Adept tegw-1

by Michael Arnquist

  “At the risk of sounding greedy, I can think to ask for more,” Amric said with a rueful smile. He walked past Valkarr, clapping him on the shoulder as he passed. “Come, my friend. We have learned all we can, and can do no further good here.”

  The swordsman stepped out into the long daybreak shadow of the barn and kept walking. He drew several deep breaths when he reached the quickening sunlight, allowing the crisp morning air to cleanse and rejuvenate him.

  Thirty yards from the barn, Halthak stood with the horses, and Amric watched him as he approached. Despite the pall hanging over the morning, he had to smother a chuckle as Halthak skipped away to avoid a nip from the bay gelding and fixed the animal with a reproachful glare. Amric and Valkarr were only fair riders themselves, for the Sil’ath seldom used mounts for travel or in combat, but the Half-Ork sat the saddle with all the grace of a sack of rocks. Whether indignant at his lack of skill or reacting to his anxiety, more than one of the horses had taken to goading the hapless healer at every opportunity.

  Amric sobered. It was a measure of how shaken and saddened Halthak had been by the slaughter within that he had elected to remain outside with the animals.

  Amric accepted the bay gelding’s reins from a grateful Halthak, speaking soothing words to the horse and patting its neck before vaulting into the saddle. It was a beautiful animal, swift and strong; Bellimar had proven his resourcefulness again by calling in another favor to procure these fine mounts. With a firm hand, Amric guided the gelding in a circle and to a stop again, to continue accustoming it to his control. The time might come very soon when their mutual familiarity and trust would mean the difference between life and death for them both.

  Valkarr arrived a moment later, and swung into the saddle of a blue dun gelding. Bellimar approached, and all but one of the horses grew restive. They were no fonder of the old man than they were of Halthak, and it had in fact taken some searching to find a horse that would tolerate him. Bellimar had at last found an elderly sway-backed dun mare, and though Amric was skeptical of its endurance and speed, they had exhausted their available options. In any event, it would outpace their walking speed. Bellimar took the reins for his horse, which stood still, either placid or oblivious, and he mounted as well. Halthak was left with the reins for his chestnut mare, a steadfast creature that endured his fumbling attempts to climb into the saddle without a ripple to its serenity.

  “Are you well, Bellimar?” Amric asked. The old man’s cheeks held a slight flush and his eyes were fever bright.

  “As well as can be expected,” Bellimar responded with a tight-lipped smile. “It was stifling in that barn, and I am pondering the implications of what we have just seen. This is not the first reported presence of varkhuls in the region, but it is the closest known occurrence to the city, and in no small numbers. This gives credence to the accounts from the wall-watch of larger things approaching within bow shot of the city at night. Frequency, proximity and numbers; it all portends the city itself under siege within mere weeks.”

  Amric nodded. “That is how I read the situation as well. And of more immediate import to us, the danger is rumored to increase as one continues east. We have almost three days’ ride ahead of us in that direction, and if things have progressed this far, how much worse will they be a day or two hence?”

  He squinted to the east, looking into the rising sun as it spread a mantle of gold over the primordial forests that eventually engulfed the main road from the city. It would take a full day’s ride without incident to reach the edge of that forest, and their objective lay deep within it. He turned in the saddle to study Keldrin’s Landing to the west, lustrous in the morning light and unspoiled, from this distance. The four of them had ridden out in the pre-dawn darkness and past the abandoned cottages outside the city, all silent as the grave. They had crossed a broad bridge spanning a river inlet from the sea, and were on the road past this, the closest farm to the city, when they spotted a thin tendril of smoke from one of its buildings. Amric had decided to check on the residents, since public opinion in the city held that the countryside was entirely deserted. Upon arrival, the riders had been greeted by the bloodshed inside the barn.

  “Having second thoughts, warrior?” Bellimar asked.

  Amric swung back to his companions and shook his head. “Valkarr and I are resolute on the path ahead, but no one else need be. We have fought varkhuls before, and while they are deadly in numbers, they are far from the most dangerous things we may encounter. We will seek to remain beneath notice and to avoid what we can, but it will not always be possible. The varkhuls and other creatures out there can smell the very blood in our veins, and may well pursue us with such speed and determination that we have to stand and fight. Let us not mince words here; there may well be no more perilous path in all the lands than into the forest ahead.”

  He paused and met each of their stares in turn, then raised his arm to point at Keldrin’s Landing in the distance. “The city still lies within sight, and the ride back is still safe. Past this point, that will not be the case. You see now the least of what we face ahead, but Valkarr and I will not turn back until we are successful, even to escort. Now is the time to reconsider your involvement, and we will take no offense if you wish to return to the city and await us there.”

  Halthak’s gnarled hands knotted about the pommel of his saddle, but he jerked his head to the side in terse negation and murmured, “You will have need of my skills, out there.”

  “Let us hope not,” Amric said, smiling. “But your company is welcome.”

  Bellimar cleared his throat. “Have you considered that your friends may be dead?”

  Valkarr bristled, an angry hiss escaping him.

  “Incessantly,” Amric said. “But I presume you are courting a point?”

  “The party you are following consisted of how many?” the old man pressed.

  “Five.”

  “Tales of Sil’ath battle prowess are legend, and those tales enjoy a strong basis in truth,” Bellimar continued. “As skilled as your warriors undoubtedly are, however, they have journeyed into the teeth of what amounts to an advancing dark army. And now you choose to follow them down its gullet.”

  “I sense that point nearby,” the swordsman said in a wry tone, “but I grow weary of the chase.”

  Bellimar sighed. “A party of five Sil’ath warriors of consummate skill, and they have not returned. You are now two more such warriors. Even with the considerable talents of an old man and a half-breed healer, how can you hope to prevail where they did not?”

  “There is something you should understand,” Amric said. “The Sil’ath are feared not just for their skill in battle, but also because they cannot be deterred. They will sacrifice themselves to the last man to defend or avenge one of their own, and even rival families or entire tribes will put aside their hostilities to band together over this racial principle. Call it loyalty or call it pragmatism if you wish, but no one wrongs a Sil’ath lightly. I sent my warriors here to determine the source of the corruption that has spread so far as to assail our home to the south as well. Their task needs completing, even if they can no longer do it. Defense alone is a losing strategy, as the spread is increasing unabated. We must find the source.”

  Amric paused, and when he spoke again, his grey eyes were shards of ice and his words rang with an iron conviction. “I will know what became of my warriors. I will find them alive, or I will avenge their deaths. But with them or without them, I will find the source of this darkness. It must be found and understood, so that forces can be united against it. If it is not stopped, I fear this remote region will be but the first of many to fall. I do not ask you to follow me, but I will not turn aside.”

  Valkarr grunted assent, his lifted gaze a challenge. Bellimar regarded Amric for a long moment, and then broke into a sudden grin. “I came here to study this mystery as well, so what better way than at its root? And I still wish to unravel the riddle of your aura. After all,” he said, spreadin
g his hands, “what have I to fear of death? Let us proceed.”

  Amric looked over them all, and found each unwavering. Bellimar seemed relaxed and even amused, while Halthak sat taller in his saddle and stared back with increased resolve. Valkarr fidgeted at the reins, impatient to be off. Amric gave a grave nod and swept his gaze over the house and barn one last time before guiding his bay gelding onto the road that joined the farm to the main thoroughfare that ran from the city to the eastern forest. They passed between expanses of fallow field, and Valkarr rode ahead while Halthak fell a dozen paces behind, struggling to provide direction to his mount. Bellimar, appearing well accustomed to riding, guided his sway-backed dun alongside Amric’s horse. The old man had raised the cowl of his cloak and kept his head tilted against the morning sun, still cresting the horizon to the east, so that his face was in shadow. Peering back at the healer, he spoke to Amric in a confidential tone.

  “You mask it well, swordsman, but every time you turn to check on our hapless Half-Ork rider back there, your eyes linger overlong on the city in the distance. What do you see there?”

  Amric chuckled. “Those old eyes miss very little. I thought I saw a lone rider departing the city long after we did, but it vanished from sight in a valley of the road and has not reappeared.”

  “How curious,” Bellimar mused. “Traveling alone out here would be folly.”

  “My thoughts as well.”

  “Surely not following us, since the price on your heads has been suspended.”

  “Hard to unfire a bow,” Amric muttered. “It could be that word did not have time to spread before we departed.”

  “Perhaps it is merely someone retrieving possessions from the abandoned residences outside the city’s walls,” Bellimar suggested.

  “Perhaps,” Amric said. “In any event, we have ground to cover, so there is little we can do except continue onward and wait on his intent.”

  The four travelers reached the wide eastern road and rode into the embrace of the new sun.

  Night had long fallen when at last they found a suitable place to camp.

  The rolling plains had risen in altitude as they traveled, and finally gave way to a more stern landscape as they neared the forests. From the maps Amric knew that, to the north, great cliffs fell away to the Vellayen Sea. Their destination was more east and southward, however. Here the gradual rise of the plains met the spare and rocky foothills which climbed further into the mountain range cradling the desert to the south. It had been a long, hard day of travel, and Halthak was swaying with fatigue such that Amric feared he would soon tumble from the saddle. Camping in the open was a dangerous proposition, for they would be exposed and visible from a distance, and then a fire would be out of the question.

  So they pressed on in the hopes of finding a more defensible location, and at last Valkarr’s keen eyes picked out a cave set into a large hillock and high up the slope of the foothills. Its only visible approach was a narrow, winding trail. They scouted the cave and found evidence that it had once been a large animal’s burrow, but the faded scent and spoor indicated it was long unused. It had no other entrances, was deep enough to house them all and the horses as well, and the slope of the ceiling would permit the smoke to escape if they built a fire. All in all, Amric decided, a very fortuitous find.

  They cooled and watered the horses, and while the animals grazed the travelers gathered dry wood for a fire and cut brush and saplings for the mouth of the cave; this would both mask the glow from the fire and help disperse the smoke rolling from the entrance so that it would be less visible against the night sky. Then they brought the horses up the treacherous trail with great care, and once deep within the cave, gave them their feed bags and hobbled them. Without a word, Valkarr brought his meal with him to the cave entrance to take the first watch, while Amric and Halthak ate around the fire. Bellimar waved off all offers of food, citing delicate digestion and asserting that he had partaken often of his travel rations as they rode. The old man showed no signs of fatigue, and Amric marveled at his constitution despite his age.

  They ate in silence for a time, except for the staccato snap and crackle of the fire, and the occasional snort from the horses. Amric sat cross-legged, lost in thought, watching the flames writhe and dance. It was Bellimar’s voice that finally roused him from his reverie.

  “Valkarr is not much for conversation, is he?” he said.

  “He is more comfortable in the Sil’ath language,” Amric admitted. “But even then, he will not share much until he knows and trusts you well. I suppose that makes me the talkative one.”

  Bellimar smiled. “I would know more of the Sil’ath party you seek. What caused you to send them here?”

  “You have most of the pieces by now, but I imagine the story bears repeating in order, and in more detail.”

  Amric sighed and leaned back against his bedroll. “Strange as it may seem, I am the warmaster, the military leader, of a large Sil’ath tribe. They are my family, the only one I have ever known, and I would die for them just as any of them would for me. I would have you know this, so you may understand I did not lightly send them into harm’s way. We live to the southwest, near the human city of Lyden. We are allies with the people of Lyden, enjoying a relationship of trade and mutual respect that was built over years, and that both sides now strive to maintain.

  “Months ago, the residents of the countryside around Lyden began disappearing. Only a few at first, but more over time, and there was no explanation. Speculation and rumor soon filled that void, and there were some among the citizenry that feared their Sil’ath neighbors were responsible, for vaporous reasons that only made sense to a fearful populace. A number of rural Lydenites were found brutally slaughtered one day, and our carefully wrought alliance was nearly undone in that moment. Tensions exploded, and there were cries for the blood of my tribe as atonement. We were baffled that they would look to us as the source of these atrocities after so many years of peaceful coexistence, but that would not have prevented us from raising our blades to defend ourselves against the attack so many were urging.

  “To their credit, the leaders of Lyden remained rational, recognizing that we lacked motivation for the crimes and that the evidence did not support it either; the attacks were too savage, too bestial, and too chaotic to have been done by Sil’ath. We met with their leaders, and agreed to help them patrol outside the city to search for the attackers, though we were further southwest from the city and as yet unaffected by whatever plagued the city’s outskirts.”

  Amric paused, staring into the fire as images rose unbidden in his head.

  “It did not take long,” he continued after a moment. “Our patrols, and Lyden’s as well, encountered dark and unfamiliar creatures hunting the deep countryside at night. For every nightmare we dispatched, another would take its place after a few nights. After a few months of this, it became evident that the number and variety of the creatures was increasing. Our patrols fought skirmishes almost every night by then, against varkhuls and viles, against greels and wights and more. It was costing precious lives to learn the tricks and weaknesses of each new creature. Lyden lost far more, for our warriors were much more capable, but we also had fewer to lose. It did not take a seer to forecast a future when our forces would be too few or too exhausted to protect us all any longer. And it was only a matter of time before something slipped through our patrol net and reached our homes.

  “We met again with Lyden’s city council. It is not the Sil’ath way to fight a losing defensive battle, and we desired to mount an offensive, if we could but determine the source to target. Lyden, with a standing military that outnumbered ours a hundred to one, was more inclined to debate the matter endlessly while fortifying their defenses.”

  Amric heard the bitterness behind his own words and took a calming breath before resuming.

  “Lyden was helpful in one respect, however. It was through them that we learned of the plight of Keldrin’s Landing, and how the countrysid
e here was overrun even as our own was fast becoming. The realm’s scholars maintained that the source was in this region somewhere, for here the troubles had been seen first and remained most concentrated. Embattled Lyden could spare no forces to aid in the defense of Keldrin’s Landing, however. Neither could we, for that matter, as our tribe was too small to contribute and still protect itself.

  “For us, the decision was to withstand and wait, or to abandon our homes and stay ahead of the spreading wave, or to attack the problem at its source. We lacked enough information to make that decision, and the flow of news from Keldrin’s Landing was maddeningly slow. As Lyden was mired in indecision, Keldrin’s Landing appeared mired in politics and greed. So we sent five of our most capable warriors to this region, to travel quickly and gather what knowledge they could to aid in the larger effort. They were to bring that knowledge back to the tribe, knowledge that would help us select the best course of action.”

  He glanced up from the fire and found Bellimar and Halthak leaning forward, engrossed, intent on his every word.

  “As you know,” Amric said, “my warriors did not return. The attacks were increasing, we still needed answers, and we refused to abandon our warriors to unknown fates. I urged the tribal leaders to relocate the tribe further south, out of harm’s way for a time. Then Valkarr and I delegated our command duties and traveled here.”

  “A warmaster is not the tribal leader, then?” Halthak asked.

  Amric shook his head. “Among the Sil’ath, the warmaster is the final authority on military matters only. For other matters, the warmaster is but one member of the tribal council.”

  “Did your tribe leave their homes, as you advised?” Bellimar asked.

  “I hope so. The decision was made, but Valkarr and I left before preparations were fully underway. It is no easy thing to leave one’s home, even for a people with a nomadic history, like the Sil’ath.”

  Amric sighed and pushed a hand through his brown-blonde hair. “Come, friends, I am feeling expansive, and we who may be fighting back to back in the coming days should have few secrets. What else would you know?”