Adept (The Essence Gate War, Book 1) - By Michael Arnquist Page 0,169
if I know not where to look or what to––”
“Just look, you fool!”
Anywhere? It made no sense. Was the merchant not looking for something specific after all? Perhaps this was an extended interview of sorts, to verify his abilities in advance of a more important job that would come later. Lorenth felt a chill. How would he prove the veracity of what he saw if Morland was looking for nothing in particular? He had to find some convincing detail, something that would allay the suspicions of a powerful and vengeful man.
He shifted his gaze ever so slightly. This required a finer degree of control than most people realized, to move his sight only a few feet over such a distance. It was all too easy to jump wildly around and be forced to reestablish his frame of reference entirely. He had managed it over much greater lengths before, however, and the merchant did not seem the type to be impressed with the control Lorenth had practiced so hard to earn, so he swallowed the boastful words he was tempted to utter and resumed his efforts.
A street scene materialized before him. Dark, deserted. Lorenth bit his lip.
“What is it? What do you see?” the merchant’s tone was oddly neutral for all its urgency.
“Nothing yet, my lord,” the young man responded. “The streets nearby are empty.”
“Empty?” Morland exclaimed. He sounded disappointed, disbelieving. “Keep searching.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The scene was just fading out of focus as Lorenth began to move his farsight again, when a flicker of movement in the distance caught his attention.
“One moment, lord,” Lorenth said. “I may have something for you after all. There is something moving further up the lane.”
“Tell me.”
The young farseer pushed his sight up the cobbled street. A large group of shadowy figures sharpened into detail, running with long, bounding strides. Something about the way they moved struck him as wrong, unnatural, as if they were somehow lighter upon the earth than the size of their forms suggested. The foremost among them leapt high and hurled themselves upon another group, this one of wide-eyed men––soldiers, by the look of them––brandishing swords and spears. Even with the glow of rocking firelamps held high in the clenched fists of the men, the dark attackers were barely visible against the night. The feeble light cast by the lamps formed a faint golden frost upon the creatures, as if their black flesh greedily drank in all illumination.
Steel flashed and bodies collided, and Lorenth gasped at the ferocity of the clash. Then the breath caught in his throat with a dry rattle. He saw a spear ram through the abdomen of one of the black figures, but the creature did not falter; instead it grabbed the haft with both hands and wrenched it from the grasp of its shocked owner. The transfixed creature then hurled itself upon the man and bore him to the ground. Another man stepped toward his fallen comrade with sword upraised, but naked black hands wrapped around the blade, heedless of its cutting edge, holding it fast. Two more attackers leapt at the hapless fellow, binding his limbs. It was the same elsewhere, and the battle, if it could even be called such, was over in seconds. Every one of the men was down, and their unflinching foes bent over them with sinister intent.
Lorenth shifted his farsight in a panic, flinching away from whatever grisly end was to come. Another scene swam into focus, and the young man watched in horror as a different horde of the black creatures smashed in a shop door and poured into the building. The light pressing against the windows from the inside guttered, masked by twisting shadows within for a moment, and then went dark.
The farseer flinched, casting his sight elsewhere in the city, and found a large, embattled knot of the city guard. They were fighting in a protective ring around several huddled families while the black creatures came at them from all sides, constricting around the ring of soldiers in dark waves. With the startling clarity of his magical vision, Lorenth took in the drawn but resolute faces of the guards as they fought, the tear-streaked faces of the children clinging to their parents, and the depthless eyes and gaping maws of the attackers. There was no sound, of course, but all the mouths stretched taut in silent screams was almost worse, somehow; the unheard screams seemed to batter impossibly at his senses, clawing at him for supplication.