The Essence Gate War: Book 01 - Adept

by Michael Arnquist

  The owner of the inn, a stout Duergar named Olekk, was polishing the bar with devoted ferocity. He paused, his swarthy face flushed with effort, and squinted down its length. Straightening, he threw the cloth over one broad shoulder, and expanded his possessive scan to include the rest of the room. Finally, with a satisfied nod, he swung away and passed through the doorway into the kitchen. As he went, he exchanged a slight nod with the hulking figure standing at the back wall, a Traug––a truly massive specimen of its kind––that he employed to remove troublemakers from the premises. It was a job the Traug did with dispassionate efficiency, as Amric could attest after two days of hunting rumors among the inn’s itinerant patrons.

  Amric’s roving gaze caught on a grey-haired man seated alone in the shadows of a corner table. The fellow wore a sardonic smile, and as he locked eyes with Amric, he inclined his head in a slight nod toward him. The swordsman had passed through this common room countless times in the past two days, and did not recall ever seeing the man, let alone conversing with him enough to reach familiarity. He shrugged to himself. Perhaps the man had overheard him seeking information, and felt he had some to share or sell. Regardless, given the lack of competing leads, Amric could not afford to let any potential opportunity go unexplored.

  As he gathered himself to stand, he noticed two tall, slender figures wending their way toward him between the tables of the common room. Clad in dark leather, they moved with graceful purpose, balanced and alert, remaining precisely arm’s length apart at all times. Practiced predators accustomed to hunting together, Amric noted. He settled back into his chair, donning a neutral expression above the table while beneath it he palmed a throwing knife from its concealed sheath behind his belt. The stranger in the corner would have to wait.

  They drew to a halt as they reached him, fanned out on the opposite side of the table. Their arms hung relaxed at their sides, their postures confident, almost insolent. They gazed down at Amric with matching smiles but did not speak, and Amric took the opportunity to study them in this close proximity.

  They had fine builds and finer features. Their eyes were larger than a human’s, liquid glimmers beneath long, delicate brows. That they had Elvaren blood was evident at once, but they were at the same time unlike any of that lineage he had seen before. They had striking white shocks of hair, and their pale skin held a dusky tinge, like layers of translucence over something darker. From features to dress to mannerism, they appeared identical in every detail.

  They waited, their manners mocking and expectant, and Amric somehow felt that to speak first was to cede some obscure advantage in this encounter. He passed an unhurried stare from one to another and waited as well. He realized that the room had become hushed as the duo’s odd behavior had drawn attention. Or, Amric reflected, they were known well enough to the inn’s patrons to warrant the reaction; all the more reason to exercise caution. He felt a sudden nagging itch at his perceptions, and on impulse he flicked a glance toward the old stranger in the corner. The man had withdrawn even further into the dimness there, arms folded across his chest, his enigmatic smile a mere suggestion in the shadows. He appeared to be regarding Amric still across the room, and some trick of the light gave his eyes a lambent glow.

  Yes, Amric mused, he would definitely need to understand this man’s interest in him soon. He returned his attention to the pair before him.

  It seemed that taking his attention from them, even momentarily, had accomplished what exchanging stares did not. Amric read irritation plain upon their features at being ignored so, and the one to his right finally spoke.

  “It is churlish for not offering us to join its table,” he said.

  “Indeed so, brother,” replied the other. “And here it sits, compounding its stunning lack of manners with every breath.” They cocked their heads to the side in unison, studying him as if he were some loathsome insect.

  Amric raised an eyebrow. “I do not believe we have met—” he began.

  “The umbrage of our employer is, certainly, less of a mystery now,” one continued, as if he had not spoken.

  “Agreed,” the other intoned, the solemnity of his delivery belied by the cruel twist of his smile.

  Try as he might, Amric could not make sense of their statements. It? Employer? He decided to venture another entry into the conversation. “Do you bring information for a price? If you know the whereabouts of those I seek—”

  “Still it prattles on,” one exclaimed in mock surprise. “So oblivious to the gravity of its situation, is it then?”

  “I fear so, brother. Be it our duty to educate it?”

  “Ah, you raise an interesting question, and I stand here shamed that we did not think to clarify this point with our employer.”

  “And I as well. But he is a busy and important man, and cannot be troubled to clarify every little obstacle we might encounter as his agents in this matter. Perhaps we can infer his wishes?”

  “An excellent line of reasoning, brother. Let us extend that line further, then. Think you he would wish it to expire in ignorance as to its affronts, or to pass into that dark with eyes opened?”

  The other put a long, slender finger to his chin in thought. “Given the strength of his feelings on the subject, I surmise that he would wish it to know, to realize the fullness of the sentence that has been passed over it, and to agonize in vain over the fate its companions will share.”

  Amric sat forward. “Companions? Do you mean the Sil’ath party I seek, that came this way—”

  Again he was ignored, as the sibling gave an earnest nod. “I must concur. He impressed us as a man of highly cultured tastes, inclined to savor this familial indulgence.”

  “Then we are decided, we must converse with it first.”

  The pair returned their attention to Amric, the infuriating smiles spreading across their features once more. Amric, for his part, met their stares as his mind raced to assemble the fragments of their strange conversation. He assumed himself to be the it featured in their dialogue, though the choice of pronoun was still a mystery. They were in the employ of some as yet unnamed individual who bore him a grudge, for unspecified reason, and that enmity extended to Amric’s companions. The plural of that latter designation was intriguing; his only current companion was Valkarr, but if they knew or assumed his connection with the Sil’ath party he was tracking, they would be the first he had encountered in Keldrin’s Landing with any such knowledge. As his first and only lead, he was compelled to pursue it, despite the fact that these two clearly considered themselves tasked with exacting vengeance on behalf of his unknown adversary.

  With his free hand, he gestured at the chairs before them, on the opposite side of the table from him. His other hand remained below the table, the throwing knife held ready. The table was too heavy to kick up into them without proper leverage, so he would need another distraction to increase the odds of his throw finding a mark that would disable or kill. Their lithe, certain movements hinted at great speed, and he would need precious time to stand and draw his swords as well as room to wield them. He had no allies here, and in fact being involved in an altercation inside the Sleeping Boar would elicit for him the same unwelcome attention his opponents would face from the inn’s enforcer. With his peripheral vision, Amric verified that the mountainous figure of the Traug was still by the bar, gimlet eyes focused upon the confrontation.

  The pair slid into the chairs with identical movements.

  Amric decided to vacate the role of the flushed quarry. If he was to be off-balance, he could at least return the favor. “Keep your hands in sight!” he commanded, raising his voice sharply to draw attention.

  They exchanged an amused glance. “And if we do not?” the one on the left purred.

  Amric brought his throwing knife into view and brandished it before them, high enough to be visible to all. With a rumbling growl that shook nearby tables, the Traug moved forward in a surge. The room went silent. The heads of the Elvaren whipped around, and th
ey took in the advancing giant.

  “He is much faster than his size would indicate,” Amric observed. “And that hide is nearly impervious to blades. But I would wager you already know that.”

  Their heads swiveled back to him. Amric wore a wolfish smile now.

  “Yesterday I saw him throw someone about your size out those front doors, and the fellow didn’t touch down until he struck the building across the way. To be fair, I cannot say which of his broken bones resulted from the landing and which were from the initial grapple. I am certain I heard snapping sounds when those huge hands wrapped around the poor sot.”

  Their smirks had vanished, replaced by icy glares. Their hands flashed to the table’s surface. “It has made its point. It will put away its blade now, so that we may converse with it.”

  “Yes,” Amric said. “Let us not involve the whole place in our conversation.” He lowered the knife, slipped it back into the concealed sheath behind his belt, and then raised both hands in a slow wave to the Traug. The latter halted, studying the table for a long, mute moment, and then made a ponderous turn back to the bar. A subdued murmur seeped into the silence of the room and built from there, and more than a few patrons cast inquisitive looks in their direction.

  Amric lowered his hands to the table, and met the seething gazes of the Elvaren.

  “I will be direct,” he said. “I have no quarrel with you. I do not even know you. I am newly arrived to this city, and to my knowledge I have offended no one, unless by asking after the whereabouts of missing friends. Whom do you represent?”

  “His identity is his alone to share, should he choose to do so,” one snarled. “But it is incorrect, for it has indeed offended, and our esteemed employer must preserve family honor by defending the wronged.”

  The familial reference again, another puzzle. So he had made an enemy of someone with a powerful relative? “You mentioned my companions sharing my fate,” he continued. “Do you know the whereabouts of the five Sil’ath I seek?”

  “It attempts a ploy!” came the accusing reply. “We are neither fooled nor intimidated. Its one Sil’ath companion will be no easy mark, but it wanders the city unaware even now.”

  Amric frowned. “But you mentioned more than one companion.”

  The Elvaren shrugged. “The Half-Ork is no warrior and of little consequence, but it shared in the offense and therefore will share in the penance.”

  Amric’s thoughts spun in a new direction. They meant Halthak! He and Valkarr had parted ways with the healer immediately upon entering Keldrin’s Landing, and they had not seen him since. The only acquaintances they shared were the guards at the city gates and the mercenaries in the camp the night they had met. Amric followed the line of reasoning to its most probable conclusion. Vorenius. The fool had known where they were headed from their own comments; he must have enlisted local resources and set out to avenge his wounded ego. Amric considered for a moment whether he should have taken the man’s head back at the bandit camp. No, he decided, it had not been warranted at the time. But now the man seemed determined to raise the stakes.

  “So there is a price on all three of our heads now?” Amric asked.

  “It wastes breath on questions that have already been answered,” one of the Elvaren chided, “when there are far more pertinent ones to be asked.” Their eyes glittered with malice.

  His stomach plummeted. Knowing the answer, he said anyway, through clenched teeth, “Enlighten me.”

  The Elvar on the right licked his lips in an exaggerated motion, as if savoring an exquisite flavor. “It must now wonder, how many more such as we are stalking it and its companions? When will the strikes come? Are they taking place at this very instant, as it sits here trading words with us?”

  Amric cursed to himself. They were right, of course. They might even be here for the sole purpose of detaining him, while other agents of Vorenius and his benefactor made attempts on the lives of Valkarr and Halthak. Isolate and destroy; an effective strategy when hunting dangerous prey.

  In a blur of motion, he kicked his chair back and bolted to his feet, both swords seeming to appear in his hands. Eyes wide, the pair slithered from their chairs, backing several rapid paces from the table. Their hands hovered at their sides, but they drew no weapons.

  “You came here for my life,” Amric said. “So come and take it.”

  So sudden was the act that the Traug’s startled response came a long moment later. From the other side of the room came a sound between a choking gasp and a roar, and then the huge creature was striding forward, brushing aside a heavy table that fell with a crash. The Duergar owner, Olekk, emerged from the back room, his bristling beard whipping about as he sought the source of the commotion.

  The Elvaren were smiling once more. “It has succeeded admirably in convincing us how unsuitable is the current setting for our task. We will relish it looking always over its shoulder, until one time soon it looks an instant too late.”

  With mocking salutes, they turned and glided out the front doors of the inn. Calming his breathing, Amric resisted the urge to pursue them. An unnecessary conflict here in the open would only serve to involve the city watch, and he could ill afford any such delay if he was to warn Valkarr and Halthak of the danger to them, in particular if more hired blades waited out there in the shadows.

  The thunderous approach across the common room reminded him of the risk he had accepted in forcing the hand of the Elvaren. He sheathed his swords and raised his empty hands in apology. The Traug slowed and his rumbling growl subsided in volume, but still he approached, his great thick hands flexing open and shut. Amric looked past him to find Olekk at the bar. He met the Duergar’s suspicious glare as he produced three heavy coins from his money pouch, and then laid them with exaggerated care upon the table. He then raised his open hands and took a step back.

  Olekk glanced down to the coins, and then back at Amric. After momentary consideration, he barked an order and jerked his bearded chin back toward the bar. The Traug ground to a halt and fixed Amric with a scowl that spoke volumes about an exhausted supply of free warnings, and then lumbered back to his favored corner of the room. On his way, he righted the table he had overturned, and the care he exhibited in handling it showed he considered the stout oaken furniture as fragile as finest porcelain in his grasp.

  Amric started to leave, but paused for a glance back at where the elderly stranger had been sitting. That corner table was empty. Odd, he thought. All the exits from the common room were well visible from Amric’s position, and he had not seen the man pass through any of them. Amric shook his head; the man was a riddle for another day. He strode through the doors and into the afternoon swelter.

  Halthak worked his way through the thick of the trade district. A shop owner pressed in at his side, pacing him for a few steps as he hawked his wares with a broad, ingratiating smile. Halthak continued on, shaking his head in what he hoped was a courteous manner as he passed. He knew better than to smile back; baring a mouthful of sharp teeth inevitably caused others to read unintended aggression in his features. He inhaled the rich, heady aromas of spices and cooking food, and his eyes drank in the colors and activity around him. Although his errand in the trade district had been unsuccessful, he had lingered for hours afterward and found a growing affection for the place. Here in Keldrin’s Landing, with its diverse collection of different races and cultures, he was just another in the crowd, no more or less unusual than the next traveler.

  He saw several full-blooded Orks standing in a cluster apart from the other races. They were thicker of limb and deeper of chest than he, and they bristled with crude weapons and studded armor. They turned scowls upon him, but did not follow up with the prejudice he could expect in a different setting. He kept a wary eye on them until he was well past, and as a result he did not see the elderly man in his path until he slammed into him.

  The air whooshed from Halthak’s lungs and he staggered back, doubling over. Leaning upon his staff to catch hi
s breath and his balance, he looked up to see a slender old man in grey robes. The fellow’s silvery hair was slicked back along his skull, and despite his evident age, his pale, smiling face radiated an intense vitality. The man appeared unaffected by the collision, and Halthak peered past him in disbelief. It felt like he had run headlong into a boulder; surely he had contacted something more solid than this kindly old fellow! The man stooped forward and helped him upright with a grip like cold iron.

  “I––I am––” Halthak managed to gasp, still struggling for breath.

  “Please accept my humblest apologies, young sir,” the man said, his voice low and yet somehow cutting through the din of the crowd. “The years have made me clumsy indeed.”

  The old man released Halthak’s arm and gave a gentle pat to his shoulder as he moved past, disappearing into the crowd. The healer stared after him for a moment until his breath came unhindered again, and then he resumed walking.

  It was but moments later that he heard an angry shout followed by a commotion behind him, and he turned to look. The crowd parted to give him a clear view of the scene several shops back. He saw the same old man with whom he had collided reaching down to help an irate individual up from the ground as two other men looked on in surprise. The old fellow’s familiar words carried across the distance as if Halthak stood beside him.

  “Please accept my humblest apologies, young sir! The years have made me clumsy indeed.”

  The man on the ground surged to his feet, spitting oaths and swatting aside the proffered hand. He faced the silver-haired fellow, leaning forward with fists clenched, and his two friends moved to join him. Halthak noted their cruel demeanor and their unkempt appearance, and he knew them in an instant for common cutthroats. He felt an immediate fear for the old man’s safety, and he took a step in that direction. Even as he did, however, the three brutes faltered and fell back a pace. The old man’s posture was mild, but the men cowered back from something in his expression. They made a wide circle around him, glancing at one another, and then all three of them looked in Halthak’s direction. No, not in his direction, he realized; they were looking directly at him. Seeing him looking back at them, their expressions hardened and they averted their gazes, feigning sudden interest in the nearest shop.