Amric said nothing, unconvinced. A world with less magic, or no magic at all, sounded very much like an improvement to him. Morland, however, was nodding grudging approval.
“An educated man,” he said. “Furthermore, are you aware that this region is seeing an even more marked increase in magical energies, as they decline everywhere else? So much so that sorcerous endeavors in this area have become hazardous due to their unpredictability, their sheer instability. Imagine, if you will, lighting a candle only to have it blaze up and fill the room with flame. It is as if all the magical energies in the civilized lands are being drawn to this region.”
“Perhaps even,” Bellimar said, “all the magic in the world.”
Amric shifted, uncomfortable at the thought. “Why is this occurring?”
“No one knows,” Morland said, with another appraising look at Bellimar. “But it is also behind the swell of wealth here, in Keldrin’s Landing. The area was discovered to be rich in natural resources quickly enough after Keldrin first landed here. Now, however, the gems and minerals here are imbued with essence energies at a much higher rate than anywhere and anytime in recorded history. The nations have boundless appetites for such baubles: focus jewels to enhance rituals, magic alloys that never dull or cannot be pierced, and countless more. Those with mining rights, such as myself, were until recently making money as quickly as we could pull it from the ground.”
“Why no longer?” Amric asked.
“Our crews have fled their work sites, and many have departed the region entirely on the first ship that would have them. Chance or not-and I tend to think not-the meteoric rise in magic has coincided with a spreading contagion of dark creatures. We lost many workers, vanished or found torn limb from limb, and now no amount of promised wages is sufficient to coax them into performing their duties.”
Morland shook his head and sighed, and Amric ground his teeth. The merchant cared nothing for the loss of life, only his own profits.
“And thus,” said Bellimar, his tone wry, “the wealthy elite of Keldrin’s Landing found themselves at the golden spigot, now clogged, and put out a plea for assistance to the lands. Ample reward offered to any blades that would travel here and pit themselves against these creatures. Payment terms in arrears, naturally?”
“Spare me your moral arrogance, Bellimar,” the merchant sneered. “If you share anything with your namesake, you are on shifting sand of your own.”
Bellimar pressed on, his grin broad and predatory. “But times of strife call out to avarice, and one’s rivals can be so wonderfully vulnerable when all attention is facing outward. So the wealthy must fortify against each other, and continually more so as the armament continues; for every coin spent on the public defense, two go to outfit the estate. Stop me when you wish to resume the narrative yourself, Morland.”
“How does all this relate to my Sil’ath warriors?” Amric interrupted. “They would not have been diverted to serve as hired swords so that you could return to exploiting laborers.”
“You are correct, swordsman. Irksome, but correct. Your friends refused any offer of employ, but we found a common goal nonetheless.”
Amric snorted. “I doubt that.”
“Immaterial, as it is still true,” Morland remarked. “You see, your reptilian friends were seeking the source of the disruption in this region, for reasons they refused to divulge. I too have been seeking its source, investing considerable resources into research on that very subject. I offered to put your friends on the right path, provided they returned to me with any information they discovered regarding the fate of a business associate of mine who has been closely studying the phenomenon. The mineral wealth in this region has become secondary to a deeper game now.”
Amric’s jaw tightened. “Controlling the flow of magic.”
Morland gave an approving nod. “Very good. Your brains are not all in your sword arm, then. As magic grows scarce elsewhere and bountiful here, there may be opportunity to control the flow, the supply, the very future of magic on this world. Unfortunately, your friends failed to fulfill their end of the bargain by perishing somewhere out there, and still I lack the information I require.”
Amric felt the rage that had been simmering inside him swell against his restraint, cause a spider web of cracks, and burst through like a searing geyser. His vision swam before him, and he darted a look at his companions. He thought his expression under strict control, but they read his intent nevertheless; Bellimar’s eyes narrowed an almost imperceptible amount, and Halthak swallowed hard.
Morland was saying, “Now, we could transfer that accord to you, as would be only-”
Amric twisted in his seat and struck the guard behind him in the throat with rigid fingers in a hard upward motion that catapulted the man backward. In a flash, the swordsman was out of his chair and across the table. Morland had a split second in which to gape in shock before Amric hammered into him, overturning the merchant’s chair and landing astride him with hands locked about his throat as they slid to a halt on the marble floor. The jeweled goblet hit the floor with a wet clang and skittered away. Amric witnessed a fleeting gamut of emotions flicker through Morland’s bulging eyes: terror, pain, fury, appraisal, scheming. Then they were hooded once more. The man must have ice in his veins, a detached part of Amric marveled, to retain his sneer in the face of his own demise. The explosion of movement occurred with such blinding speed that the remaining guards were rooted in astonishment for a long moment before putting hands to sword hilts and charging forward.
“Come no closer!” Amric commanded, his grip tightening on the merchant’s throat. “I can snap his neck before you take another step.”
The guards stumbled to a halt, uncertain, and then fell back as the merchant gave a surreptitious signal with one pinned hand. Morland’s neck was very near its breaking point, and yet he managed a glare through the agonized wince.
“You,” he said, his breath wheezing through his constricted windpipe, “are a very fast man.”
“And your indifference to the fate of my friends offends me,” Amric said. He leaned his face closer to the merchant’s, until the tips of their noses almost touched. “All this wealth, all this power, and I can end it right here in an instant. I wonder, does Vorenius stand to inherit it all?”
“Now you are being purposely cruel, swordsman. You have my attention, but you still need something from me. How shall we proceed?”
“Remove the price from our heads, and give us the sum of all information you supplied my friends, so that we may follow their trail. If they live, we will find them, and they will deliver the information they owe you, as per whatever agreement they struck with you.”
“I will suspend the price on your heads,” Morland countered in a rattling gasp, “and remove it once the information is delivered to me by your friends or by you. It will be reinstated if you return empty-handed.”
They remained frozen for interminable seconds, Amric glowering down at the merchant while the latter scowled back in defiance. The guard that Amric struck in the throat thrashed onto his side on the floor, drew one short, whistling breath, and vomited with conviction.
“Agreed,” the swordsman said finally. “But before I release you, bear in mind that my Sil’ath friend Valkarr is inside your manor at this very moment, having infiltrated unseen earlier this evening, and he is faster than I am. He will depart your estate grounds after we have done so, safely.”
Morland’s black eyes glittered. “Understood.”
Amric released him and sprang to his feet. The merchant sat up with a grimace and put ginger hands to his throat, drawing deep, ragged breaths. His angry gaze raked over his guardsmen waiting with their fists curled tight around their sword hilts, then to the weapons piled at the far end of the table, then to Bellimar and Halthak standing before their chairs, and at last back to Amric, poised on the balls of his feet.