The Essence Gate loomed over him, and he was awestruck by its ancient majesty. The massive arch of stone towered sixty feet or more into the air, and each of the worn sigils carved into its broad surface was the height of a tall man as well. An aura of brilliant light surrounded the device, radiating from it in measured pulses as if the device drew long, ponderous breaths. The sigils pulsed with an orange-red glow to the same slow beat. Within the arch stretched a shining surface, almost too bright to look upon. Amric’s second sight showed rivers of energy running into that rippling aperture, flowing into as to a giant drain, never to return.
“We have found no controls, on or around it,” Valkarr said, his jaw muscles tightening as he regarded the mammoth device. “It continues to empty our world of life.”
“We thought you might be able to…” Sariel trailed off, ending with a vague gesture.
Use magic, Amric thought with a bitter grimace. Of course.
He studied the Gate, observing the movement of energies around it. His wilding magic stirred and quivered, though whether with trepidation or eagerness, he was not certain. Not knowing how to proceed, he reached out with his senses, seeking to touch it and better understand it.
To his surprise, something touched back.
An expansive presence followed that initial contact, flooding him with its awareness, and an eager murmuring pattered against his mind. Amric’s mouth fell open in shock. It was an ancient thing, timeless and patient. It was vast and powerful, but oddly compliant-and it was very much alive. It whispered to him, eager to yield its secrets, and there was a soft susurration at the back of his mind as it conversed with his wilding magic as well.
Hardly daring to hope, he inquired after the information he sought, and the Gate responded to that encouragement with a surging desire to please. A score of voices babbled at him in cheerful cacophony, and he struggled to single out one at a time to follow. In moments he understood how to return the mighty Gate to a state of quiescence, and he knew how to travel through it to Aetheria, the master world on the other side. He also knew, beyond a shadow of uncertainty, that there was no way to destroy or permanently disable the Gate from this side. A cold pit opened in his stomach.
The roar of the Essence Gate lessened, and its radiant corona diminished to a faint, clinging nimbus of light. The surface within the arch darkened until it no longer blazed like the sun, and instead resembled the moon-kissed ripple of the sea at night. The sigils dimmed until they burned low, like dying embers.
Amric let out a slow breath and exchanged a weary glance with his companions.
The Gate was dormant once more. Their world was safe, for the moment.
CHAPTER 28
The Silverwing carved through the waves. It was a squat and ungainly ship, wallowing in each trough and showing little of the grace its name implied as it carried its burden of refugees out into the Vellayen Sea. All the same, Borric decided as he stood on the aft deck and watched the docks of Keldrin’s Landing grow smaller in the distance, right at this moment the sturdy vessel was a thing of beauty to him.
The Silverwing was the last ship to slip away from the land, and thus it had an unobstructed view of the trap that had closed its jaws just behind them all.
In the half-light of the yielding night, the city teemed with motion. Dark, twisted shapes slithered through the streets and crawled over the buildings. Some moved together in seething masses, like great swarms of angry insects. Others, larger and heavier, stalked amid their smaller brethren, brushing them aside as they moved. Still others appeared as glimmers of cold light, wraiths that flickered here and there like whispered tales. The creatures tore at the structures and raised their voices in furious shrieks that carried across the water to those on the boat.
Borric watched, mesmerized. His broken arm hung in its sling, seeming to throb in time with the rolling motions of the ship, and he gave a shudder that owed nothing to the salty breeze. The escape had been a close thing indeed. It would be quite some time before he closed his eyes without seeing the burning hatred in their bestial stares or hearing the rasp of their talons on the docks as the sailors threw the last of the ropes that bound the ship to shore. He hoped that no one had been foolish enough to remain behind, hoping to weather the invasion. If so, there was nothing to be done for them now. He forced his mind to other matters.
What had happened to drive the magical creatures of the area, normally so reclusive, to such lengths of madness? It was a question that had been asked often over these many months since the troubles began, but he found himself no closer now to an answer.
The worst of it had always emanated from the east, somewhere in or beyond that vast, terrible forest. The ominous storm brewing over it was only the latest evil to gather there. Borric glanced in that direction, squinting into the distance, and blinked in surprise. The sullen, reddish glow on the horizon had diminished, and the black mantle across the sky had broken into fragments. Even as he watched, the storm clouds clotted together in lesser groups and continued their grudging dispersal.
The captain of the Silverwing stepped up beside Borric. The grizzled old sailor had a lean, pitted face that resembled a barnacle with a greying beard. One knobby hand extended to caress the ship’s rail in a familiar, unconscious gesture filled with pride. In all the chaos, Borric had not even caught the captain’s name, despite working shoulder to shoulder with the man for long, frantic minutes during their escape; somehow it seemed absurd to ask after it now.
“Did well for a one-armed man,” the captain said in a rasping tone. “Pulled your load. You’d make a fair sailor, if you’ve a mind for it.”
Borric chuckled. “Let us just say that I did not lack for motivation, especially there at the end.”
The captain gave a dry chuckle. He jerked his chin toward the retreating city. “They are calming, now.”
It was true. The frenzy of activity at the city was slowing. The creatures were no longer incensed and destructive, but rather were milling about. They appeared more restless and confused than angry.
“What do you make of it?” the captain asked.
Borric shrugged one shoulder and shook his head. “Perhaps they only wanted to see us gone,” he said. “Perhaps we were never meant to be there in the first place.”
The captain gave a noncommittal grunt. They watched for a time in companionable silence as each plunge and rise of the Silverwing carried them further and further away. The heavens brightened steadily with the coming dawn, and at last the creatures, no more than tiny motes in the distance by then, melted away into the ravaged structures of the city to take cover from the day.
“I am told that you are in command here,” the sea captain said. There was a question behind the words.
Borric, erstwhile captain of the city guard for Keldrin’s Landing, rumbled a laugh that began in his belly. “No sir,” he said with a broad grin. “As of this very moment, I am just another soldier seeking safe return to my family and my home, having been away from them much too long. I am at your service for the duration of the journey, Captain.”
The old sailor lifted his bearded chin in a nod, and ran another possessive stroke along the rail. Then he gave the weathered wood a pat and turned away, barking orders to his crew.
Borric remained on the aft deck for quite some time. He stood there, unmoving, until the city was no more than a hint of shadow against the sweeping majesty of the coastline. He stood there until the ghostly fingers of dawn spread across the sky, and the new day began at last in a crown of gold on the eastern horizon.