He knew the city’s origins decades ago as a military camp established by the dauntless explorer, Keldrin. It was the barest toe hold on the coast of a wild and ancient land dominated by primordial forests. One could still see those martial origins in the grid-like layout of the oldest sections: the docks, the military quarter and the trade district, in particular. From there, with the discovery of the abundance of mineral riches in the region, the growth of Keldrin’s Landing had been far too rapid to maintain its orderly structure. The trade district had spilled over its containment, flowing into new thoroughfares. The huge estates of the wealthiest merchants squatted on a long bluff overlooking the city center, each one an opulent walled fortress in its own right. The residential district encircled the others in a great arc, and the outer wall surrounding everything had been collapsed and rebuilt at various times to accommodate the city’s expanding girth. These days, refugees were arriving from the countryside by the hour, further swelling the city past capacity.
No, Amric had expected the city to have grown from its modest origins, but not this much. Faced with this unexpected sea of humanity, his plan-to enter the city and ask around until he located the specific information and individuals he sought-had produced nothing so far, and the approach now struck him as far too ingenuous to be effective. Valkarr was still wandering the city, hoping to discern a comment or other reaction to his presence that indicated some knowledge of the Sil’ath that had passed this way. His efforts might pay dividends, but suffered from the same problem; it was like attempting to track a particular fish through a vast ocean. The invading sense of futility set Amric’s teeth on edge.
He realized he was swirling the tankard in curt, rapid motions, and its contents threatened to slosh over the lip. He leaned back with a sigh, setting the vessel on the oaken table before him. The din of the Sleeping Boar’s grand common room pressed in about him once more. He pushed a hand through his close-cropped hair and took a steadying breath.
He needed a new plan.
He scanned the crowded room, searching again for new inspiration. Like the rest of the city’s occupants, the patrons of the Sleeping Boar Inn hailed from many races and regions. While the majority of them were human like him, Amric observed a short bird-like creature at the great stone hearth, three furry broad-shouldered figures exchanging whispers at a table near the bar, and a cloaked figure at a corner table whose snout protruded from its deep cowl. Amric frowned at the number of individuals he observed in ornate robes. He assumed them to be magickers of some sort, and wondered how many more were not so clearly marked. There were, of course, no Sil’ath to be seen.
The owner of the inn, a stout Duergar named Olekk, was polishing the bar with devoted ferocity. He paused, his swarthy face flushed with effort, and squinted down its length. Straightening, he threw the cloth over one broad shoulder, and expanded his possessive scan to include the rest of the room. Finally, with a satisfied nod, he swung away and passed through the doorway into the kitchen. As he went, he exchanged a slight nod with the hulking figure standing at the back wall, a Traug-a truly massive specimen of its kind-that he employed to remove troublemakers from the premises. It was a job the Traug did with dispassionate efficiency, as Amric could attest after two days of hunting rumors among the inn’s itinerant patrons.
Amric’s roving gaze caught on a grey-haired man seated alone in the shadows of a corner table. The fellow wore a sardonic smile, and as he locked eyes with Amric, he inclined his head in a slight nod toward him. The swordsman had passed through this common room countless times in the past two days, and did not recall ever seeing the man, let alone conversing with him enough to reach familiarity. He shrugged to himself. Perhaps the man had overheard him seeking information, and felt he had some to share or sell. Regardless, given the lack of competing leads, Amric could not afford to let any potential opportunity go unexplored.
As he gathered himself to stand, he noticed two tall, slender figures wending their way toward him between the tables of the common room. Clad in dark leather, they moved with graceful purpose, balanced and alert, remaining precisely arm’s length apart at all times. Practiced predators accustomed to hunting together, Amric noted. He settled back into his chair, donning a neutral expression above the table while beneath it he palmed a throwing knife from its concealed sheath behind his belt. The stranger in the corner would have to wait.
They drew to a halt as they reached him, fanned out on the opposite side of the table. Their arms hung relaxed at their sides, their postures confident, almost insolent. They gazed down at Amric with matching smiles but did not speak, and Amric took the opportunity to study them in this close proximity.
They had fine builds and finer features. Their eyes were larger than a human’s, liquid glimmers beneath long, delicate brows. That they had Elvaren blood was evident at once, but they were at the same time unlike any of that lineage he had seen before. They had striking white shocks of hair, and their pale skin held a dusky tinge, like layers of translucence over something darker. From features to dress to mannerism, they appeared identical in every detail.
They waited, their manners mocking and expectant, and Amric somehow felt that to speak first was to cede some obscure advantage in this encounter. He passed an unhurried stare from one to another and waited as well. He realized that the room had become hushed as the duo’s odd behavior had drawn attention. Or, Amric reflected, they were known well enough to the inn’s patrons to warrant the reaction; all the more reason to exercise caution. He felt a sudden nagging itch at his perceptions, and on impulse he flicked a glance toward the old stranger in the corner. The man had withdrawn even further into the dimness there, arms folded across his chest, his enigmatic smile a mere suggestion in the shadows. He appeared to be regarding Amric still across the room, and some trick of the light gave his eyes a lambent glow.
Yes, Amric mused, he would definitely need to understand this man’s interest in him soon. He returned his attention to the pair before him.
It seemed that taking his attention from them, even momentarily, had accomplished what exchanging stares did not. Amric read irritation plain upon their features at being ignored so, and the one to his right finally spoke.
“It is churlish for not offering us to join its table,” he said.
“Indeed so, brother,” replied the other. “And here it sits, compounding its stunning lack of manners with every breath.” They cocked their heads to the side in unison, studying him as if he were some loathsome insect.
Amric raised an eyebrow. “I do not believe we have met-” he began.
“The umbrage of our employer is, certainly, less of a mystery now,” one continued, as if he had not spoken.
“Agreed,” 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?”