wounded continued to straggle in, and his soldiers directed those with the most grievous injuries to a hastily constructed triage station where a handful of weary physicians had been pressed into service. Borric paused at the station and surveyed their work for a moment in silence.

One of the physicians, a slender fellow with a tapered beard, approached to check on the crude sling supporting the captain’s broken arm, but Borric shook the man off with a dismissive growl. The grizzled soldier turned away and surveyed the courtyard.

His soldiers moved among huddled masses of the townsfolk, providing a show of strength and comfort to which they could cling. Very few of the citizens had dispersed deeper into Keldrin’s Landing yet. Instead, they sat in a stony silence punctuated by occasional moans and muffled weeping, as they waited for Borric’s men to finish scouting ahead to confirm that the black fiends were indeed gone. Most were careful to keep their eyes on each other or on the soldiers, and avoided looking at the bodies of the dead, carelessly strewn about the courtyard like leaves scattered before a storm wind.

Borric, however, forced his gaze to linger upon each and every one. Their deaths were on his hands, and he could do no less.

A shout interrupted his grim reverie. One of his men burst into view from an eastern side street, pounding along the cobbled stone of the courtyard toward him.

“What news, Gilsen?” Borric called.

“Captain!” the man gasped as he drew near. “More trouble from the east!”

The townsfolk nearest them gasped, and a low murmur built in the courtyard as word spread like fire through dry grass. Borric