Grelthus inclined his head. “Indeed, exactly so. But forgive me, you came seeking answers as to the region’s disruption, and I should start a few steps closer to the beginning.”
“Yes, closer to the beginning,” came a new voice from the back of the room. “So that he can form more gradual lies and thus steer you wrong undetected.”
They all whirled, and bare steel flashed into Valkarr’s hands. Amric gritted his teeth as dizziness washed over him. This place was somehow befuddling his senses, he thought fiercely, for his own swords should have been in hand against any threat with equal speed.
There was movement in the cage at the end of the room. The strange, wind-tugged pile of cloth lurched upward and became the standing form of a man, swathed in flowing robes. He was dirty and unshaven, and both his soiled clothing and grimy shoulder-length hair swirled with that same unfelt wind. He folded his arms across his chest and sky blue eyes raked over them in a baleful glare.
“My name is Syth,” he said. “And you are being lied to.”
“Pay no heed to this vermin,” Grelthus spat. “He is a violent criminal, detained here until he can be returned to face justice in Keldrin’s Landing.”
Amric looked from the prisoner to the Wyrgen. “What is this man’s crime?”
“He is a thief, caught invading Stronghold, and he wounded several of my people in his capture,” Grelthus responded.
“He lies, I have not harmed a one of these dogs,” Syth responded at once. He fixed the Wyrgen with a level stare as a slow, wintry smile crept onto his features. “But rest assured I will harm at least one when I leave.”
Grelthus gave a deep, menacing growl and took half a step toward the cage. “The pest is fortunate that I hold our peaceful relations with the human colony in such high value, for he would otherwise face immediate death under Stronghold’s laws for his intrusion.”
“Oh, indeed,” Syth snarled. “What a kindness you have done me, holding me here these many long weeks as you ponder how best to make use of my nature in your frantic experiments.”
“And what exactly is your nature, Syth?” Bellimar asked.
“I am a half-breed,” Syth said. “I am half human, and half wind elemental.”
“Marvelous,” Bellimar breathed. “Of course, I should have seen it.”
Amric studied the man anew, astonished. The few elementals he had encountered had been wild and unpredictable, more capricious forces of nature than sentient beings; the only air elemental he had seen before had lacked even a solid form. He tried and failed to imagine how they could produce offspring with humans, or how being infused with such a tempestuous, magical force would affect a man. He realized the man’s clothing, which had seemed rustled by a breeze when he was in repose, now whipped and curled about him as he grew agitated.
“This deceitful fool is grasping at any chance, however remote,” Syth continued in a heated tone. “He seeks redemption for himself, and for a people he destroyed. I warn you, do not trust him, for if he has brought you this deeply into Stronghold, it is only because he hopes to make use of you as well.”
The Wyrgen took another furious step toward the cage, claws flaring open. Then, with a visible effort, he shook himself and turned his back on Syth. “I offer my… apologies for my churlish behavior, friends. I grieve for my people, and have seen very little rest since this all began. I am not myself, and this one provokes me at every opportunity, so that I was forced at last to move his cell down here where he could no longer disrupt my work.”
In his cage, Syth made a short, rude noise and rolled his eyes. Grelthus stiffened where he stood, but did not turn. Amric looked from one to the other. He certainly needed no additional reason to mistrust their Wyrgen guide, but the whole exchange had supplied much food for thought. He knew the truth hovered somewhere in between at best, though which direction of center he could not say. He knew as well that the Wyrgen had more yet to reveal. He stepped in front of Grelthus and waited until the shaggy head lifted to meet his gaze.
“You mentioned starting your tale from the proper beginning?” he said.
“Not the beginning,” Grelthus corrected. “There is much that remains a mystery even to us who sought to study the phenomenon. But certainly it is a beginning, and I will share what I do know.”
The Wyrgen turned away, and approached the glass wall once more with slow, shuffling strides. He stood there in silence for a time, staring at the blazing fountain as its shifting colors undulated over his thick, unruly fur. He was quiet so long that Amric began to wonder if he had become enthralled with the thing and forgotten their presence entirely. He spoke at last, however, and his low-pitched voice was ragged with sorrow.
“The ley lines are a place to begin. Just as life-giving blood moves through our bodies, so does magical force circulate throughout our world in a network of ley lines. Magic, as you know, has many aspects and manifestations, from elemental to Unlife; but at its most primal, its most fundamental, this force is called Essence. It is neither good nor evil, but instead is merely energy in its purest form, containing the power to create or destroy, to heal or enslave. It becomes tainted and altered by the artisan, the purpose and the vessel through which it is used.
“Essence pulses and flows about our world-and perhaps even between worlds, we know not for certain-through invisible ley lines. Some ley lines are major, like arteries in the body, and can be detected by those sensitive to matters arcane; some are minor, like a web of veins finer than hair, significant only in aggregate. This network of energy, and the field of power it creates, imbues all life on our world and gives rise to all manner of magical creatures. Those that possess sufficient affinity for the energy can learn to manipulate the Essence within them, and about them.
Grelthus threw a glance over his shoulder. “Forgive me if I am covering familiar ground,” he said, “but I find it easiest to organize my thoughts if I am thorough.”
He drew a deep breath, and exhaled slowly before resuming his lecture.
“This region has always been highly magical because a series of major ley lines pass through it. Stronghold itself was built atop one of these major ley lines, and truly the creation of this fortress was only possible by harnessing a fraction of the line’s power to amplify the methods of the builders. We have tried to map the course of these arteries, and we believe they converge somewhere deep within the forest at the eastern end of the bay. What a place of power must be found there, if we could but get close enough to study it-!”
Grelthus paused, a shudder passing through his tall frame. After a moment, he continued. “But I am digressing. The lands to the east have become more and more hazardous, and were impassable by the time we realized their importance. As I was saying, Stronghold stands astride a major ley line, which has enabled rapid advances in our studies. When your kind invaded the region, we met your overtures with some reserve. Certainly, we could have eradicated the interlopers, for Keldrin’s Landing was but a paltry fort of twigs and savages at the time. But more would have followed. They always do. Your kind had scented the riches to be obtained, and nothing would forestall their greed. So we let the lesser races have their minerals and shiny baubles, and we entered a restrained trade arrangement with them, all the while making evident our superior technology to curb any imperialistic notions. The true wealth to be had was in studying and harnessing the unique concentration of power here. The merchant Morland, when he came, understood this. He sought a means by which to share in our research, by way of incentive or leverage. Or, as is more commonly his wont, by both methods.”
The Wyrgen’s muzzle split in a predatory grin. “A fool he was, but useful in his way.”