Adept (The Essence Gate War, Book 1) - By Michael Arnquist Page 0,1
charade. Just as the man’s arm tensed to descend, however, a startled oath from one of the other bandits spun Vorenius around. From his position on the ground, Halthak had to peer around the bandit leader to get a look at the source of the disturbance.
A stranger appeared out of the night, seeming to coalesce from the very shadows as he strode forward into the campfire light. Clad in dark leather and an oiled black mail shirt, he moved with the leonine grace of a swordsman. All nine of Vorenius’s men drew their blades and oriented on the newcomer, but the latter made no move to draw his own swords, the hilts of which jutted from his back over each of his armored shoulders. He padded to a halt within a few feet of Vorenius, hooked his thumbs over his belt and stood at apparent ease. Without seeming to notice the bandit leader’s sword leveled at his chest, he addressed everyone.
“Good evening. My name is Amric, and I am traveling to Keldrin’s Landing.”
Vorenius’s sword point never wavered, but his gaze slid from the newcomer to search the darkness beyond the fire’s reach. Halthak realized he must be wondering how Amric had entered the camp without raising a cry from his sentries, and if he was truly alone.
“What do you want here, stranger?” Vorenius asked.
“A few moments of warmth from your fire,” Amric replied, seeming to notice him for the first time. “And I would pay well for a hot meal, if you have anything to spare for a fellow traveler.”
“Take a slice from the spit and be on your way,” Vorenius said. “We are in the midst of something here.”
Amric glanced at Halthak. “So I see.”
“Do not think to intrude, stranger,” the bandit leader growled. “This is a matter between us and this creature.”
“It is doubtless none of my affair,” Amric said, but he did not move, and instead continued to study Halthak.
“Bloody right it’s none of your affair,” Vorenius said. “Now be on your way, before you join our troublesome friend here.”
“Troublesome? Is this creature dangerous, then?”
“Are you blind, or merely a fool? This is an Ork, a savage and mindless beast!”
“Half-Ork,” Halthak corrected, from the ground. And not half the beast that you are, Vorenius, he thought.
The bandit leader swung half toward him with a hiss as if reading his thoughts, and then snapped back around to Amric. He shifted his grip on the sword and made a curt gesture back toward the forest darkness beyond the campfire light. “I say again, stranger,” he grated, “be on your way.”
Halthak grimaced, an icy twist returning to his gut. A brief respite, then, but not salvation.
Amric met the bandit’s eyes for a long moment and then returned his gaze to Halthak. “May I speak with it?” he asked.
An irrational hope flared within Halthak, but he walled it away. This stranger had no reason to intervene on the behalf of one such as him.
Vorenius’s tongue slid across his lips. His eyes darted about, once again taking in each of his men around the camp and scanning for additional intruders. He seemed perplexed as to when he had lost control of the situation. His men murmured and glanced at each other, as uncertain as their leader what to make of the stranger. After a moment’s consideration, Vorenius jerked a shrug and slid back a pace.
Halthak tensed as the stranger stepped forward and sank to his haunches before him, resting lightly on the balls of his booted feet. Grey eyes locked onto his own and pinned him in place. This close, he knew how different he looked from human: the coarse grey flesh, the gnarled hands ending in tapered nails, the close-set eyes beneath a too-heavy brow, the jutting lower jaw encasing the protruding nubs of his tusks. All of these features and more betrayed him for the half-breed monster he was. Had he been a full-blooded Ork, he would have been broader and heavier of build, but as it was he would never be mistaken for human.
Halthak tried to read Amric’s expression, looking for any trace of revulsion, or hatred, or even pity. He found nothing of the sort. Even the stranger’s piercing eyes betrayed no hint of the thoughts behind them.
Amric stared at him, motionless and silent, long enough for the bandit leader to shift in impatience where he stood. Finally he asked, in a low, soft tone, “Why do you not fight back?”