Adept (The Essence Gate War, Book 1) - By Michael Arnquist Page 0,97
for the task, these items must have been very important to him. Unfortunately, I did believe the snake when he said that invoking his name would gain Grelthus’s trust. In truth, it had rather the opposite effect.” His expression darkened with anger, and then brightened again into a broad, wolfish grin. “Come to think of it, I am certain I saw some of those items on the Wyrgen’s table, there above the viewing chamber. Quite a pity that we were unable to retrieve them, is it not?”
Amric barked a laugh. “I’m for thwarting the devil myself, but it occurs to me that we are all returning to Keldrin’s Landing having failed in the eyes of a ruthless, powerful man at tasks he had a strong desire to see completed. Bellimar is correct; we are not likely to see the price on our heads lifted when we return.”
Syth’s eyebrows rose. “A contract out on you, eh? Nothing done in half measures with you, is there?”
“It is safest if we travel together until we near the city,” Amric said. “But we can part company before the gate, so that you do not invite a price on your head as well.”
The thief looked away and gave a slow shrug, picking at food between his back teeth with one fingernail. “You will have to deal with Morland at some point, or be forever looking over your shoulder,” he said. “I might like to be there to have my say as well.”
“Regrettably, we do not have an extra mount for you,” Amric said, studying the man. “However, we will already be taking a slower pace to accommodate our wounded. We can rotate doubled-up riders among the stronger steeds for some stretches, and walk through others.”
“I appreciate the thought, but I can travel on foot faster than most men,” Syth remarked as he stifled a yawn. “Besides, horses and I have reached an understanding in the past: neither of us will attempt to ride the other, except in the most unusual of circumstances.”
Amric smiled and stood, wincing as he did so. He stepped away from the fire, his attention once more upon the brooding shadow of Stronghold in the distance.
“You should have allowed the Half-Ork to heal you,” Bellimar reminded him.
The swordsman realized he was scratching at his crude cloth strip bandages again, and he let his hand drop. “Nothing more than minor cuts and bruises. They can wait, or heal on their own. In any event, you saw him. Any more strain would have done the poor fellow in.” He glanced back. “Thank you again for your aid in treating and bandaging my wounds.”
Bellimar inclined his head. There was a pause, and then, “Have you felt it again, since?”
There was no need to guess what the old man meant. “No. Not since it left me, just after Halthak saved Valkarr and they both fell unconscious. And my aura?”
“Undetectable to my Sight, as before,” Bellimar replied.
Amric exhaled in relief. He recalled the moment in the viewing chamber, when the threat of the Wyrgens had passed and he had turned his attention inward to confront the alien presence that had invaded him. Revulsion and fear swept through him at the thought of becoming corrupted like the Wyrgens, or being fused forever with this burning torrent of magic, unable to force the powerful spirit from him. Its mysterious intervention had saved their lives, he had to admit, and he had sensed nothing malicious about its intent save for a white-hot rage toward their enemies. It had guided him, and yet he had still felt in control of his actions. He supposed that was the insidious allure of such power at work, and one never truly realized loss of self until it was too late to turn back.
A lifetime’s aversion to magic had flared then, and he searched for the thing within him, braced to battle for his very soul. There was nothing to contest against in the end, however; a fleeting instant of contact, a tentative brush against his senses, and then it had faded and vanished before his loathing like the early morning mist burned away by the new sun. He was left weary to the bone and wondering if he was truly alone in his flesh once more.
Even though no hint of it had resurfaced in the many hours since, he found himself compulsively focusing inward every so often, dreading its return.
“Do you still believe you were possessed by the Essence Fount?” Bellimar asked.