Adept (The Essence Gate War, Book 1) - By Michael Arnquist Page 0,131

quelled it savagely. A man of his refinement and station should not be engaging in such base activities, that was all. In the future, he would leave such visceral deeds to lesser men.

He turned and ducked into the carriage.

“What of the extra mounts?” one of his men asked in a hushed tone.

“Bring them along,” he replied. “There is no reason to waste good horses.”

Nyar and Nylien joined him in the cabin and shut the door behind them. The carriage wheeled into a turn, and soon was trundling on the road back to the city. Morland leaned his shaved pate back against the carriage wall and closed his eyes. It was several minutes into the ride before the silence in the cabin was broken by a quiet voice.

“My lord,” murmured one of the Elvaren. “We will return to the city with fewer men and a number of riderless horses. The guards at the gate may raise questions.”

“Tell them whatever you wish,” the merchant said without opening his eyes. “Remember their faces, however, for you will then seek them at their shift change later in the night and make sure their tongues do not wag to anyone else.”

“Yes, lord,” the assassins whispered together.

Morland allowed his mind to wander, lulled by the rocking motion of the carriage. He had many preparations to make and not much time in which to make them. Fortunately, in sharp contrast to the ride from the city, the return trip was quite pleasantly free of annoying chatter.

CHAPTER 17

Amric sat his bay gelding in the courtyard by the southern city gate. High above him, brooding clouds scudded across an iron sky. The mantle of night had been peeled away, but the new dawn had brought nothing of its usual comforting warmth or color. In fact, he mused, it looked as if the cordial revolving arrangement between night and day had ended at last and they had fought each other to a standstill, leaving the land caught somewhere in between. He gave a rueful shake of his head; such peculiar thoughts did not become a warrior, and he should instead be focused upon the coming journey. In any event, the stormy skies were a blessing in the sense that they would not have to endure the crushing heat, and their supply of water would last all the longer.

The bay snorted and tossed its head, prancing back a few steps, and Amric kept a firm hand while allowing the horse to work off some of its nervous energy. It was a spirited animal, eager to be off after its time confined to the Sleeping Boar’s stables. Would that I shared your carefree enthusiasm, he thought with a smile as he patted the glossy neck, but then, I know more of where we are heading.

All about, the city was shaking itself awake. More and more of the citizenry seeped into the shadowed streets with each passing moment, and the guards at the gate welcomed the next shift with bleary-eyed gratitude. Amric watched as the heavily laden carts of a portly baker and a short, furry stonemason almost collided. He winced, waiting for the inevitable shouting match as to which was more at fault, but instead the two merely exchanged a tight nod before hastening past each other on their respective errands. They were not alone in their demeanor, he noted. The subdued manner evinced by the residents of Keldrin’s Landing owed something to the cold, early hour, but there was of course a larger pall hanging over everyone. Two nights had passed since the abrupt morning attack that shattered the eastern gate, and the city was still holding its breath for the next.

Amric absorbed it all, the sights, the sounds and smells of a city in the vise-like grip of fear. He took it in with eyes the same hue as the unforgiving sky above, the eyes of a man raised in battle. The city––nay, the very land, and perhaps the world as well––was being slowly strangled. He wondered if the city would enjoy another unhindered breath. For that matter, he wondered if anyone would.

The crisp clatter of hooves approaching on the cobbled courtyard shook him from his reverie. Valkarr rode toward him on his black dun and drew rein alongside. Amric gave his old friend a broad, warm smile, and in return the Sil’ath warrior inclined his wedge-shaped head in a salute overdone with mock formality.

“Quit needling me, you great oaf!” Amric laughed. “I am no longer your warmaster, if you