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 down until he struck the building across the way. To be fair, I cannot say which of his broken bones resulted from the landing and which were from the initial grapple. I am certain I heard snapping sounds when those huge hands wrapped around the poor sot.”
Their smirks had vanished, replaced by icy glares. Their hands flashed to the table’s surface. “It has made its point. It will put away its blade now, so that we may converse with it.”
“Yes,” Amric said. “Let us not involve the whole place in our conversation.” He lowered the knife, slipped it back into the concealed sheath behind his belt, and then raised both hands in a slow wave to the Traug. The latter halted, studying the table for a long, mute moment, and then made a ponderous turn back to the bar. A subdued murmur seeped into the silence of the room and built from there, and more than a few patrons cast inquisitive looks in their direction.
Amric lowered his hands to the table, and met the seething gazes of the Elvaren.
“I will be direct,” he said. “I have no quarrel with you. I do not even know you. I am newly arrived to this city, and to my knowledge I have offended no one, unless by asking after the whereabouts of missing friends. Whom do you represent?”
“His identity is his alone to share, should he choose to do so,” one snarled. “But it is incorrect, for it has indeed offended, and our esteemed employer must preserve family honor by defending the wronged.”
The familial reference again, another puzzle. So he had made an enemy of someone with a powerful relative? “You mentioned my companions sharing my fate,” he continued. “Do you know the whereabouts of the five Sil’ath I seek?”
“It attempts a ploy!” came the accusing reply. “We are neither fooled nor intimidated. Its one Sil’ath companion will be no easy mark, but it wanders the city unaware even now.”
Amric frowned. “But you mentioned more than one companion.”
The Elvaren shrugged. “The Half-Ork is no warrior and of little consequence, but it shared in the offense and therefore will share in the penance.”
Amric’s thoughts spun in a new direction. They meant Halthak! He and Valkarr had parted ways with the healer immediately upon entering Keldrin’s Landing, and they had not seen him since. The only acquaintances they shared were the guards at the city gates and the mercenaries in the camp the night they had met. Amric followed the line of reasoning to its most probable conclusion. Vorenius. The fool had known where they were headed from their own comments; he must have enlisted local resources and set out to avenge his wounded ego. Amric considered for a moment whether he should have taken the man’s head back at the bandit camp. No, he decided, it had not been warranted at the time. But now the man seemed determined to raise the stakes.
“So there is a price on all three of our heads now?” Amric asked.
“It wastes breath on questions that have already been answered,” one of the Elvaren chided, “when there are far more pertinent ones to be asked.” Their eyes glittered with malice.
His stomach plummeted. Knowing the answer, he said anyway, through clenched teeth, “Enlighten me.”
The Elvar on the right licked his lips in an exaggerated motion, as if savoring an exquisite flavor. “It must now wonder, how many more such as we are stalking it and its companions? When will the strikes come? Are they taking place at this very instant, as it sits here trading words with us?”
Amric cursed to himself. They were right, of course. They might even be here for the sole purpose of detaining him, while other agents of Vorenius and his benefactor made attempts on the lives of Valkarr and Halthak. Isolate and destroy; an effective strategy when hunting dangerous prey.
In a blur of motion, he kicked his chair back and bolted to his feet, both swords seeming to appear in his hands. Eyes wide, the pair slithered from their chairs, backing several rapid paces from the table. Their hands hovered at their sides, but they drew no weapons.
“You came here for my life,” Amric said. “So come and take it.”
So sudden was the act that the Traug’s startled response came a long moment later. From the other side of the room came a sound between a choking gasp and a roar, and then the huge creature was striding forward, brushing aside a heavy table that fell with a crash. The Duergar owner, Olekk, emerged from the back room, his bristling beard whipping about as he sought the source of the commotion.
The Elvaren were smiling once more. “It has succeeded admirably in convincing us how unsuitable is the current setting for our task. We will relish it looking always over its shoulder, until one time soon it looks an instant too late.”