Adept (The Essence Gate War, Book 1) - By Michael Arnquist Page 0,37
of the dark sorcerer was Bellimar. Bellimar the Black, the Vile, the Vampire King, Lord of the Night. Branded with countless such epithets, he came nearest to subjugating the known world of any conqueror in history. The holy city of Tar Mora is said to have begun as a desert monument to the fallen in this cataclysm. If, that is, the ancient tales are to be believed.”
Bellimar lapsed into silence, his eyes twin pinpoints of amber in the shadows.
“I remember where I have heard the name,” Amric said. “I studied military tactics and logistics for a time at the Academy in Lyden, seeking to supplement what I had learned in practice among the Sil’ath. The name ‘Bellimar’ was associated with some of the military maneuvers we studied; he was considered a brilliant tactical mind, though his origins were obscured.”
“I imagine they would be,” Bellimar agreed.
“He was defeated by this White Alliance, then?” Halthak asked.
“That depends on how much of the old tales you believe,” Bellimar replied. “Legend maintains that the sorcerer trapped and smashed their offensive, but as he moved to wipe them all out and gain unfettered access to all the lands, the gods themselves intervened.”
“The gods?” Amric said, cocking an eyebrow.
“They struck him down and dissolved his forces, and his reign of terror was ended.” The gleam of Bellimar’s smile was visible even in the shadows. “I sense you doubt the story, swordsman?”
“Assuming he ever existed, I find it far more likely that he was slain by this White Alliance, and that some amount of embellishment has bolstered most elements of the story over the many centuries.”
“Aye,” said Bellimar. “That is the way of such things, to grow in the retelling, and ample enough years have intervened for it to do so.”
“That explains why Morland commented on the name being inauspicious,” Amric said. “How were you given it?”
Bellimar barked a laugh. “How else? My mother gave it to me. She was no student of history, and it simply held no meaning to her when she bequeathed it.”
“You could have changed your name, to avoid the stigma. Why keep it?”
“Discard the first gift I was given after life and breath? How supremely ungrateful that would be,” Bellimar chided. “And if, as some believe, one grows into one’s given name over a lifetime, at least mine is linked with ambition and accomplishment, however misdirected. Regardless, while it may have once been an appellation spoken only in hushed whispers or used to frighten children, it is all but forgotten now.”
They fell silent, and the sputtering fire reigned once more as each dwelled on private thoughts.
“Bellimar,” Halthak said at last with a stifled yawn, “I must admit two things. First, you are indeed a captivating storyteller. Second, you may have found the way to prevent me from sleeping tonight, despite my fatigue.”
The old man laughed and leaned forward into the ring of light, his face appearing rosy flushed. “No bard could ask for a more rapt audience. Do not let some dusty old fable thwart your sleep, healer, for I suspect tonight we enjoy the calm before the storm.”
Amric nodded agreement, studying Bellimar for a long moment before stretching out on his bedroll. He had a few hours to rest before he would relieve Valkarr to take his turn at watch.
Twice when drifting into slumber did he start awake, banishing the wisps of a striking image: a dark and terrible warrior-sorcerer astride a towering nightmare steed, flaming hooves pounding a battlefield thick with twisted corpses as the rider wove foul, colossal magics against his foes. Each time the black horned helm turned toward him and blazing crimson orbs fix upon him, draining his will and drawing him in…. And then his eyes would flare open to find his companions lying undisturbed in the dank cave, their breathing deep and even, as the fire sank to embers. When sleep claimed him at last, it was with one hand curled about his sword hilt.
CHAPTER 6
Amric and company followed the road into the forest as the morning sun crowned the trees with gold. A dark and verdant world closed about them. Mammoth, ancient trees towered above the thick brush and entwined their branches hundreds of feet overhead. Sunlight spilled through that high canopy, dappling the road before the riders. Taut as a bowstring, Amric rode ahead on his bay gelding. The feeling of being watched had been with him since they left the cave in the pre-dawn hour, like a nagging itch between his shoulder