The Wyrgen muttered in a low tone, seemingly more to himself than to any other in the room. He pressed himself against the glass wall, peering downward in search of the self-same subjects of his discourse. He slid back and forth along the wall, seeking various viewing angles as his ongoing chatter became a detailed recounting of his many failed attempts to cure his compatriots. Amric began to tune out the rambling jargon, and he found himself glancing down as well to seek hidden figures below.
Suddenly he realized their mistake.
He had stepped back from the viewing wall in an unconscious movement to allow the Wyrgen to travel its length, and he noted that Valkarr had done the same. Grelthus, in his wanderings, and seemingly intent on the scene below, had put himself closer to the stairwell than either of the warriors by almost a full pace. And the chase earlier had already proven the astonishing speed of the Wyrgens.
Even as awareness struck, the furry figure burst into motion. He crossed the room in a single explosive leap and vanished up the darkened stairwell. The warriors sprinted in immediate pursuit. Amric cursed his weakness as the strange dizziness returned and clutched at his trembling legs, and he forced obedience from his unwilling muscles with an effort of will.
They reached the foot of the stairs with Syth’s roar of outrage echoing behind them. From above came a startled cry, the heavy thud of bodies colliding, and the booming crash of the thick metal door slamming shut. Amric and Valkarr vaulted up the stairs, taking several at a time. A clattering sound reached their ears, and the water jug followed, sloshing water as it tumbled end over end down the stone steps.
The warriors gained the landing at the top and hurled themselves against the polished door, but they might as well have been slapping at the base of a mountain for all the good it did them. They hammered at the handle with their sword hilts, and pried at the outline for exposed hinges or other mechanics, but to no avail.
At last they fell back, panting, the acrid taste of defeat rising in their throats like bile. It was no use. Halthak was taken, and the door was impervious to their efforts. They were trapped.
CHAPTER 10
Amric slammed his fist into the metal door and glowered at it, as if the seething intensity of his fury could do what physical efforts had not. There was no sound from the other side. The traitorous Wyrgen had either rendered Halthak unconscious or taken him from the chamber.
At his side, Valkarr lashed out at the door with his sword; an array of sparks flowered in the gloom, but the glinting surface of the door was barely marred. The Sil’ath let out an angry hiss between bared teeth. The warriors exchanged dark looks, and Valkarr stepped back to crouch in the shadows behind the door while Amric turned and stalked down the stairs. As he descended, the swordsman cursed himself for a fool. He had witnessed first-hand the speed of the Wyrgens, and yet had allowed the enemy to separate them and gain the momentary advantage of position.
Now they might all pay for his mistake with their lives.
In the chamber below, Bellimar and the prisoner Syth had not moved. Their faces were drawn with apprehension, but otherwise they were a study in opposites. The old man stood still and straight, cloak wrapped about him, eyes gleaming, a storm roiling beneath a calm surface. In the cage, Syth had his feet planted wide apart and his fists clenched, and his clothing swirled and whipped about his lean frame in a frenzy of motion. Amric stalked across the room and stabbed a finger at the man who claimed to be half wind elemental.
“Did you know aught of this?” he demanded.
“If you could not guess, I am not privy to that demented beast’s plans,” Syth retorted. “I warned you that Grelthus planned betrayal of some kind, though I did not then know what form it would take.”
“A man in a cage does not inspire trust,” Amric snapped.
“Remember your words when some other fellow finds you here months from now.”
Amric sighed, and struggled to rein in his anger. “I apologize, Syth. My worry for my friend, now a captive of that mad creature, has sharpened my tongue.”
Syth regarded him a moment, a sneer twisting his lips as his hair swirled before his face. Then he grunted and waved a hand in curt dismissal.
“How did you know Grelthus intended betrayal?” Bellimar asked. “Did he know of our approach, and perhaps speak of his plans?”
Syth shook his head. “No, but I am not the first captive Grelthus has held here. I am merely the last. Grelthus was uncertain as to what use my magical nature could be in his efforts to cure his people, but at the same time he was unwilling to dispense with a potentially useful subject. Others were more clearly valuable-or clearly not so-and thus did not last as long.” His jaw clenched and his eyes blazed. “For the first time in my life, I find I am thankful to be an enigma.”
Amric studied the unusual man, reading anguish and rage in every line of his bearing. He found himself believing that the fellow had survived a great deal, and his own thoughts darkened as he considered the implications for Halthak.
“Syth, are there any other exits from this chamber?” he said.
“These transparent walls can be raised somehow, if one is insane enough to flee in the direction of the Essence Fount. Doing so requires the same key device as the door above, however, and though the door mechanism seems simple enough, I have not seen how the viewing walls are triggered.”
Amric frowned, his gaze raking over the bare room. “And your cage, how is it opened?”
“Again, it requires one of those cube-keys that Grelthus always carries upon his person,” Syth responded.
Amric muttered an oath, stalking around the perimeter of the cage. “The trap was well laid; this chamber is devoid of anything we can use to escape. If only we had a heavy table like the one in the upper chamber, we could use it to block these bars of fire long enough for you to leap out, or to force a crack by ramming it into the thick glass wall.”
“I like your thinking, swordsman,” Syth said with an approving nod. “But while your idea might work on my cage, it would fail to even scratch this strange, clear wall, just as your blades will be useless in that regard. The Wyrgen could be quite garrulous, with just a hint of caress to his ego, and he told me once that the viewing walls are not made of anything so fragile as glass, despite their appearance. Rather, he confided to me with no small degree of pride, they are constructed of some strange material, harder than stone, which is as impervious to physical damage as it is to the radiant energy of that accursed fountain.”
“The walls are not as invulnerable as Grelthus would have you believe,” Bellimar remarked, “if the Fount’s eruption breached so many of the viewing chambers.”
“Aye,” Amric said, drawing one of his swords. “And perhaps those that remain were weakened in that initial explosion, or by the subsequent months of exposure to the Fount’s energies. In any event, I am not inclined to wait here on the Wyrgen’s whim without exploring every option. If we can wrest one of those keys from Grelthus, we can return here to free you from that cage.”
“I might have an easier way,” Syth commented, halting the swordsman in mid-step. The prisoner reached inside the rippling folds of his robes and drew forth an object which he then held high in the air for all to see. Perched on his outstretched fingertips, luminous in the shifting hues of the fountain, was one of the peculiar cube-shaped key devices used by the Wyrgens.
“How did you come by it?” Bellimar asked, arching a silver eyebrow.