them to the cottage by small degrees, nudging dozens of minor impulse decisions in favor of a path that led there. It was slow, frustrating work, and the wilding magic fluttered in panic at every minute setback. At last, however, the group drew within sight of the cottage. The wilding reached deeper into its flagging strength, and, with a surge of effort, parted the veil of magic that concealed the structure from without. The group gasped in surprise, brandishing weapons and hesitating at this sudden wonder. The wilding froze. It was exhausted and spending all its remaining energy on suspending the veil. There was little it could do at that point but wait and hope.
The leader studied the cottage for a long moment, and then prowled in a slow semi-circle around it before advancing to the door. Inside, in the basinet, the boy child looked up as the door eased open to spill sunlight and a long shadow inward. A tall, powerfully built figure approached and loomed over him. The child gazed up into a strong, reptilian face, and the Sil’ath warrior looked down upon him with a dispassionate eye.
They stared at each other in silence for several seconds, and then the warrior turned to leave. The wilding magic pulsed once in a panic.
Amric, watching, held his breath. To an outside observer, the actions of the Sil’ath warrior would seem callous, but he knew better. The reclusive Sil’ath were assiduous in their efforts to avoid interfering in the affairs of the other races, and it would take much to cause one to cross that line.
But then the warrior paused, looking back with an unreadable expression. He took in the gaunt condition of the child, and the level, steady stare of his grey eyes. The Sil’ath grunted, and there was a note of admiration to the sound.
“You do not cry or show fear, little one,” he said. His words were in the Sil’ath tongue, and though the infant Amric could not then understand, the incorporeal Amric watching the scene did. “Do you have a warrior’s spirit?”
Perhaps in response to the gentle tone, the child reached a hand toward the warrior with tiny pink fingers outspread. The warrior’s answering grin was fierce.
“You want to live?” he said. “You shall have your chance.”
Scaly, muscular arms lifted the boy from the basinet. With a final glance around the place, Verenkar, Valkarr’s father, turned and left, holding the child against his broad chest.
The wilding magic flared with joy and relief. In its elation, it again brushed against the entrenched disdain for magic in the minds of the Sil’ath warriors. Acting on primal instinct, it quickly retreated back into the recesses of the child’s mind. There it curled in upon itself, shifting and tightening like the intricate coils of a complex knot being drawn through one another. Smaller and smaller it became, folding inward, and the child’s radiant aura shrank with it. Finally it dwindled to a pinpoint, inverted itself in a spasm of effort, and vanished.
The Sil’ath hunting party moved through the undergrowth, swift and sure. From the crook of one iron arm, the child Amric glanced back to where the cottage had been, and saw only the thick green shroud of the forest once more.
The scene dissolved and Amric drifted, stunned.
“It saved my life,” he said in disbelief. “Not just recently, at Stronghold and the Nar’ath hive, but from the very beginning.”
“That appears to be true,” Bellimar agreed. “I regret that the memories go no further back, but between this one and Xenoth’s statements, I think we can now piece together your origins.”
“Xenoth slew my parents, and meant to slay me, back then,” Amric said, his thoughts racing. “My… magic lured the Sil’ath to me, and then hid itself so thoroughly that no one––not even I––knew of its presence. And since the Sil’ath took me in, Xenoth never found me.”
“And where does that chain of thought lead you?” Bellimar pressed.
“Xenoth mentioned my parents’ defiance of his Council. They fled to this world, for some reason.”
Bellimar waited and said nothing.
“My parents are from this other world, this Aetheria,” Amric said at last. “And so am I.”
“All of which implies that you, Amric, are an Adept as well.”
He started to deny it, but his vehemence flared and then died. He thought of the power that had coursed through him at Stronghold when their lives hung in the balance, and how he had sought it out and called it forth at the hive. He had access to