“Your analysis of these peculiar creatures is perceptive, swordsman,” Bellimar said with a slow shake of his head. “The thread of logic concerning your friends, however, is tenuous at best.”
Amric sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “A suspicion, as I said. And it is all I have, so I will pursue it. I intend to trace these black creatures back to their source.”
Syth stared, disbelief and admiration warring in his expression as his brown hair swirled about his shoulders in subdued eddies. “Swordsman, have you ever passed a hornet’s nest without wanting to wear it as a hat?”
Amric barked a laugh. “Well, there you have it,” he said. “We leave after two nights, if the fates allow it. I will not blame you if you want no part of this mad scheme. You owe me nothing.”
“I will be ready tomorrow,” Valkarr asserted, hammering a fist onto the thick oaken table and causing the plates to jump and rattle. “Already I feel the strength returning to my limbs.”
“Then you will be even more ready the following morning,” Amric said with a smile. “You have come a long way from death’s door, my friend, but I need you back at your best. You saw how hard those unnatural things were to kill. In any event, the extra day gives us time to gather supplies and rest the horses as well. After all, the next leg of the journey may well prove as strenuous as the last.”
He pushed back from the table and stood, drawing another suspicious glare from the Traug towering in the far corner of the room. Showing what he felt was remarkable restraint, he elected not to bait the surly creature again.
“It is time to conclude our business with Morland,” he said, with a final glance around the table. Bellimar and Syth rose with him and together they headed across the raucous common room of the inn and made for the doors.
“If you are meeting with a nobleman, perhaps you should take that bath first,” Thalya called after him.
“Not a chance,” Amric said over his shoulder. “There is nothing noble about this man, and I fully intend to leave muddy footprints all over those priceless rugs of his. Besides, I would only need another after we met with him.”
Syth chortled to himself as he and Bellimar followed Amric from the inn and into the night.
Morland sat in the high-backed chair, drumming his jeweled fingers on the table. His cold eyes shifted, sliding over each of them in turn with deliberate indolence.
Without looking away from the merchant’s cadaverous visage, Amric studied the glowering guards flanking the man. The one on the left was too bulky to possess much speed, and the one on the right was a touch soft. Even unarmed as he was, the warrior felt reasonably certain he could down them both before Morland was more than a few steps from his chair. He sensed the presence of the guards several paces behind him as well, heard the periodic creak of leather as they shifted with nervous tension. The merchant had seated his guests farther away from him this time, as well as increasing the number of guards in the room, and he seemed to think himself safe.
Amric let a slow smile play across his lips and a brash invitation creep into his gaze. Break your word, merchant, he thought, and we will discover together if that confidence is misplaced. If Morland took any note of the goading, however, he was betrayed only by an almost imperceptible tightening at the corner of his eye.
“Let me see if I have the right of this tale,” Morland rasped at last, tapping his index finger twice more on the table before his fingers became still. He looked at Amric. “You, who were to return with word of my business contact, instead slew him.” He turned then to Syth. “And you, who were to return with my misappropriated belongings, instead left them all behind.”
“You left out the part where we collapsed the place, in all likelihood burying or destroying your belongings in the process,” Syth put in helpfully. “I am quite certain we mentioned that part.”
Morland’s face twisted in sudden fury, but Bellimar interrupted before he could respond.
“The Wyrgens tapped into primal forces they could not hope to control,” the old man said. “The consequences drove Grelthus and his people to bestial madness, even as it weakened the very structure of Stronghold itself. We were fortunate indeed to escape that place of death, so that we could return to you with this news, as was our agreement.”
His tone was level and eminently rational, and he placed a subtle emphasis on the last words. Morland’s angry gaze flicked over to him, and it was evident that the reminder had registered.
“Despite the embellishment of our friend Syth here,” Bellimar continued, “only a central portion of the fortress actually collapsed. While it is indeed impassable, much of the structure was unaffected. Once travel to the east becomes less hazardous, a man of your considerable resources could no doubt mount an expedition to Stronghold. It may yet be possible for you to retrieve the artifacts you seek.”
“Perhaps,” Morland said, letting the word escape through clenched teeth.
As Bellimar resumed speaking, the soothing quality of his voice deepened to embrace an almost mesmerizing quality. Amric, not even the target of it, nonetheless felt the liquid timbre slide beneath his skin with a numbing and almost hypnotic effect.
“We regret, my lord, that we bring unfortunate tidings. We can only hope that the regrettable fate of your ally will not prove too disastrous to your business endeavors. But even as I utter the words, I know them for a foolish worry! A man of your shrewd nature will have readied a way to achieve the necessary ends despite this minor setback. You are no doubt already cultivating alternate plans.”
“Of course I am,” Morland snapped. “Your incompetence on this matter pains me, but I have designs of greater significance in motion as well, so no matter.” He blinked as if surprised at his own words, and his lips tightened into a bloodless line as he glared at Bellimar with sudden suspicion.
“Then, since we have fulfilled our obligation to you, the price on our heads can now be removed,” Amric said. He gauged the distance to the guards again. If treachery was afoot, now was the time. He hoped Syth was ready as well. The merchant stared at them with half-lidded eyes for long seconds. His fingers, as if of their own volition, resumed their rhythmic drumming upon the table.
“It would seem so,” he finally grated.
Amric nodded, studying the man for any twitch of betrayal, and then rose from the chair in a deliberate movement. Despite the care he took to move slowly, he heard a momentary shuffle of boots behind him accompanied by the telltale rasp of several inches of steel being bared.
Morland’s gaze never wavered, but he flicked a finger in a dismissive motion, and the guards fell back.
Syth and Bellimar stood as well, and the three of them turned toward the exit at the far end of the long room. A handful of the guards fell into step behind them, but on sudden impulse, Amric stopped and turned back to Morland.
“Merchant, have you heard any word of peculiar man-like creatures in tattered cloth wrappings, black inside and out, roving in packs intent on capturing rather than slaying?”
Morland sat motionless, regarding him steadily. When he spoke, his voice was cold, impatient. “I have not heard of such things. Why do you ask?”
“We encountered these creatures deep in the forest and on the road back to Keldrin’s Landing,” the warrior replied. “These black things are very hard to kill. We were only able to stop them each time by severing their heads. If you send your men into the countryside, they should be forewarned.”
The merchant’s hawkish countenance tilted in a sardonic nod. “Very thoughtful of you to consider my welfare.”
“It was not for you, but for your men,” Amric said evenly. “After all, it seems the city can expect to be under siege soon, and we are all in this together, are we not?”