Amric’s eyes narrowed as he regarded Bellimar. He was unnerved at the prospect of the vampire enjoying free reign in his psyche while he was defenseless, but there was little help for it now. Somewhat skeptical, he reached for the expertise to open a Way, focusing on his desire to reach the Adept, and to his surprise it came to him readily. It was as if it had always been there, a task that was now every bit as familiar as drawing his sword or riding a horse. His wilding magic roused and flared with eagerness at the prospect of calling up the power necessary for the act, but Amric shuddered at the violation. What else had Bellimar hidden within his mind?
Bellimar stared back with that infuriating grin, as if daring him to ask the question aloud. Amric ground his teeth, but held his tongue. He had agreed to the process, after all, in a desperate grab at salvation for his people and his world. He had known the risks.
Instead he said, “I thank you for your efforts, Bellimar. May they prove sufficient, for all our sakes.”
Bellimar responded with a solemn nod. “We must part ways now. The dawn is coming, and I have far to travel before I lose the cover of night.”
Amric pushed to his feet, and in the simple act he uncovered yet another revelation: his weariness was gone. The battles with the Nar’ath queen and Xenoth had left him exhausted in mind and body, but he felt as if he was somehow waking from a full night’s rest. He was not fully recovered, but he felt fit enough for the coming conflict. His brows knitted in puzzlement. It made no sense; his time locked in the trance had not been long enough to account for the change, and in any event, it had not felt in the least way restful. Then he glared at Bellimar with sudden suspicion.
“You shared more than knowledge,” he accused. “You gave me some portion of your vitality as well.”
“I can assure you that it came without price or taint,” Bellimar said. His grin broadened even further, and closer inspection revealed what the shadows had concealed until then. The vampire was even more wasted and gaunt than before. His eyes burned from sunken black pits, and his narrow face was so hollow-cheeked as to appear skeletal. When he smiled, the white skin tightened like parchment over a bleached skull.
“That is strength you can ill afford to discard,” Amric said with a frown. “It will make your curse all the more difficult to bear.”
“Indeed it does. Another reason I must be away from here.”
The vampire’s voice quavered slightly as he spoke, and the hunger rolled from him in palpable waves. They faced each other for a moment, and then Amric said, “So be it. Fare you well, Bellimar.”
“Fare you well, Amric.”
“What madness is this?” Syth cried, sweeping in from the direction of the cairn. “Should we not try to stop him? Thalya wanted him-”
“Dead or redeemed,” Bellimar interrupted with quiet conviction. “And though she could not know it, she may well have achieved both, in the end. Do not worry, Syth, the night is not over yet.”
The dark figure turned to depart, then hesitated, and swung back.
“She would want you to remember, Syth, that love is a gift, and its magic is in the giving and receiving rather than the having. What you were given can never be taken at the hand of another.”
“What do you know of love, fiend?” Syth snapped. “Are honeyed words supposed to soothe my pain?”
“No,” Bellimar responded with a sad smile. “But there will come a time when the truth behind them will restore a measure of your inner strength. Grieve until then, my young friend. No one can take that from you, either.”
Before the other could form a retort, Bellimar whirled away and flowed over the rocky edge in a cascade of midnight, vanishing from sight. Moments later, a shadow rose against the light of the moon and spread great black wings to wing its way rapidly north. Amric watched until it dwindled to a speck and was lost against the dark leaden grey of the night sky. Then he turned to Valkarr. His friend reached out and clasped his shoulder, but hesitated at the look on his face. One scaly brow ridge rose in question.
“There is something you need to know,” Amric said, and his tongue felt thick in his mouth. “About me. It may affect your decision to join me in what comes next.”
Valkarr snorted. “I think not.”
“Hear it first.”
The Sil’ath warrior folded muscular arms across his broad chest. “Are you going to tell me that you do not wish me at your side in this battle?”
Amric swallowed. “No, of course not. Never that.”
“Then it can wait until afterward,” Valkarr stated. “We all know what is at stake, and we stand ready, sword-brother. Lead the way.”
Sariel stepped to his side in silent accord. She lifted her chin and met his gaze with a fierce glint sparkling in her eye. Halthak drew up behind them, and though his knuckles were white as he gripped his gnarled staff, he stood unbowed and his features were set into hard, resolute lines.
Syth cast a final, lingering look at the solitary mound of rock. His hair and clothing fluttered and waved toward it, as if the ever-present breeze surrounding him meant to pull him back in that direction. When he turned back to the others, his expression was stone. “Let us finish this,” he said.
Amric drew a deep breath and concentrated, calling forth knowledge that was not his. He drew upon power that was, and it filled him in a ready, burning flood. In his mind, he held an image of the ancient ruins of Queln, and it was a composite of Bellimar’s borrowed memories and the remote scene he had glimpsed earlier behind the black-robed Adept. He focused his will on a point in the air before him, there atop the crown of rock, and he made a cutting motion with one hand. A tall seam of light appeared, and with another gesture it split open. Amric felt a tearing sensation, as if he was parting heavy cloth with his bare hands, and the effort drained at his energy, but the Way opened before him like a thick set of curtains spreading to reveal an open doorway behind.
Beyond the fiery edges of the aperture, he could see Queln.
Mist curled everywhere amid great tumbled ruins, flowing over, between and through. A roaring sound came to him, vast and unfathomable like the thunder of the ocean, and light of every hue danced within the mists. The air crackled with power, raising the hair on his arms and the nape of his neck as stood there. His wilding magic prowled and snarled with impatience in the recesses of his mind.
Amric did not look around at the others, but he could feel their stares heavy upon him. He reached over his shoulders and drew forth both swords. Power suffused him, continuing to build, and at his touch mystical flame sprang across the blades. The others flinched, and he clenched his jaw as he watched the heatless flame writhe along the naked steel.
Some knowledge, once gained, could never be forgotten. Some actions, once taken, could never be undone. That it was necessary did little to lessen the pain.
He plunged forward and through the portal.
CHAPTER 27
Amric stepped through the portal and onto a forest-backed hill that overlooked a scene out of madness. Black clouds gathered overhead in dense folds, colliding and joining together to form a titanic spiral that spanned the sky and turned with a slow, ponderous grace. A mountainous funnel began at the center of that great wheel and reached for the earth below. Lightning clawed at the clouds and wound its way down the dark vortex, and all of it was permeated by a sullen, volcanic red glow.