Adept (The Essence Gate War, Book 1) - By Michael Arnquist Page 0,9

the other intoned, the solemnity of his delivery belied by the cruel twist of his smile.

Try as he might, Amric could not make sense of their statements. It? Employer? He decided to venture another entry into the conversation. “Do you bring information for a price? If you know the whereabouts of those I seek—”

“Still it prattles on,” one exclaimed in mock surprise. “So oblivious to the gravity of its situation, is it then?”

“I fear so, brother. Be it our duty to educate it?”

“Ah, you raise an interesting question, and I stand here shamed that we did not think to clarify this point with our employer.”

“And I as well. But he is a busy and important man, and cannot be troubled to clarify every little obstacle we might encounter as his agents in this matter. Perhaps we can infer his wishes?”

“An excellent line of reasoning, brother. Let us extend that line further, then. Think you he would wish it to expire in ignorance as to its affronts, or to pass into that dark with eyes opened?”

The other put a long, slender finger to his chin in thought. “Given the strength of his feelings on the subject, I surmise that he would wish it to know, to realize the fullness of the sentence that has been passed over it, and to agonize in vain over the fate its companions will share.”

Amric sat forward. “Companions? Do you mean the Sil’ath party I seek, that came this way—”

Again he was ignored, as the sibling gave an earnest nod. “I must concur. He impressed us as a man of highly cultured tastes, inclined to savor this familial indulgence.”

“Then we are decided, we must converse with it first.”

The pair returned their attention to Amric, the infuriating smiles spreading across their features once more. Amric, for his part, met their stares as his mind raced to assemble the fragments of their strange conversation. He assumed himself to be the it featured in their dialogue, though the choice of pronoun was still a mystery. They were in the employ of some as yet unnamed individual who bore him a grudge, for unspecified reason, and that enmity extended to Amric’s companions. The plural of that latter designation was intriguing; his only current companion was Valkarr, but if they knew or assumed his connection with the Sil’ath party he was tracking, they would be the first he had encountered in Keldrin’s Landing with any such knowledge. As his first and only lead, he was compelled to pursue it, despite the fact that these two clearly considered themselves tasked with exacting vengeance on behalf of his unknown adversary.

With his free hand, he gestured at the chairs before them, on the opposite side of the table from him. His other hand remained below the table, the throwing knife held ready. The table was too heavy to kick up into them without proper leverage, so he would need another distraction to increase the odds of his throw finding a mark that would disable or kill. Their lithe, certain movements hinted at great speed, and he would need precious time to stand and draw his swords as well as room to wield them. He had no allies here, and in fact being involved in an altercation inside the Sleeping Boar would elicit for him the same unwelcome attention his opponents would face from the inn’s enforcer. With his peripheral vision, Amric verified that the mountainous figure of the Traug was still by the bar, gimlet eyes focused upon the confrontation.

The pair slid into the chairs with identical movements.

Amric decided to vacate the role of the flushed quarry. If he was to be off-balance, he could at least return the favor. “Keep your hands in sight!” he commanded, raising his voice sharply to draw attention.

They exchanged an amused glance. “And if we do not?” the one on the left purred.

Amric brought his throwing knife into view and brandished it before them, high enough to be visible to all. With a rumbling growl that shook nearby tables, the Traug moved forward in a surge. The room went silent. The heads of the Elvaren whipped around, and they took in the advancing giant.

“He is much faster than his size would indicate,” Amric observed. “And that hide is nearly impervious to blades. But I would wager you already know that.”

Their heads swiveled back to him. Amric wore a wolfish smile now.

“Yesterday I saw him throw someone about your size out those front doors, and the fellow didn’t touch