Adept (The Essence Gate War, Book 1) - By Michael Arnquist Page 0,15
The timing made it appear he had somehow heard Halthak’s hushed words across the clamor of the busy room, but that had to be coincidence. In any event, the man had made his interest in them evident enough, and Amric’s own curiosity was certainly piqued. Amric exchanged a look with Valkarr, then stood and left his companions at their table. A low growl from the Traug trembled the floorboards beneath the swordsman’s feet. Gimlet eyes set deep under a heavy brow ridge tracked his every step across the room, but the creature took no other action.
The old man waited with that expectant smile. Amric stopped before his table, and asked, “Sir, may I join you?”
“I would be most disappointed if you did not,” the other replied. “Please, take a seat.”
Amric did so, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table as he studied the fellow. This close, he appeared less aged, possessed of an uncommon vitality that was almost palpable. Eyes so pale they were almost white regarded him with a piercing intellect that gave no ground to the advance of the years. His expression was warm but controlled, somehow authentic and calculating in equal parts, and Amric decided at once that the man’s outward demeanor was a tool he employed with scalpel efficiency.
“My name is Amric.”
“And I am Bellimar,” the man returned. The name tugged at Amric’s memory, but he could not place the reference. Bellimar studied his expression, waiting. The serving girl came to their table, setting a large tankard of ale before them both.
“Thank you, my dear,” Bellimar murmured in velvet tones, eliciting another pink blush. His eyes tracked the girl for a moment as she hastened away. Amric’s scalp prickled; had he imagined a faint thrum of power there in the man’s voice? And it did not escape his notice that the fellow had placed an order for two drinks before Amric even stood to approach.
“Are you a sorcerer, Bellimar?” Amric demanded.
Bellimar cocked his head to the side, but his smile did not falter. If anything, it broadened instead. “A curious opening to our conversation, friend Amric.”
The swordsman took a deep breath. “I apologize for my poor manners, but I have little trust for things magical, and you have that air about you. My friends and I owe you a debt of gratitude for your intervention in the trade district. You seem to have taken an interest in us, and I would like to understand why.”
Bellimar shook his head. “I took no offense. It is fair to say that magic was a field of study for many years for me, but I do not tamper with such forces any longer.”
“And your interest in us?”
“How could I not be interested in you, Amric? You are a fascinating riddle.”
Amric folded his arms across his chest. “That is not an answer.”
“True enough,” Bellimar said. “Allow me to elaborate, then.”
He put forth one pale, slender hand and began to punctuate each point with a finger tap on the surface of the table. “You travel with a Sil’ath warrior who calls you sword-brother. Most Sil’ath can barely tolerate humans, finding them unpredictable and soft, and this one names you with a term of highest respect and affection. Moreover, he defers to you without reservation as he would his tribal warmaster, and you are an outsider of unique stature if you occupy such a position among the Sil’ath. Quite unheard of, in my recollection.”
Bellimar paused to chuckle. “Do not look so surprised, Amric. Knowledge of the internal workings of Sil’ath society is rare, and my learning on the subject is meager since I have not lived among them as you have, but I was an avid student of history and this world’s various cultures long before you were born. And I am not finished.”
He continued to tick off points, each a staccato click of one of his nails on the table. “You bear a price on your head and the enduring ire of a powerful nobleman for having rescued a penniless half-breed from a band of brigands. You did not take the life of that worthless bag of gas Vorenius in the bargain, showing remarkable restraint, if not sound judgment. You faced down two notorious assassins in this very room without apparent fear, and have now taken the Half-Ork under your protection, despite his obvious inherent ability and your personal aversion to all things magical. You show uncommon tact and wit for a simple swordsman, and you gather enigmas as you