The Essence Gate War: Book 01 - Adept (6 page)

The
Duergar Olekk emerged from the kitchens and cast a baleful eye in their direction, but made no more strenuous objection to their presence. Amric had paid their stay for the week in advance, though it had taken much of his remaining coin, and in so doing had bought a measure of the Duergar’s good will by way of providing insurance against their continued good behavior. He had gone so far as to promise Olekk that they would initiate no trouble on the premises, and if the Duergar noted the careful wording, he let it pass.

The Traug
hunched against the far wall like some massive boulder, impassive as ever, but Amric noted with some amusement that the creature’s gaze lingered most often in their direction. In return, Amric exercised the warrior’s reflex by scanning the bark-like hide for vulnerable points. He had no quarrel with him or his employer; they were merely protecting their business against an often unruly crowd. All the same, there might come a day when he had to face that mountain of muscle and be unable to talk his way out of it. No, it would grieve him to slay the Traug, but neither could he allow those huge mitts to clasp him and reshape his spine.

Amric turned his attention back to the matter at hand
. The price on their heads was a complication he did not need. They could ignore it and be harried every step of the way, or seek out their faceless adversary and become more deeply embroiled in whatever pointless local conflict was behind it. Either way, it served only to delay them from their true objective, that of finding their missing compatriots.

He was certain of one thing, at least
: they could not remain here, as the trail was only growing colder.

Movement caught at the corner of his eye
. The tall, iron-bound front doors stood open and, along with all the windows, pulled a cooling breeze through the Sleeping Boar and drew away the hanging heat of the day. A sliver of night detached itself from the darkness outside and passed through the doorway. Amric’s fork stopped on his plate; Valkarr’s did not, though he tilted his wedge-shaped head to take in the new arrival. It was the old man in grey robes from earlier, and he favored them with a broad smile as he walked through the common room and claimed a secluded corner table.

Halthak noticed the sudden stillness of the two warriors, and followed Amric’s stare to the silver-haired
gentleman trading words with the serving girl. The old fellow followed her with his eyes as she went to the kitchens with a pretty flush and a flustered smile, and then he settled back into the shadows to boldly return the swordsman’s gaze. As before, his eyes caught the light in a strange way, casting it back at the observer like tiny pinpoints of flame.

“That’s him!” Halthak exclaimed
in a whisper. “That’s the old man I ran into in the trade district, the one who identified the cutthroats following me!”

As he said this, the gre
y man touched two fingers to his forehead in a salute. Amric frowned. The timing made it appear he had somehow heard Halthak’s hushed words across the clamor of the busy room, but that had to be coincidence. In any event, the man had made his interest in them evident enough, and Amric’s own curiosity was certainly piqued. Amric exchanged a look with Valkarr, then stood and left his companions at their table. A low growl from the Traug trembled the floorboards beneath the swordsman’s feet. Gimlet eyes set deep under a heavy brow ridge tracked his every step across the room, but the creature took no other action.

T
he old man waited with that expectant smile. Amric stopped before his table, and asked, “Sir, may I join you?”

“I would be most disappointed if you did not,” the other replied
. “Please, take a seat.”

Amric did so, leaning forward to r
est his forearms on the table as he studied the fellow. This close, he appeared less aged, possessed of an uncommon vitality that was almost palpable. Eyes so pale they were almost white regarded him with a piercing intellect that gave no ground to the advance of the years. His expression was warm but controlled, somehow authentic and calculating in equal parts, and Amric decided at once that the man’s outward demeanor was a tool he employed with scalpel efficiency.

“My name is Amric
.”

“And I am Bellimar
,” the man returned. The name tugged at Amric’s memory, but he could not place the reference. Bellimar studied his expression, waiting. The serving girl came to their table, setting a large tankard of ale before them both.

“Thank you, my dear,” Bellimar murmured in velvet tones, eliciting another pink
blush. His eyes tracked the girl for a moment as she hastened away. Amric’s scalp prickled; had he imagined a faint thrum of power there in the man’s voice? And it did not escape his notice that the fellow had placed an order for two drinks before Amric even stood to approach.

“Are you a sorcerer, Bellimar?” Amric
demanded.

Bellimar cocked his head to the side
, but his smile did not falter. If anything, it broadened instead. “A curious opening to our conversation, friend Amric.”

The swordsman took a deep breath
. “I apologize for my poor manners, but I have little trust for things magical, and you have that air about you. My friends and I owe you a debt of gratitude for your intervention in the trade district. You seem to have taken an interest in us, and I would like to understand why.”

Bellimar shook his head
. “I took no offense. It is fair to say that magic was a field of study for many years for me, but I do not tamper with such forces any longer.”

“And your interest in us?”

“How could I not be interested in you, Amric? You are a fascinating riddle.”

Amric folded his arms across his chest
. “That is not an answer.”

“True enough,” Bellimar
said. “Allow me to elaborate, then.”

He put forth
one pale, slender hand and began to punctuate each point with a finger tap on the surface of the table. “You travel with a Sil’ath warrior who calls you sword-brother. Most Sil’ath can barely tolerate humans, finding them unpredictable and soft, and this one names you with a term of highest respect and affection. Moreover, he defers to you without reservation as he would his tribal warmaster, and you are an outsider of unique stature if you occupy such a position among the Sil’ath. Quite unheard of, in my recollection.”

Bellimar paused to chuckle
. “Do not look so surprised, Amric. Knowledge of the internal workings of Sil’ath society is rare, and my learning on the subject is meager since I have not lived among them as you have, but I was an avid student of history and this world’s various cultures long before you were born. And I am not finished.”

He continued to tick off points, each a staccato click of one of his nails on the table
. “You bear a price on your head and the enduring ire of a powerful nobleman for having rescued a penniless half-breed from a band of brigands. You did not take the life of that worthless bag of gas Vorenius in the bargain, showing remarkable restraint, if not sound judgment. You faced down two notorious assassins in this very room without apparent fear, and have now taken the Half-Ork under your protection, despite his obvious inherent ability and your personal aversion to all things magical. You show uncommon tact and wit for a simple swordsman, and you gather enigmas as you go.”

Amric raised an eyebrow
. “So you would have me believe that I am irresistible to a scholar such as yourself because I use words on occasion before swinging my blade, or because I keep company that would be unusual in any other city? I have seen races in Keldrin’s Landing that I cannot even identify. The diversity gathered here and the tales I hear of nameless things outside these city walls make one wandering swordsman seem mundane in the extreme.”

Bellimar laughed and gave the table a resounding slap
. “By the gods, but I like you, swordsman!” He made a sweeping gesture, as if brushing aside all his previous points. “You are correct. Everything I have just listed has only deepened my initial interest, which is owed to something else entirely.”

“And that i
s?”

Bellimar leaned back and regarded him over steepled fingers
. “You have no aura.”

Amric blinked
, and waited for elaboration.

Bellimar studied him for a long moment before nodding
. “I wondered if you knew, if it was somehow done intentionally, but I believe you. Every living creature has an aura, varying greatly in magnitude depending on many factors. It is the breath of primal essence intrinsic to the individual, marking one’s life force and affinity to magical forces. Call it the spark of life, if you will.”

“Then
there is no great mystery,” Amric said. “I do not have, and do not wish for, any aptitude for magic.”

“
Your dislike for magic has little relevance as to its affinity for you, swordsman,” Bellimar said, leaning forward again. “But there is more to it than that. As I said,
every
living creature has an aura. It can be faint or potent, but it is always present. For that matter, every unliving creature will have an aura as well, though it would be imbued or converted rather than inborn.”

“Unliving
? You mean the animated dead, ghosts and wights and the like?”

“And the like,” Bellimar agreed
. “Do you think me a foolish old man, telling fireside tales when I speak of such creatures? Or that they haunt only the dusty crypts of ancient kings, as heroic fables would have us believe?”

Amric shook his head, expression grim
. “I might have disregarded your words mere months ago, and been skeptical of the tales of the things lurking in the forests here, but I can testify that the same taint has begun to spread much further south as well. No, I do not doubt that Keldrin’s Landing makes its plea for help in earnest.”

“Good
. I find it tiresome penetrating that kind of ignorance. And many of the ranks of Unlife are drawn irresistibly to strong auras as a source of sustenance, so they are relevant to our topic in more ways than one.”

“We have wandered from
that topic, Bellimar. You were telling of your interest in me?”

“So I was,” Bellimar said
. “As I was saying, every living creature has an aura, and its character, intensity and magnitude define that creature. Or from another perspective, that creature’s defining attributes are reflected in its aura. Whichever stance you take, there is a strong and undeniable connection. Beyond even affinity for magical energies, many attributes are reflected in one’s aura, such as charisma, magnetism, leadership, drive and empathy; other creatures respond to these attributes and to that intrinsic energy out of reflex.”

“And you can see these auras around creatures?” Amric asked.

“Yes, I can. Of the many fields of research my long years have afforded me, you could say that the study of auras is my greatest enduring passion. It requires concentration and training to see them, akin to engaging another sense, a separate kind of sight, if you will. But this is not a unique skill, as countless practitioners of the arts can do the same.”

Amric’s jaw tightened
. “I thought you had nothing to do with magic any longer.”

“
You may as well resolve to abstain from gravity, swordsman!” Bellimar said with a laugh. “Magic is inherent in this world, and surrounds us at all times. No, you misheard me; I do not
manipulate
such forces any longer, but I retain my learned skills to observe them. Is that more clear?”

The warrior relaxed
somewhat and gave a curt nod. Bellimar leaned forward further yet, his expression intent. Seeming to operate of their own accord, his long fingers began tracing idle patterns on the table between them.

“Which brings us back to you, my friend
. Judging from your interactions with others, your ability to draw others to you, the uncommon skill you must have to reach your rank with the Sil’ath, and what I suspect is a very colorful personal history, I would wager you to have a potent aura indeed. And yet I see none at all when I bring up my Sight. You emanate as much visible life energy as the chair you are sitting upon.”

“So
I am dead, then?” Amric meant the query in jest, but he fidgeted despite himself. He could not decide which topic he found more disquieting, the thought of pervasive magic surrounding him at all times or the revelation that he had no discernible life force. Anger followed on the heels of discomfort. Why should it bother him, the absence of something of which he had not known until moments ago? He had eschewed interaction with sorcerous forces his entire life, and he should feel relief that he had none inside him.

“No, clearly not,” Bellimar replied with no trace of mirth
. “You are a man of uncommon vitality, and so you represent an enigma that I must unravel. Amric, you must let me accompany you for a time, to study this phenomenon. I have knowledge and skills that will prove invaluable to you. I know, for example, that you are seeking a party of Sil’ath that came through Keldrin’s Landing two months ago, and that you have had little luck in determining their whereabouts or their fate. I can help with this. I know this city well, and I know how information flows here. I can gather in hours what would take you weeks to obtain. I know the identity of Vorenius’s benefactor, the man behind the price on your heads, and I might be able to call in favors to ease that vendetta. Even if you leave the city, I am a hardy traveler and will be no burden to you, and I will be a great asset inside or outside the city. What say you?”