Halthak approached him, and reached one clawed hand out to the injured arm. Vorenius flinched away from his touch, but Halthak ignored this, and gently but firmly drew the arm away from the man’s torso and turned it over to examine the cut. After a moment, he met the bandit leader’s eyes once more, reading the mix of surprise and hopefulness there. They both knew he could heal it, that it would be the work of mere moments to draw the injury onto himself and repair it as rapidly as he had done before.
“You should cleanse that wound before you bandage it,” he said finally. “And have a poultice applied when you get to town, to stave off later infection.” Vorenius’s features contorted with rage for an instant before reverting to an expressionless mask. Halthak released the arm and turned away, returning to Amric’s side.
A smile played across the swordsman’s features. “There may be hope for you yet, healer.”
The Sil’ath warrior Valkarr turned as if to depart, and then paused. He swung back and stalked through the camp with purpose, startling the bandits into falling back another step. Rather than attacking, however, he reached down with one clawed hand and wrenched the spit from its cooling stand, complete with the generous portion of roasted boar haunch that remained on it. He bit into it with savage abandon, tearing loose a large mouthful, the muscles around his powerful jaws and neck bunching as he chewed noisily. He seemed to have forgotten the men in the camp, and no one moved to stop him. Finally he uttered a satisfied hiss and took another prodigious bite as he walked out of the camp with his prize and disappeared into the darkness.
Amric turned with a chuckle and strode from the camp without a backward glance, and Halthak followed close on his heels. The healer’s last glimpse of the camp showed the men all turning to face Vorenius. From their stances and the wide-eyed look on Vorenius’s face, he surmised that the balance of power within the band of mercenaries would be the subject of intense discussion that night.
As he tracked the pale glints of moonlight on the sword pommels over Amric’s shoulders, Halthak was forced to consider his own immediate future. He was following two strange and fearsome warriors into the unknown, one of them of a race renowned for its ferocity, love of battle, and intolerance of others. By all rights he should have been terrified, but instead he felt strangely at ease. The Sil’ath was in the company of a human who called him a brother of some sort, and in any event, Halthak knew from his own experience that assumptions based on race were not always accurate. He admitted to himself that he might simply be leaping at any change in his situation, but there was something in the swordsman’s unexpected treatment of him that instilled a newfound confidence. Whether or not that confidence was warranted remained to be seen. Regardless, his die was cast, and he was not exactly spoiled for options at the moment.
Halthak focused on his footing and keeping Amric in sight before him. They moved on and were swallowed by the night.
Halthak lay on his bedroll, staring up at the star-speckled sky. The campfire had died down to embers, but the sliver of moon gave enough light by which to see, once one’s eyes were adjusted. Several yards away, Amric sat cross-legged on the ground, cleaning with meticulous care the sword he had used in the mercenary camp. He faced outward into the night and lifted his gaze often from his task to scan the darkness. Valkarr was stretched out on the opposite side of the fire pit from the healer, his even breathing almost a purr as he slept.
The two warriors had made camp in the lee of a rock outcropping, with no wasted motion and nary a word spoken, while Halthak stood aside and felt useless. The three shared the roasted boar haunch from the bandits’ camp, and then with no apparent communication between them, Amric stood the first watch while Valkarr dropped to the ground without ceremony and fell asleep. Halthak took to his own bedroll, but his mind continued to race over the events of the night, and sleep eluded him. His fingers drummed, feather light, on the haft of his gnarled ironwood staff as he contemplated breaking the silence.
In the end, Amric beat him to it.
“Speak your mind, healer,” he said, his tone wry.
Halthak jumped, shifting his gaze to the warrior. He cleared his throat, and began in a low tone, “I want to thank you for saving me from those men earlier. Not many would have intervened on behalf of a stranger, especially one with my appearance, and outnumbered as you were.”
“Think no more on it,” Amric said, waving a dismissive hand. “It was not a scene we could pass without becoming involved. And appearance is like so much clothing; it can accentuate or conceal the truth beneath it, but is not itself the truth.”
Halthak noted the plural ‘we’, and wondered at the Sil’ath warrior’s involvement in the decision. “Nonetheless, it was a courageous deed,” he insisted. “I owe you my thanks, and my life.”
Amric paused in cleaning the sword and looked over his shoulder. “You owe me nothing, friend. It was your words as much as our blades that made those men reconsider their actions, in the end. They knew the wrong of their deeds. But I accept your gratitude, as offered.” Turning back, he resumed running a cloth the length of his blade.
Halthak turned his gaze back to the night sky. Try as he might, he could not puzzle the man out. His actions and speech were unlike any soldier he had met. Bolstering his courage, he cast a furtive glance toward the sleeping Sil’ath and spoke again, more softly.
“Is it true, what they say about the Sil’ath?” he asked.
“No,” Amric replied at once, without turning his head.
“How can you know which part I mean?”
“I don’t need to. I have lived among the Sil’ath for many years, and I have also traveled broadly enough to know that whenever ‘they’ talk about the Sil’ath, they invariably get it wrong.”
“You live––have lived among them?” Halthak blurted, rising to prop himself on one elbow.
Amric snorted. “What tales have you heard, healer? That they eat their own offspring? That they attack other races without provocation? That they are incapable of reason or honor?”
Halthak reddened, hoping his discomfort was not visible in the poor light. Amric’s derisive comments did indeed align with some of what he had heard, and he was beginning to worry that his curiosity and ignorance might have angered his savior. From the dismissive tone of Amric’s next statements, however, he had little cause for concern.
“Nothing more than hot air that could just as easily have emanated from either end of the speaker, for all the wisdom it contained.” The warrior held up his sword to sight down its edge, looking for nicks. Satisfied, he sheathed the blade and set the crossed scabbards aside but within easy reach. They sat in silence for several moments, and Halthak thought the conversation was at an end until Amric finally spoke again.
“There are no doubt elements of truth in what you have heard of the Sil’ath, healer. They are indeed fearless and implacable in battle, and their warriors are trained from birth with any weapon they can lift. Contrary to the tales, however, they are not motivated to conquer or pillage, and they are never unnecessarily cruel. Any such behavioral flaws are dealt with swiftly in Sil’ath society. They are a pragmatic people in all things, and so when they are provoked to conflict they aim to put a decisive end to it. They bend the knee to no one.”
“That does not sound very pragmatic. What if they face an overwhelming force?”
Amric chuckled. “That depends on your point of view. When I call them pragmatic, I do not mean to say they will take the easiest path. Far from it. They are uncompromising in their principles, and every last one of their warriors is worth several of their enemy on the field of battle. Make no mistake, each will fight until he can no longer draw breath. As a result, no one enters lightly into conflict with the Sil’ath. Think of it as promoting peace by advertising the high cost of the alternative. In the end, all they want is to live and raise their own without interference or encroachment from other races, which they find generally baffling and unpredictable by comparison.”
&
nbsp; Halthak considered his words for several moments. “And despite their dislike of other races, they accepted your presence among them?”
“To be fair, they gave me a home among them when I was quite young, so I had few behaviors to unlearn as they raised me.”
Amric glanced over his shoulder at Halthak when he heard no reply, and laughed.
“Close your mouth, healer, it is not so terrible a fate. The Sil’ath raise their own with the principles of honor, integrity, capability and dedication. Not just the words, but ingrained in their core. They treat each other with the deepest affection and loyalty. No, I have spent time among humans as well, later in life, and I am fortunate for the upbringing I had.”
Halthak started to object, and then paused. He considered his own past treatment at the hands of both men and Orks, and his arguments faded before him like so much smoke. Who was he to defend the merits of being with one’s own kind, when he himself had never found such acceptance? He stole another look at the sleeping Valkarr, and then turned back to Amric.
“How did you come to dwell among them?” he asked.
But Amric shook his head. “This is a barter system, my friend, and it is time to balance the scales.”
Halthak swallowed his disappointment. “Very well, what would you know of me?”
“Your healing, is it magic?”
“I am no expert on magic, but I believe so, as I have never seen anyone else with the same ability.”
“How did you acquire it?”
“I’ve had it as long as I can remember, so I expect I was born this way.”
Amric glanced back at him again, and Halthak was taken aback by the man’s sudden hard expression. “Do you have any other magical abilities? Or any magic artifacts in your possession?”
“None,” Halthak replied softly. “But if I had anything of worth, I would offer it to you in exchange for saving my life earlier tonight.”
“You misunderstand,” Amric said. “The Sil’ath have a deep distrust of all thing tainted by magic, and I suppose I have inherited much of that aversion. Among humans, I have seen magic lead to little other than corruption and lust for more power. I think it cannot be safely controlled by the likes of mortal men, and I want as little dealing with such dark and unpredictable forces as possible.”
Halthak was silent a moment, staring at the swordsman’s back. “You think of my ability as a disease, a taint on my soul? Well, it’s no worse than I have thought myself, many times. While I made no dark pact to gain this ability, it has still been more a curse to me than a gift. As long as I must live with it, however, I will at least put it to good use by helping others in need.”
“And if your ministrations are in fact spreading this taint to your patients?”
Halthak was again taken aback. “I–I had never considered it. I draw the injuries into myself and heal them there, but there is much I do not know about….” He trailed off, and then spoke again with resolve. “But it is a part of me, and I have to believe my intent counts for something.”
Amric sighed, and the tension eased from his posture. “Please forgive me, healer, for I meant no insult. You are a kind soul, and I agree with you that intent should matter. Regardless, you deserve finer treatment from the likes of me. I will see you safely to the city, and I will not again let my prejudice get the better of my manners.”
“Think no more on it,” Halthak said, echoing back Amric’s own words. “Keldrin’s Landing is said to have drawn all manner of experts and artisans to itself in its hour of need. No doubt scholars of magic will be among them. Perhaps I can learn more of my ability there.”
“Such knowledge could be useful indeed,” Amric agreed, “if you can trust its source. Be wary not to fall under the sway of a scholar with his own motives.”
“What do you mean?”
“Magic, wealth and martial might are forms of power, and they have all been congregating at Keldrin’s Landing. The city’s cry for help has likely drawn as many jackals as defenders. The greatest threat may still be from the surrounding lands, but the dangers within the city walls are no less real. Be guarded in lending your trust to anyone there.”
“You talk as if you’ve been there,” Halthak said.
“No, but like any soldier who hopes to live long enough to see his own hair become grey one day, I have gathered information as to the terrain ahead. Word has spread far from the ailing city, as you are no doubt aware, and its afflictions follow the tales. Its plight is expanding quickly to the rest of the land.”
“It sounds as if my safest course would be to remain in your company, for a time,” Halthak ventured.
Amric gave him a sharp look. “That is not our agreement, healer. I will see you to the city, and then we part company.”
Halthak looked away. He had expected no different, but still he was stung by the abrupt rebuke. The swordsman stood, stretched his arms over his head, walked a few paces back and forth, and then resumed his seated position.
“I do not know your purpose in Keldrin’s Landing,” Amric said in a more gentle tone, and he held up one hand to forestall Halthak’s response, “and I do not want to know. Valkarr and I have our own purpose there, and I cannot say where the trail will lead, but we will need to move quickly and it will be hazardous. You do not want to accompany us.”
“If your path will be as hazardous as you say, you may be injured––”
Amric shook his head. “Enough, healer. Some secrets must remain between us yet. Now get some rest. If we break camp early on the morrow, I believe we can reach Keldrin’s Landing by midday. In any event, we have made too much noise already and there are things out there that will take an interest in us if we continue to beg their attention.”
Halthak felt a chill at Amric’s words, and he rolled to his side to put his back to the rock outcropping while his gaze raked the surrounding darkness. He had heard many tales of the horrors assailing the lands surrounding Keldrin’s Landing. Those tales were scarcely credible, but even if they had grown in the retelling, they were likely based on some small kernel of truth. And any basis in fact to what Halthak had heard was sobering indeed. He wondered, not for the first time, at his own judgment in coming here. He was certain sleep would not come, certain he would lie awake all night waiting for some grinning nightmare to claw its way out of the night and come for him. In the darkest hours of the new morning, however, exhaustion worked at his conviction with its measured touch and proved him wrong.
CHAPTER 2
Amric swirled the tankard of ale in a slow circle, staring into the dark liquid ripples. Two days in this blasted city chasing every stray rumor, and a galling lack of progress to show for it. He felt a twinge of regret for turning Halthak away when they arrived in Keldrin’s Landing. For all the healer’s naiveté, he had seemed far more comfortable within the confines of the city walls than Amric felt. The warrior had to admit that despite the information he had gathered in advance, despite his efforts to prepare, the sheer magnitude of everything here was overwhelming.
He knew the city’s origins decades ago as a military camp established by the dauntless explorer, Keldrin. It was the barest toe hold on the coast of a wild and ancient land dominated by primordial forests. One could still see those martial origins in the grid-like layout of the oldest sections: the docks, the military quarter and the trade district, in particular. From there, with the discovery of the abundance of mineral riches in the region, the growth of Keldrin’s Landing had been far too rapid to maintain its orderly structure. The trade district had spilled over its containment, flowing into new thoroughfares. The huge estates of the wealthiest merchants squatted on a long bluff overlooking the city center, each one an opulent walled fortress in its own right. The residential district encircled the others in a great arc, and the outer wall surrounding everything had been collapsed and rebuilt at various times to accommodate the city’s expanding girth. These days, refugees were arriving from the countryside by the hour, further swelling the ci
ty past capacity.
No, Amric had expected the city to have grown from its modest origins, but not this much. Faced with this unexpected sea of humanity, his plan––to enter the city and ask around until he located the specific information and individuals he sought––had produced nothing so far, and the approach now struck him as far too ingenuous to be effective. Valkarr was still wandering the city, hoping to discern a comment or other reaction to his presence that indicated some knowledge of the Sil’ath that had passed this way. His efforts might pay dividends, but suffered from the same problem; it was like attempting to track a particular fish through a vast ocean. The invading sense of futility set Amric’s teeth on edge.
He realized he was swirling the tankard in curt, rapid motions, and its contents threatened to slosh over the lip. He leaned back with a sigh, setting the vessel on the oaken table before him. The din of the Sleeping Boar’s grand common room pressed in about him once more. He pushed a hand through his close-cropped hair and took a steadying breath.
He needed a new plan.
He scanned the crowded room, searching again for new inspiration. Like the rest of the city’s occupants, the patrons of the Sleeping Boar Inn hailed from many races and regions. While the majority of them were human like him, Amric observed a short bird-like creature at the great stone hearth, three furry broad-shouldered figures exchanging whispers at a table near the bar, and a cloaked figure at a corner table whose snout protruded from its deep cowl. Amric frowned at the number of individuals he observed in ornate robes. He assumed them to be magickers of some sort, and wondered how many more were not so clearly marked. There were, of course, no Sil’ath to be seen.
The Essence Gate War: Book 01 - Adept Page 2
