Adept (The Essence Gate War, Book 1) - By Michael Arnquist Page 0,105
road, very near the cave.”
“An evoker’s magic, from the sharp report,” Bellimar said. “Though as to its purpose, I cannot say.”
Amric was silent for a moment, looking into the darkness. When he spoke, his voice had become cold and resolute. “It lies in our path. I mean to investigate it.”
Syth stared at him. “Do murderous lights hold some newfound fascination for you, after the Fount? Are you a moth, to be drawn so to the flame?”
The swordsman turned wintry grey eyes upon him. “I lost the trail of our missing friends at Stronghold,” he said. “If fortune is so kind as to offer me a pointer back onto that trail, I’ll not take the risk of circling wide around the sign.”
“You would assume that everything is now a possible sign from the fates?” Syth demanded. “How can you pursue every strange occurrence in this land gone mad?”
“One at a time,” Amric replied.
The thief threw up his hands in exasperation, then grabbed for the reins once again as the dun gelding shifted in a move that looked suspiciously like it was trying to shrug him out of the saddle.
“But you are correct, Syth,” the warrior continued in a mild tone. “It could be dangerous, and perhaps it would be wiser for you to remain here.”
Syth ground his teeth, eyes narrowed in an icy glare. “I’ll not have it said I took the coward’s route,” he gritted. “I will be at your shoulder, if I can keep this useless mountain of horse flesh pointed in the right direction.”
Amric chuckled and turned to Valkarr. The Sil’ath still looked gaunt and tired, but pushed himself stiffly upright to sit tall on the horse, his chin lifted.
“I know you wish to ride with us on this, my friend, but you have not yet regained your strength. I need you to stay with these two and keep them safe while you all follow at a short distance. Be ready, for as much as I would hate to lose time to a retreat or detour, it may prove necessary.”
The Sil’ath sighed and nodded. With a curt nod to Bellimar and Halthak, Amric wheeled his bay and kicked it into a gallop. Behind him, amid a shower of muttered curses, he heard Syth’s mount follow.
Minutes later, they slowed as they neared the location from which the burst of light had emanated. All seemed quiet, the only movement being the short scrub grasses of the foothills swaying under the hoary light of the stars. Amric’s eyes picked out the winding trail leading up to the cave, and he was guiding his mount off the road and toward that narrow path when a sound further up the main road drew their attention. They cantered ahead and found the source. It was a riderless black horse, a glossy patch of ink against the night, giving a subdued cough and stamping its feet as it backed away from them. Amric studied the trembling animal, taking in the rolling white eyes and the froth of sweat on its coat. It had seen strenuous activity, and quite recently. He scanned about for the rider, but found no sign.
Then another sound drifted to them from ahead and north of the broad road: a muffled scream, almost lost to distance.
Amric spurred his mount to a gallop, leaning low over the bay’s muscular neck. The gelding was somewhat tired from the long day of slow travel picking along the base of the rocky foothills bordering the forest, but given its first chance in many days to open up and race, the eager young animal seized the opportunity. Syth fell behind, bouncing awkwardly in the saddle and spewing a steady litany of blasphemous threats at his mount. Amric strained to pierce the gloom as he rode ahead, for he could not triangulate on the sounds over the clatter of his horse’s hooves, and at last a flurry of movement north of the highway caught his eye.
At first he thought he was looking upon some many-legged beast, scurrying through the long, waving grasses where the foothills gave grudging way to gently rolling plains. As he stared, however, he realized it was a handful of the repulsive black things dressed in rags that had assaulted them in the forest. The source of the indignant cry became evident as well, for the creatures bore a thrashing captive among them. The group was clustered around their prize, running in unison, cleaving through the undulating sea of grass in headlong, rapid strides.