Souldancer (Soul Cycle Book 2) by Brian Niemeier

shaking the water from their blades, when he remarked, “Did anyone see what happened to Arcanadeus?”
    “I noticed him missing right before the water pulled us down,” said Xander.
    Damus’ face darkened. “Arcanadeus had a map of this place. It’s doubtful he lost his way.”
    More strands of the pranaphage’s warped thoughts formed a pattern in Xander’s mind. “Arcanadeus knew what he sought. There is something worse here than the pranaphage, and he conspired with it to betray us.”
    Nahel tied a rope to a Worked arrow and shot it into an overhead vent. The missile passed through the grate as smooth as a whisper and clattered back down the duct. He pulled, and the shaft held fast against the bars. “This should hold until we pry the grate off. We can climb out and circle back around to the front door.”
    “Good,” Xander said. “There is much I’d like to discuss with the Steersman.”

11
    The empty corridors echoed with the wrath of Xander’s steps. He’d been foolish to trust a guildsman, but the pranaphage had cured his folly.
    Searching the dark subterrane seemed to take an eternity. At last Xander and his friends reached a door at the end of a long hexagonal passage. Nahel’s light revealed thick conduits covering the ceiling and walls. A faint scent of lightning hung in the air.
    “He came this way,” said Nahel. “I can smell him, now that we’re out of the muck.”
    Damus pointed to the white ceramic door. “That’s a high security vault.”
    “What blasphemy did the Guild hide behind it?” asked Xander.
    “One they hoped would stay hidden for good.”
    “How do we open it?” asked Nahel.
    “Very carefully,” said Damus. “Guild security measures weren’t known for gentleness. At best, they caught trespassers in impenetrable wards. At worst…”
    Xander exhaled sharply. “I think I know a way in.”
    Damus cocked an eyebrow. “How’s that?”
    “I stole a look at the Steersman’s map. There was a drawing of this door and a series of numbers written beside it.”
    “That sly bastard had the code,” said Damus.
    “Even if I can open the door,” said Xander, “how do we deal with the Master inside?”
    Nahel slapped Xander’s back with a furry hand. “Don’t give in before the battle starts. Arcanadeus used us, and he’s gonna answer for it.”
    “We have full confidence in your abilities,” Damus said as he took a step back.
    Xander reached for the panel beside the door, trying to keep his hand from trembling. The smoked crystal surface was blank at first, but a glowing number pad flashed into view at his touch.
    What if I have misremembered? Xander’s fingers moved across the panel uncertainly. When he was done the numbers vanished in a blue glow.
    The door slid open on a small vestibule. A six-walled chamber lay beyond, clad in sterile white. Arcanadeus’ shrouded form stood out like a man-shaped void near the center. His hands were pressed against a lambent cylinder that spanned from the floor to the low ceiling. Something moved inside.
    Every accusation died on Xander’s lips when he saw what the Steersman coveted. He couldn't fully discern the cylinder's occupant; partly due to the phosphorescent vapor supporting its misshapen form, but mostly because he had no frame of reference for such horror. It resembled an infant, but asymmetrical and bloated. The being’s skin was transparent and mottled with purple veins. Its pale striated muscles evoked images of Medvia's fish market. Yet these terrors paled before the bottled creature’s presence. Just as its body surpassed the pranaphage’s deformity, its power dwarfed the predator’s might.
    “Arcanadeus!” Xander found the strength to cry out.
    The Master seemed not to hear. He longingly caressed the tank whose occupant’s stunted flippers lazily stirred the mist. At length his cowled head turned to face his pursuers. “Do you address Arcanadeus, young Nesshin? No. That name is false. The Master