Adept (The Essence Gate War, Book 1) - By Michael Arnquist Page 0,14

up a hand as Halthak’s mouth dropped open. “Save your questions for now. We must leave the streets immediately. I sent the watch patrol to the docks with a false report of a disturbance there, so that we could operate without interference here, but they will be returning soon with a host of uncomfortable questions. And those buffoons in the alley were merely the most impatient and least skilled of those who will be after us.”

Halthak shot a panicked glance to either side. “Where can we go to be safe?” he stammered.

“Safe? Nowhere in this city, I’m afraid,” Amric replied. Then a boyish grin spread across his features. “But until we have a better plan, I know where we can go that will make most attackers think twice.”

Amric pushed the food around on his plate, lost in thought. Across the table, Valkarr was wolfing down his meal with typical abandon, and Halthak showed almost as much enthusiasm for his own. Amric hid a smile as he pretended not to notice the abashed glances the healer shot in his direction. It was evident that the healer did not frequently enjoy a full belly, and hunger had overwhelmed his manners on a meal he accepted with outward reluctance and inward relief. The warrior found it hard to fault him, as the Sleeping Boar served excellent food indeed.

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 grey man touched two fingers to his forehead in a salute. Amric frowned.