Adept (The Essence Gate War, Book 1) - By Michael Arnquist Page 0,52
thought. Perhaps there was intelligence behind its relentless malice. He had no way of knowing.
It rushed at him. He tried to spit in its face as it came, but the cold was upon him again, and his jaws were clenched so hard he feared his teeth would shatter. Something struck him hard in the back, and he realized the world had tilted without him realizing, and the floor had risen to meet him. Pain and exhaustion swept over and cut through him, and everything disappeared beneath a tide of darkness.
They attacked as night fell. Amric and Valkarr waited on the slope of the crag, standing just far enough apart that nothing could pass between them without coming within range of their dual blades. Amric breathed, slow and even, his mind clear and his senses extending to embrace this latest battleground. Further up the slope, at the foot of the sheer forward face of the crag, he could hear the snorts and stamping hooves of the frightened horses, and Halthak murmuring low words to soothe them as he held tight to their reins. Of Bellimar he could hear nothing, but he felt the old man’s presence up there as well, as still as the rock about him.
He and Valkarr had recognized the bloodbeasts the moment they broke from the trees, having fought their ilk before back home. They would fall before mundane weapons more readily than the infernal black things of the morning, but there were also more of them. They fought in a pack, and were deadly for entirely different reasons. Amric hoped the healer and the old man would prove able to restrain the horses during the impending battle, for the creatures that were coming would not ignore them as the black things had done, and these could rip a defenseless steed to shreds in a matter of moments.
Scrabbling for purchase, the mass of wiry, twisting bodies swarmed up the rocky slope, seeking to crash over the two warriors like a wave clawing at the sand. Confident their quarry was now cornered, the creatures abandoned the wraith-like silence of the hunt and gave voice to snarls and eager mewling. As always, he could not decide if their movements were more reminiscent of a wolf or a great cat, for they had attributes of each and seemed some wretched combination of both. As they neared, he saw their glistening, blood-slicked forms, as if mortal predators had somehow shed their outer hides. By their grisly appearance, they should have left scarlet droplets and paw prints with every step, but none of the moisture, their sustenance, escaped them. The telltale shimmering in the night air above their backs marked the slender tentacles lashing there, sharp at the edges and wickedly efficient at drawing the blood of their prey. Amric waited, head held low and forward to protect his face and eyes.
Then the bloodbeasts were upon them, and there was no more time for study. The one in the lead launched at Amric, slavering jaws open wide. One sword swept up to shear through flesh and bone, dropping the creature without a sound, and the other darted forward to pierce the breast of the next fiend hot on its heels. A dark form hurtled by him as he freed his weapons, and filament-like tentacles caressed his forearm, leaving a stinging wetness in their wake. He felt a familiar surge of revulsion as he saw rivulets of his blood lift away from the wound and drift through the air to join the ghastly coating of his attacker. The bloodbeast emitted a frenzied whine of pleasure. Spinning to one side, he cut it down before it could get behind him, avoiding the lunge of another and hacking the front legs from beneath yet another. Beside him, Valkarr was shifting back and forth, unerring intuition guiding his footing as the press of straining, crimson forms broke against the web of steel he wove before him.
Amric’s blades flickered forth, deflecting raking talons and dealing death with every stroke. Instinct and reflex took over as each strike flowed unbroken into the next. Foes fell all about him, crashing to the ground atop one another.
Their footing became treacherous as the hillside ran red about them, and the warriors backed up in unison. A snarling form clambered over its fellows and sprang at him, fangs flashing. His boot lashed out to send it tumbling down the hill. Murderous tentacles writhed against his leggings, and his skin prickled as they penetrated