Thalya released her breath as she released the arrow, just as she had been trained to do. It struck her as peculiar that it came out almost like a sigh of relief, like a parting kiss to speed the weapon on its way. The string thrummed and the arrow leapt from her bow. That elusive sense of fulfillment flooded her at last as she watched it go with a grim smile. Fly true, she thought fiercely after it.
Xenoth saw it coming at the last instant. He froze, and his features twisted from murderous intent to an almost comical surprise. He threw his hands up in a warding gesture, and the missile struck an unseen barrier less than an arm’s length from his face. There was an ear-shattering detonation, and green fire coruscated over an invisible dome-like shape before the man. Xenoth staggered back with a cry and dropped to one knee. A wave of hot air washed over Thalya and brought a biting cloud of dust and sand with it. She raised an arm to shield her eyes, and when she lowered it again, Xenoth was staring at her, shaking with incredulous rage.
“You dare?” he thundered. “You insolent-”
Amric attacked in a roar of flame. He stood, braced forward, arms extended and palms outward as if he meant to push Xenoth away through sheer force of will.
And push him he did.
Brilliant white light erupted from Amric’s hands and fountained into a column of energy as thick as a man. It was bright as the sun, but more narrowly focused than the uncontrolled torrent he had called forth before. Xenoth managed to lower his head and cross his arms against it, but the strike slammed into his defenses, lifted him from his feet and threw him backward. The Adept flew through the glowing rift he had opened and disappeared into the mists beyond in a flutter of black robes. The fissure wavered at his passing, and then its fiery edges contracted and came together like a great winking eye. The seam flared once in the night air, then faded and was gone.
Xenoth blinked, and dragged in a shuddering breath. A steady ringing sound droned in his ears, and he felt strangely weightless. Pale mists curled about him in a cool embrace, but he caught glimpses of the night sky through that shroud, and it seemed to him that the world was tilted the wrong way. For that matter, the damp, lanky grasses intertwined with his beard and tickling his nose and lips seemed out of place as well.
A soft rustling sound approached. Large, almond-shaped amber eyes regarded him behind a thin veil of mist, and he blinked back at them, uncomprehending. A scratching noise came to him, claw upon stone, and an eager mewling escaped the creature. It was answered from a smattering of other directions, all drawing nearer.
It was those sounds that jarred the Adept from his stupor. They carried notes of need, of intent, of hunger. The danger of his situation crashed in on him.
Xenoth lurched upward to a sitting position with a thin shout, sweeping an arm around in an arc to wave them back. The nearest creature shrank away from him, its rabid eyes narrowed, and it turned as if to leave. The Adept pushed to his feet and staggered for a moment, shaking his head to clear it. The creature gave a rumbling hiss of unmistakable pleasure at this show of weakness and took another slow step toward him. Xenoth felt a momentary stab of fear that gave way to burgeoning rage.
“Back, you carrion-feeders!” he shouted, whirling his hands in a wide circle that sent lashes of fire into the mists. The lurking shapes scattered, keening in fear and frustration. They melted back into the murk, and then Xenoth was alone.
He slapped at his robes with more vigor than necessary to dust them off. He could not decide if he was more furious at the defiance of lesser creatures such as the wilding and his companions, or at his own foolishness for being caught by surprise like that. In the end, he concluded he had fury enough for both at the moment. The boy had made a quick recovery, and had shown surprising strength and focus in that last attack. Xenoth knew little of wildings; perhaps that wild, instinctual nature to their magic enabled them to adapt with unnatural swiftness. Doubtless it was merely one of many reasons the Council had eradicated them with systematic precision, throughout the years. And where had the woman procured a nasty little surprise like that arrow, anyway? This primitive world was proving to be full of unpleasant surprises.
He clenched his fists and spent a long moment contemplating the idea of ripping open another Way to go finish off the wilding. No, he decided at last with a sigh. As much as it would bring him pleasure, it was a poor plan. Opening a Way to unfamiliar territory was a taxing endeavor, and he had already done it twice this night in rapid succession. Another trip to and from the wastes to capture the wilding, after all that he had spent that night, would leave his strength ebbing to a dangerous level.
Xenoth frowned. It galled him to admit it, but that damnable vampire had been correct: he was weary. Subduing the wilding had been no real challenge. The boy was strong and unpredictable, but he lacked any semblance of craft that would make him a true threat. The Nar’ath monstrosity, however, had been another matter. The fiend had hardly been slowed by attacks that should have torn it asunder, and Xenoth had been forced to put more and more energy behind each strike to affect it at all. In the end he had resorted to indirect means, pouring energy into the creature’s surroundings to batter at it, to weaken it, and to slip past its armor at last. He considered its intimations that its kind had built up some resistance to magic over time in preparation for facing the Adepts, and he shuddered to think of untold numbers of the monsters already lurking within his world.
He knew what must be done. He knew as well that it might well mean his life to do it.
When the flare of magical activity here-power that could only have been an Adept-had drawn the attention of the Council, it had confirmed his greatest shame at the same time it offered his chance at redemption. Find and eliminate the boy, an enemy of the Council by extension, as he had failed to do all those years ago. It was made quite clear that Xenoth’s life was forfeit if he returned empty-handed again.
That, however, was exactly what he had to do.
A new, higher priority had surfaced, and it could not wait upon his original mission. He had to close the doorway used by the Nar’ath to enter Aetheria and warn the Council of the hidden threat already harbored there. Would his masters understand the choice he faced? Would they show lenience for the decision he was about to make?
Xenoth took a deep breath and turned to look upon the Gate. It towered above the fog, a massive arch of stone that stood silent and majestic atop its marble platform. A faint nimbus of light surrounded it and imbued the crawling mists in all directions with an eldritch glow. The weathered sigils carved into its surface, each as tall as a man, pulsed in a slow rhythm as if the ancient construct was drawing breath. Within the arch, a shimmering surface stretched and rippled like dark waters kissed by moonlight. Even standing hundreds of yards from it, Xenoth could feel the power of the Essence Gate pulling at him. The power to give or take on a cataclysmic level. The power to share or to destroy. The power to unmake.
The black-robed Adept let his eyes travel over the Gate, following the curve of the great arch and lingering upon each luminous glyph. He knew in principle how to proceed, though he had never thought to perform the actions himself. What he was contemplating carried its own penalty of death or imprisonment. The Essence Gates transmitted the lifeblood of Aetheria; the Council did not tolerate tampering with their operation except under its own express orders. And yet, it had to be done. It was the only way to be certain, the only way to protect Aetheria.
With that much decided, he had one more choice left to make: close the door entirely, or throw it wide open? The door was open a crack at the moment, figuratively speaking; Aetheria was sipping at this world’s essence through the Gate. He could disable the Gate, which would simultaneously sever the flow of magic through it as well as prevent its use as a transportation portal between the two worlds. Aetheria required the sustenance it received from its feeder worlds, however, and the Council would not be pleased to lose one that was drawing at this level.