Adept (The Essence Gate War, Book 1) - By Michael Arnquist Page 0,76

wandering the corridors as well, you still have no idea where they have gone and you do not even know the layout of this place. I hate to say it, but your friend is gone.”

“We are not leaving him behind,” Amric said, stepping to the side to pass around the man, but the latter slid back and to the side to remain before him, standing at the foot of the stairwell and barring its entrance.

“I did not regain my freedom only to exchange it for my very life on a fool’s errand,” Syth said, an edge of iron to his voice.

“No one is asking it of you, thief. You are free to go your own way,” Amric said. “Now move out of my way, or it won’t be the Wyrgens who take your life.”

Syth’s eyes narrowed, and he thrust out one hand, palm up. “Give me back the key, then.”

“You know that I need it to pursue Grelthus,” Amric returned. “The key stays with me.”

“And you know that I cannot escape Stronghold without it,” Syth said. He bared his teeth in a cold smile. “Perhaps I take it from you. I have been watching you, swordsman. You are suffering from odd spells of illness in this place, and I am a dangerous man. Can you protect yourself from me, in your condition? Do you trust your body not to betray you at the crucial moment?”

“Yes, on both counts,” Amric answered at once, though he spoke with more confidence than he felt, for the unexplained bouts of dizziness continued to gnaw at him. “Furthermore, my companions will help ensure that we waste time on this foolish squabble later.”

Syth opened his mouth and then abruptly stiffened, his retort frozen upon his lips. Valkarr appeared behind him like a ghost in the shadowy recesses of the stairwell, the razor tip of his sword pressed against the thief’s spine and encouraging him to an attentive posture. Syth’s eyes flicked to the side, but whatever reaction he might have had was instantly quelled as a second blade caressed his throat from the front. He sucked in a startled breath, and even the incessant breeze swirling about him fell to a whisper. His gaze traveled up that length of shining steel, to where it projected from Amric’s fist, and past that to traverse an arm sheathed in muscle which seemed not plagued at all by illness at the moment, and further yet to find eyes as cold as winter staring back at him.

“You have a choice now, thief, and be thankful for it,” Amric said softly. “Your life can end here as a spreading pool of blood on uncaring stone. Or you can find your own way from Stronghold, and I wish you luck on your journey. Or you can accompany us, and help rescue a man who would do the same for you without hesitation, were your situations reversed.”

Syth’s throat bobbed against the keen edge of the blade as he made to swallow before thinking better of the idea.

“I saw the anguish on your face when you spoke of what the Wyrgen has done to you and other captives,” Amric continued. “Would you argue to leave another in his clutches, now that you have won your own freedom?”

“Very well, I will help,” Syth said through clenched teeth. “I will delight in seeing to it that Grelthus never claims another victim.” Despite his evident care in speaking, a spot of crimson welled at his throat where the blade touched. Amric held his stance a moment longer, then withdrew his sword, though he did not return it to its scabbard upon his back.

“Good,” Amric said with a twisting smile. “We can renew our efforts to kill each other after we escape Stronghold alive.”

Behind the man, Valkarr let his weapon drop as well. Syth let out a breath and put his hand to his neck. Amric moved past him and bounded up the stairs, while Valkarr waited for the thief and followed close at his heels. Bellimar brought up the rear. By the time the others reached the door, Amric had it unlocked and was stalking through the cluttered chamber beyond.

“A moment, while I reclaim what is mine,” Syth murmured, pausing at the long table. He shoved stacks of debris aside, his movements growing almost frantic as he searched for something. With a growl of triumph, he lifted the black metal gauntlets that Amric had seen there earlier. Syth donned them immediately, flexing the cleverly jointed fingers several