The Essence Gate War: Book 01 - Adept

by Michael Arnquist

  So intent were they upon their prey that even the thunder of hooves from within the cave did not distract them until the horse was upon them. Shien slammed into the gathered throng, sending several of the creatures sprawling. The mare lashed out with iron-shod hooves, and another assailant reeled back under the force of the blows. The huntress leapt to the saddle and dug her heels in. Together she and the mare plunged through the press of bodies. At speed, in the dark, the treacherous path might well be the death of them, but they would have to risk it to escape the clutches of these unnatural, undying black monstrosities.

  They hit the loose gravel of the trail and began a stomach-lurching slide. Shien dropped her hindquarters and braced all four hooves as the huntress tried in vain to discern the ephemeral ribbon of the path against the darker hillside. A sudden weight crashed into her back, knocking the wind from her. A black arm encircled her neck like a collar of steel as reeking, tattered cloth filled her gasping mouth. She sought to reach her attacker with the hunting knife, raking with desperate strokes. Several strokes found their mark, but the creature made no sound in reply, and the arm encircling her neck did not loosen.

  It tried to wrench her from the saddle, and she scrabbled at the saddle horn to keep her seat. Just as she began to slide, the mare lurched forward with a shriek. The huntress strained to peer downward. She saw more of the creatures wrapping themselves about the horse’s legs, and in a split second the entire mass was pitching from the tail in a thrashing tangle of limbs.

  The sloping, uneven ground and the night sky exchanged places, whirling together in a dizzying dance. The huntress was thrown free, and she screamed in pain as rocks and roots dug into her flesh and crushing weights came down atop her. Somehow she twisted violently in midair as her parasite shifted its grip, and she kicked free from it to tumble alone, end over end, down the hillside. She sprawled at last to a stop, wheezing and spitting blood from smashed lips.

  When she raised her head, she saw that Shien still lived, for the moment at least. The mare was kicking and heaving, trying to roll to a standing position once more. Pinned beneath her glossy black bulk, the duller black of several crooked figures swaddled in cloth could be seen clawing at the ground, their unblinking eyes fixed upon the downed huntress.

  She cast about for a weapon, but her knife and bow were both lost somewhere on the dark slope. She felt for her quiver, and found it gone. The creature on her back must have torn it away. Faint glimmers in the grass nearby marked where several of her arrows had come to a scattered rest. She crawled toward the nearest, groping as she went for a rock she could pry loose from the ground and use against her attackers. The instant her fingers closed around the missile, she knew it for one of her precious black arrows, and she groaned.

  A grip like iron seized her ankle, and she rolled, lashing out with her boot to hammer kick after kick into the gaping creature. It came onward, undeterred, pawing and crawling its way over her like she was a rope to be climbed. Its face drew near to hers and the soulless wells of its eyes fixed upon hers, the mouth opening wide in some hideous, silent parody of mortal speech. An ebon fist drew back, trailing coils of tattered cloth.

  She lunged forward with both hands and jammed the black arrow into the yawning mouth and up into the thing’s brain.

  With a savage flare of satisfaction tinged by regret at the waste, she bore witness to what a small fortune in gold could purchase from a master arcanist, and to the fate she had planned for her malevolent quarry. A crack of thunder split the air, and a brilliant flash of light stole her vision. A rush of heat blistered the skin of her hands and face, and the weight vanished from atop her.

  Blinking away the colors popping before her eyes, she cast about and found the mangled remains of the black thing lying in a motionless pile several yards distant. Thick tendrils of noxious smoke rose from where its head had been but moments before.

  Rapid footsteps intruded upon the ringing in her ears. She twisted toward the sound, trying to face her attackers, but heavy blows rained down upon her and she knew no more.

  Amric reined in his bay gelding, peering into the distance where the flash of light had erupted and then faded just as abruptly.

  “Did you see that?” he asked.

  “Do you think me blind?” Syth grumbled. “Of course I saw it.”

  The thief sat astride Valkarr’s restive blue dun, and if he scowled down at the horse in distaste, it was no worse than the spiteful glares the beast bestowed upon him in return. The others drew rein behind them, with Halthak and Valkarr riding double on the Half-Ork’s chestnut mare and Bellimar on his placid, sturdy old nag.

  “What in the heavens was that?” Halthak said.

  “I have no idea,” Amric replied with a shake of his head. “But it was no more than a few minutes up the road, very near the cave.”

  “An evoker’s magic, from the sharp report,” Bellimar said. “Though as to its purpose, I cannot say.”

  Amric was silent for a moment, looking into the darkness. When he spoke, his voice had become cold and resolute. “It lies in our path. I mean to investigate it.”

  Syth stared at him. “Do murderous lights hold some newfound fascination for you, after the Fount? Are you a moth, to be drawn so to the flame?”

  The swordsman turned wintry grey eyes upon him. “I lost the trail of our missing friends at Stronghold,” he said. “If fortune is so kind as to offer me a pointer back onto that trail, I’ll not take the risk of circling wide around the sign.”

  “You would assume that everything is now a possible sign from the fates?” Syth demanded. “How can you pursue every strange occurrence in this land gone mad?”

  “One at a time,” Amric replied.

  The thief threw up his hands in exasperation, then grabbed for the reins once again as the dun gelding shifted in a move that looked suspiciously like it was trying to shrug him out of the saddle.

  “But you are correct, Syth,” the warrior continued in a mild tone. “It could be dangerous, and perhaps it would be wiser for you to remain here.”

  Syth ground his teeth, eyes narrowed in an icy glare. “I’ll not have it said I took the coward’s route,” he gritted. “I will be at your shoulder, if I can keep this useless mountain of horse flesh pointed in the right direction.”

  Amric chuckled and turned to Valkarr. The Sil’ath still looked gaunt and tired, but pushed himself stiffly upright to sit tall on the horse, his chin lifted.

  “I know you wish to ride with us on this, my friend, but you have not yet regained your strength. I need you to stay with these two and keep them safe while you all follow at a short distance. Be ready, for as much as I would hate to lose time to a retreat or detour, it may prove necessary.”

  The Sil’ath sighed and nodded. With a curt nod to Bellimar and Halthak, Amric wheeled his bay and kicked it into a gallop. Behind him, amid a shower of muttered curses, he heard Syth’s mount follow.

  Minutes later, they slowed as they neared the location from which the burst of light had emanated. All seemed quiet, the only movement being the short scrub grasses of the foothills swaying under the hoary light of the stars. Amric’s eyes picked out the winding trail leading up to the cave, and he was guiding his mount off the road and toward that narrow path when a sound further up the main road drew their attention. They cantered ahead and found the source. It was a riderless black horse, a glossy patch of ink against the night, giving a subdued cough and stamping its feet as it backed away from them. Amric studied the trembling animal, taking in the rolling white eyes and the froth of sweat on its coat. It had seen strenuous activity, and quite recently. He scanned about for the rider, but found no sign.

  Then another sound drifted to them from ahead and north of the broad road: a muffled scream, almost lost to distance.

  Amric spurred his mount to a gallop, leaning low over the bay’s muscular neck. The gelding was somewhat tired from the long day of slow travel picking along the base of the rocky foothills bordering the
forest, but given its first chance in many days to open up and race, the eager young animal seized the opportunity. Syth fell behind, bouncing awkwardly in the saddle and spewing a steady litany of blasphemous threats at his mount. Amric strained to pierce the gloom as he rode ahead, for he could not triangulate on the sounds over the clatter of his horse’s hooves, and at last a flurry of movement north of the highway caught his eye.

  At first he thought he was looking upon some many-legged beast, scurrying through the long, waving grasses where the foothills gave grudging way to gently rolling plains. As he stared, however, he realized it was a handful of the repulsive black things dressed in rags that had assaulted them in the forest. The source of the indignant cry became evident as well, for the creatures bore a thrashing captive among them. The group was clustered around their prize, running in unison, cleaving through the undulating sea of grass in headlong, rapid strides.

  With a jerk of the reins, the warrior sent his horse leaping from the road. The creatures were fast, moving at the kind of unflagging dead run which a mortal man could not endure for long. All the same, they could not hope to match a fast steed.

  As he closed the gap, one of his swords slid gleaming into his hand, and he knotted the reins in his other fist as he leaned from the saddle. He overtook them on a small, rolling rise, sweeping by in a thunderous cloud, and his blade sang in the night air. The rearmost creature pitched forward to the sward, its head bumping along the ground without it for several yards. Another fell with one of its legs shorn almost clean through.

  The remaining monstrosities reacted with astonishing speed. The pair in the lead swerved away from the threat, while the one now at the rear of the entourage broke free of the pack to sprint after him. Amric steered his mount wide, outdistancing his pursuer and circling back toward those still fleeing with their hostage.

  His bay gelding suddenly reared as something rose before them. It was the one he had injured, dragging its useless leg behind it as it skittered rapidly through the grasses on its remaining crooked limbs like some huge, hideous spider. It gathered and hurled itself at him in an impossible bound, and he lashed out in a vicious cut that sent the grimacing head spinning away into the night even as its limp body crashed into the horse. He dragged on the reins, bringing the terrified bay under control, and surged forward once more just as the creature chasing him tore through a curtain of waving green stalks mere yards behind him. He peered over his shoulder as the fiend pounded after him in untiring pursuit. A tall, bulky shape loomed behind it, and he almost shouted in fierce exultation when the creature suddenly vanished, ridden down from behind by Syth’s blue dun. He did not see the thing rise again, and he hoped that iron-shod hooves had found its skull.

  The remaining pair whirled to face them, dumping their burden to the ground where it rolled to an unceremonious halt, still writhing. Amric sprang from the saddle, and his other sword was in hand before his boots touched earth. Scant moments later, a gust of wind flattened the grasses around him, and Syth was at his shoulder.

  “Aim for the heads,” Amric said.

  “I will aim for whatever I please,” Syth retorted.

  Amric grinned, and they leapt to meet their charging foes.

  Afterward, Syth prodded with a metal-clad finger at the still form of one of the creatures as Amric wiped his swords clean. The things did not bleed, exactly, but instead left behind a clear, slimy, foul-smelling film on the blades that left him as eager to remove it from the metal as he was to avoid any unnecessary contact between it and his flesh.

  “What manner of creature are they?” Syth asked as his lip curled in disgust.

  “I do not know, but they seemed once again intent on seizing rather than slaying,” Amric mused. “I wonder to what strange destination they were bearing their captured prey.”

  He gazed in the direction they had been headed, but to his knowledge nothing lay in that southern region for countless miles except rolling hills of prairie.

  The thief rose to his feet with a lop-sided grin. “It seems to discover that, we had only to belay our interference for a time and follow them instead. Doubtless this poor fellow could have bided a while longer as we satisfied our curiosity, no?”

  Amric studied the figure on the ground, bound tightly in coil upon coil of ragged cloth such that only a few glimpses of leathers and a dark cloak were visible. The captive still drew in deep, rasping breaths, but had otherwise grown still once the sounds of combat ceased.

  “I rather think he would disagree with you on the point, Syth,” Amric said. “But it is time to let him speak for himself.”

  He stepped forward, sheathing his swords and drawing his belt knife. “I am going to sever your bonds, friend,” he said. “Be very still, if you value your flesh.”

  The figure froze, and Amric knelt down. The cloth parted beneath his blade and fell away from torso to thigh, and the warrior rose, stepping back. In an instant, slender hands made pale by the starlight were clawing at the remaining bonds, tearing and peeling.

  Syth put voice to a realization that had dawned upon Amric as well. “That is no fellow,” he breathed.

  Those hands reached up and unwound the strips from about the head, and then swept back the hood of the cloak. Auburn hair tumbled free, and startling green eyes regarded them both from an oval face swollen with a myriad of cuts and abrasions. Amric saw a strange mixture of fear and anger pass through her expression as she looked past them to search the darkness beyond. When frantic gaze returned to the two of them, she sagged with relief and seemed to regain a measure of her confidence. The warrior frowned. It appeared that she had expected someone else, had been in fact braced for another attacker of some kind.

  “Well?” she demanded. “Which one of you is going to help a lady to her feet?”

  They rejoined the others on the road near the cave.

  Amric let out a breath he had not even realized he was holding when he saw the three men astride their horses, with no further sign of the foul black creatures. Halthak held the reins of the quivering black mare, and was speaking soothing words to it in a low tone. As they neared, the huntress slid from her seat behind Amric on the bay gelding and gave a sharp whistle. The mare jerked the reins from the Half-Ork’s hand with a toss of its head, and trotted to her.

  “You are developing a way with horses, healer,” Amric said with a laugh, as Halthak gave a rueful shake of the stung hand. “But the horse well knows its mistress.”

  He watched as the woman ran her hands over the horse and down each of its legs, checking for serious injuries. Amric noted that she kept her back to Halthak, Valkarr and Bellimar as she did this, and when she swung into the saddle a moment later, she kept her head low and looked out at them from under a tangle of tresses such that her features were almost entirely masked.

  Amric cleared his throat. “The lady declined to give her name until we were all together, but she was an unwilling guest of the same black man-like creatures we encountered in the forest. Now, if I may introduce––”

  The huntress, however, paid no heed to him whatsoever, and instead circled her horse wide around the group and left the road at a canter. She reached the trail leading up to the cave and dismounted, searching the hillside for something. Syth urged his horse forward after her, but Bellimar held up a hand and shook his head.

  “Give her a moment, gentlemen,” he said with a hint of a smile. “Introductions should resume shortly.”

  Syth exchanged a puzzled look with Amric, but held his position. For long minutes, the woman clambered over the hillside, thrashing about in the weeds in search of something, casting repeated glances over her shoulder toward the group.

  Bellimar rode a few yards away from the others. He had his back to her as he sat relaxed in the saddle, scanning the countryside. At last she returned to her horse with a purposeful stride and rode toward them again. Amric saw that she now held a bow in one hand, and a quiver full of arrows was slung across her back. His eyes narrowed. She was
guiding her mare with only her knees, so that both her hands were free. Valkarr nodded at him; he had noticed the same. Amric threw a hard warning look to Syth and then rode forward in a slow, non-threatening walk to meet her. The other men waited, expectant, as she approached. Bellimar guided his horse into a languid turn to face her, the same enigmatic smile playing across his features.

  “Madam, I think there may be some misunderstanding––” Amric began.

  His words died in midsentence, however, as the huntress suddenly stood tall in her stirrups. She raised the black arrow she had been holding along her thigh, nocked it to her bow, drew back and fired, all in a blinding flicker of practiced motion. Amric muttered a startled oath and jerked to one side, his sword ringing forth. But the shot flew well wide of him, and he realized it was not intended for him at all. He whirled to chart its course and saw Bellimar’s pale hand flash up before his face. Vibrating in his clenched fist, its razor point inches from his left eye, was the black arrow.

  Amric’s mouth fell open. The old man had caught the bloody thing in mid-flight, without even changing expression! He spun back to the woman, only to find her with another black arrow drawn and aimed at Bellimar, though this one she did not release. Amric knotted his fist on the reins and prepared to charge, but she swung the bow toward him.

  “Stay back!” she shouted. “I will feather the first to move toward me.”

  “Nasty piece of work, this,” Bellimar was saying, rolling the missile between bony fingers. “I think it might well have fulfilled its purpose. How did you come by it, my dear?”

  The huntress did not respond, except to level the bow at the old man once more. Amric studied her eyes, her expression twisted with hatred, her slender frame shaking with suppressed rage. Seldom had he seen such naked animosity.

  Anger of his own flared within him.

  “You have a strange way of repaying a courtesy, woman,” he snapped.