The moment seemed at once endless, poised forever on the edge of a razor, and yet over all too soon. The attacks ceased, and Amric spun to one knee at the center of a blackened crater. He held his sword held back and swept outward, and each breath seared in his chest.
Xenoth stood frozen, his eyes wide. He raised his hands again and hesitated for only the briefest instant, but it was enough. Amric burst into motion, darting from view and disappearing into the ruins. He staggered and clutched his side as he ran through the mists, but he wore a grim smile. They had each drawn blood in this first clash, and he was still standing. Moreover, he had seen something new and unexpected in the Adept’s expression, there in those closing seconds.
He had seen fear.
The men on the docks paused in their work, craning their necks back toward the city. Borric looked at the upturned faces. Their eyes were wide with apprehension, and shadows played across their smudged features, snared between the cold light of the moon and the warm light of the flickering torches. The captain turned to look as well.
He let out a slow breath. There was nothing to see yet. The city streets ramped down to the docks in a series of wide switchbacks and stairways carved into the slope, and the buildings and boulevards all stood dark and empty. The steady stream of humanity had slowed to a trickle and then stopped altogether, but many still stood flocked together on the quays, seeking places on the remaining ships. As Borric watched, a ripple of motion passed through the throng of people as the citizens of Keldrin’s Landing turned to gaze back into the city’s heart as well.
The eastern gate could not be seen from the docks, but all could hear the approach of the swarm. A low, unearthly sound had been building as a background hum for long minutes, and it was rising to a fever pitch. It reached a crescendo, and the crowd held its collective breath.
Something slammed into the distant gate with thunderous force, and the sound rang out in the night like hammer upon anvil. Metal screamed and wood split with a cracking report, and it seemed to Borric that the very ground beneath his feet trembled from the blow. The sound of the advancing swarm of creatures, muted before by the mighty city wall, was freed. The shrieking roar of countless bestial voices, raised together in mindless fury, echoed over the city.
Borric’s blood ran cold at the sound. There was nothing of nature or reason in that sound, nothing even of predators hunting for survival. Rather, it was a chorus of torment and madness, of pain and blind, lashing rage. The primitive part of his mind that screamed for self-preservation wanted only to find a deep, dark hole and hide in it until death had passed him by, but he shook himself with an effort. He looked around and found the people rooted in place, frozen with terror.
He climbed onto a nearby crate, drew a breath, and boomed a wordless shout as loud as he could manage over the crowd. The men and women blinked, startled from their stupor, and turned to him with blank stares.
“Faster now, people!” he bellowed. “Make your choice between the belly of a boat and the bellies of those fiends up there. One or the other will have you by the morning light!”
The crowd surged forward, pressing onto the docks.
He shouted, “Keep it orderly and help your fellows, or you will be swimming instead!”
Borric jumped down from the crate and pushed one of his men into motion, then stooped to help a citizen who had stumbled back to her feet. He strode down the docks, shouting orders and casting frequent looks up at the darkened city looming above.
Amric peered through a crack in the stone, watching the tall figure of the Adept move through the ruins with a wary stride. Without warning, Xenoth whirled and sent fire lancing into the mist. The warrior’s heart skipped a beat, fearing one of the Sil’ath had been found. After a moment, however, the Adept turned back with an angry oath, and Amric let out a breath of relief.
Xenoth stalked back and forth, scanning the ruins for his prey, but he did not roam far from the stairway leading to the Gate. Amric cursed. He had allowed the man to catch fleeting glimpses of his movements between piles of rubble, and though he had drawn occasional fire, the Adept had refused to be lured away from the platform. He had to find some way to divert Xenoth’s attention to such an extent that Syth and Halthak could slip behind him and up to the Gate. This was proving difficult enough, but it was only the first step. Assuming those two could find a way to shut down the Gate, the Adept would doubtless react by slaying them both and reactivating the device. Fundamental to the success of the plan was preventing Xenoth from taking such action, and Amric had to find the way.
He raised his voice and shouted, “This is madness, Adept. What gives you the right to end an entire world?” He then spun and glided away, staying low and out of sight.
Xenoth cocked his head, orienting upon the sound, and turned his steps in that direction. His hands twitched and clenched at his sides. “You know why it must be now, wilding,” he shouted. “The Nar’ath threat must be contained. They cannot be permitted to gain a foothold in Aetheria.” He tilted his head, listening. “But that only made the matter more urgent. This pitiful world has been scheduled for destruction for some time now, and therein, I think, lies your true question.”
Xenoth neared the tumble of rock and raised his hands in anticipation, but spun around in shock when Amric’s voice came from a different direction. “And your answer, fiend?”
The Adept gave a cold smile and a rueful shake of his head, and altered course. “Are you a fiend when you hunt game, boy?” he called out. “Are you a monster when you draw nourishment from the flesh of a lesser creature?”
“It is not the same,” Amric snarled in response. “You are planning the death of an entire world. Countless lives snuffed out.”
“So that countless others may live,” Xenoth insisted, his eyes narrowed as he searched the mist-shrouded darkness. “Aetheria is home to the greatest civilization in all the stars, and the wonders it has achieved throughout the millennia do not come without cost. Our world alone cannot support our needs. Sacrifices must be made. This world is not the first to give its life to the greater good, nor will it be the last.”
Amric knelt in a tall patch of damp grass, peering around a fallen column. There, near the foot of the stairs leading to the Gate, a flicker of movement. A pair of dark figures crept toward the foot of the stairs, hiding in the mantle of shadow in the lee of the platform.
“The greater good?” Amric demanded, putting all the scorn that he could muster in his tone. “All your achievements are steeped in the blood of innocents. No amount of noble intent can justify such a price!”
Xenoth barked a laugh. “Your perspective is skewed, boy. Doubtless the game you slew for sustenance would put a higher price on its own life as well, if it could.”
“It is not the same,” Amric repeated, flushed with anger. “A hunter takes what he needs so that he and his family can survive, but he takes one of many, and the herd replenishes. You speak of taking in order to achieve greater wonders, and of leaving behind a world barren of all life. There is no comparison.”
“Perhaps not,” the Adept growled, sliding around the end of the column to face Amric. “Then again, to us, perhaps your world is just one of the herd to be culled for our use.”
He lunged forward with a triumphant shout, and fire roared toward Amric. The warrior, awaiting his appearance, rolled to one side and sent a lance of light at the other in return. The blow shattered on a glittering shield raised at the last instant by Xenoth, and Amric sprinted further into the ruins. Xenoth spat an oath and started to follow, then caught himself and glanced back at the platform. Syth and Halthak were scrambling up the steps, twin shadows against the pale marble.