Most of the doors they encountered had been locked. Amric recalled Grelthus’s rueful comment about how the infected Wyrgens could no longer manipulate even so rudimentary a tool as the key device, and it seemed Grelthus had used this fact to his advantage in securing entire sections of the place from their intrusion. This room was identical in most ways to the last several they had traversed, dusty and empty but for isolated stacks of mundane clutter, but it was also different in several key respects.
First of all, this room led to a viewing chamber below, as they had not seen since departing the room in which Grelthus had trapped them; Amric knew this by the shimmering hues registering faintly in the gloom through the open door at the far end of the chamber. Second, that thick metal door had yielded to violent stress, for it hung loose on its top hinge, bent and warped as if by some titanic wrathful hand. For the third and final difference, the swordsman was struck as he crossed the threshold by a wave of dizziness and nausea, even more potent than he had felt when looking upon the Essence Fount through the wall of glass. His breath came in labored gasps, hissing between clenched teeth, and his knuckles whitened on his sword hilt as his vision darkened at the edges. He felt like a war horse had kicked him in the midsection, and then sat upon his chest for good measure.
Bellimar appeared at his elbow, his pale forehead creased in expressions that were by turn appraising and concerned. Again, the others seemed unaffected. An icy weight settled in the pit of his stomach as he wondered if his lack of aura somehow made him more vulnerable to the Fount’s effects. Would it kill him outright, or would he become savage and twisted like the Wyrgens, turning upon his friends without a glimmer of recognition? Even as his thoughts darkened, the strange affliction receded somewhat, the weight upon him lessening. He dragged in several deep breaths, forcing his weakness behind an inner wall forged of anger and determination. While it did not dissipate entirely, he found he was free to operate once more.
Syth stared at him with one eyebrow raised. “This is madness. We could spend a lifetime within these stone walls and never find the Half-Ork. And in your condition, you will be of no use at all if we blunder into a group of Wyrgens.”
“You talk too much, Syth,” Amric gritted. “If you want to reconsider your options here and now, you will find I can still muster some strength.”
The thief’s gaze flickered to each of them in turn before returning to Amric. Then Syth broke into a lopsided grin. “Let it not be said that I took unfair advantage of you in your weakened state, warrior. We will settle our differences when you have recovered.” He wagged one finger in the air, sheathed in the black metal of a gauntlet. “But do not think to put off our reckoning forever.”
Amric snorted and walked toward the damaged door.
“Do not turn your dead eye on me, you lumbering reptile,” Syth said, scowling at Valkarr. “You can take your place in line behind Amric. Just keep it fair, mind you. I will not fight you both at once. I have seen your kind fight recently, and though I am very skilled, I am no fool.”
Amric froze in mid-stride, and wheeled about to face the thief.
“What did you just say?” he asked.
Syth’s brow furrowed. “I am no coward, but fighting you both at once seems less than-”
“Not that,” Amric interrupted with an impatient wave. “You saw Sil’ath fighting recently?”
“Yes,” Syth answered, eyes darting between Amric and Valkarr as he took in their sudden interest. “I mentioned earlier that I was far from the only victim of Grelthus’s deception. Some weeks ago, the Wyrgen led a small group of lizard folk-like your friend here-into that huge Fount chamber. He brought them through the chamber containing my cage, just as he did with you, and fed them the same story about me being a dangerous criminal and he the compassionate diplomat for sparing my life. I think he meant to capture them, as he did me. But he caught me alone and unawares, and these five Sil’ath were all quite alert and bristling with weapons, just like the two of you. Regardless, the biggest of them seemed suspicious of his tale, and kept measuring me with his eyes.”
“That would be Prakseth,” Valkarr murmured. “He has a strong sense of justice, and will not be swayed until it is satisfied.”
“Go on, Syth,” Amric urged.
“Grelthus convinced them to follow him into the amphitheater, insisting that the answers they sought could be obtained by closer examination of the Essence Fount itself. He was lying, of course. That cur cannot move his mouth without lying, but he bolsters his deceit with enough facts to make his words seem sound. The big one gave me a surreptitious nod as they left, though I know not what he meant by it.”
“Prakseth meant to return for you,” Amric said softly. “He would not have left you here, if it was within his power. What transpired then?”
Syth shifted his feet before continuing. “I surmise that Grelthus intended to trap them in the amphitheater, to study the effects of exposure to the Essence Fount on another race. These plans went awry as well, however. Dozens of infected Wyrgens flooded the chamber and gave chase. Grelthus, slippery eel that he is, escaped with his life, leaving the reptile warriors battling the rabid Wyrgens.”
“The Sil’ath, did they perish?” Amric asked. His words, quietly spoken, carried a hard edge and promised death. Syth flinched and cleared his throat.
“I cannot say for certain,” he said. “I was trapped in my cage, and though I nearly burned myself on the bars striving for a better vantage, they became obscured from my view by the lip of the terrace below. They were giving a ferocious accounting of themselves, however, for the Wyrgen dead were heaped about them as they fought toward one of the chamber’s exits. I saw at least one of the warriors fall in battle, but the others fought against the surge to retrieve his body, and were dragging him as they retreated. Given the numbers they faced, I do not see how they could help but be overwhelmed.”
“Many foes of the Sil’ath have made the same assumption,” Valkarr grunted. “Much to their later regret.”
“Did you ever see their corpses?” Amric said.
Syth shook his head. “No, but Grelthus went looking for them, when everything had grown quiet once more. He returned furious, and when I broached the subject he flew into a rage. He roared at me that the Sil’ath were gone, and he threatened vivisection if I mentioned the episode again. He did not search for them further, so I believe he truly thought them gone. Whether they died or escaped from Stronghold, however, I know not.”
“The list of crimes for which Grelthus must answer grows longer and longer,” Amric said, exchanging a dark look with Valkarr.
He stalked to the battered door with sword in hand, and peered down the stairwell. As before, colors cavorted along the darkened walls in twisting, maddening arrangements, and a wave of vertigo blasted against him like a tangible thing. Amric kept it at bay this time with the seething heat of his rage, and he started down the narrow stairs. The roaring sound built in his head as he went, and by the time he reached the chamber below he feared his skull must split. As he and the others entered the lower room, they discovered a fourth difference between this viewing chamber and the previous one.
The glass wall was shot through with great cracks, shattered and gaping open over almost half its expanse while large shards of the material were splayed about the chamber. A web of cracks radiated outward on the stone floor and ceiling bordering each section where the clear sheet had failed, and the bottom steps of the staircase were gnawed and crumbled at their edges.