“That’s him!” Halthak exclaimed in a whisper. “That’s the old man I ran into in the trade district, the one who identified the cutthroats following me!”
As he said this, the grey man touched two fingers to his forehead in a salute. Amric frowned. The timing made it appear he had somehow heard Halthak’s hushed words across the clamor of the busy room, but that had to be coincidence. In any event, the man had made his interest in them evident enough, and Amric’s own curiosity was certainly piqued. Amric exchanged a look with Valkarr, then stood and left his companions at their table. A low growl from the Traug trembled the floorboards beneath the swordsman’s feet. Gimlet eyes set deep under a heavy brow ridge tracked his every step across the room, but the creature took no other action.
The old man waited with that expectant smile. Amric stopped before his table, and asked, “Sir, may I join you?”
“I would be most disappointed if you did not,” the other replied. “Please, take a seat.”
Amric did so, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table as he studied the fellow. This close, he appeared less aged, possessed of an uncommon vitality that was almost palpable. Eyes so pale they were almost white regarded him with a piercing intellect that gave no ground to the advance of the years. His expression was warm but controlled, somehow authentic and calculating in equal parts, and Amric decided at once that the man’s outward demeanor was a tool he employed with scalpel efficiency.
“My name is Amric.”
“And I am Bellimar,” the man returned. The name tugged at Amric’s memory, but he could not place the reference. Bellimar studied his expression, waiting. The serving girl came to their table, setting a large tankard of ale before them both.
“Thank you, my dear,” Bellimar murmured in velvet tones, eliciting another pink blush. His eyes tracked the girl for a moment as she hastened away. Amric’s scalp prickled; had he imagined a faint thrum of power there in the man’s voice? And it did not escape his notice that the fellow had placed an order for two drinks before Amric even stood to approach.
“Are you a sorcerer, Bellimar?” Amric demanded.
Bellimar cocked his head to the side, but his smile did not falter. If anything, it broadened instead. “A curious opening to our conversation, friend Amric.”
The swordsman took a deep breath. “I apologize for my poor manners, but I have little trust for things magical, and you have that air about you. My friends and I owe you a debt of gratitude for your intervention in the trade district. You seem to have taken an interest in us, and I would like to understand why.”
Bellimar shook his head. “I took no offense. It is fair to say that magic was a field of study for many years for me, but I do not tamper with such forces any longer.”
“And your interest in us?”
“How could I not be interested in you, Amric? You are a fascinating riddle.”
Amric folded his arms across his chest. “That is not an answer.”
“True enough,” Bellimar said. “Allow me to elaborate, then.”
He put forth one pale, slender hand and began to punctuate each point with a finger tap on the surface of the table. “You travel with a Sil’ath warrior who calls you sword-brother. Most Sil’ath can barely tolerate humans, finding them unpredictable and soft, and this one names you with a term of highest respect and affection. Moreover, he defers to you without reservation as he would his tribal warmaster, and you are an outsider of unique stature if you occupy such a position among the Sil’ath. Quite unheard of, in my recollection.”
Bellimar paused to chuckle. “Do not look so surprised, Amric. Knowledge of the internal workings of Sil’ath society is rare, and my learning on the subject is meager since I have not lived among them as you have, but I was an avid student of history and this world’s various cultures long before you were born. And I am not finished.”
He continued to tick off points, each a staccato click of one of his nails on the table. “You bear a price on your head and the enduring ire of a powerful nobleman for having rescued a penniless half-breed from a band of brigands. You did not take the life of that worthless bag of gas Vorenius in the bargain, showing remarkable restraint, if not sound judgment. You faced down two notorious assassins in this very room without apparent fear, and have now taken the Half-Ork under your protection, despite his obvious inherent ability and your personal aversion to all things magical. You show uncommon tact and wit for a simple swordsman, and you gather enigmas as you go.”
Amric raised an eyebrow. “So you would have me believe that I am irresistible to a scholar such as yourself because I use words on occasion before swinging my blade, or because I keep company that would be unusual in any other city? I have seen races in Keldrin’s Landing that I cannot even identify. The diversity gathered here and the tales I hear of nameless things outside these city walls make one wandering swordsman seem mundane in the extreme.”
Bellimar laughed and gave the table a resounding slap. “By the gods, but I like you, swordsman!” He made a sweeping gesture, as if brushing aside all his previous points. “You are correct. Everything I have just listed has only deepened my initial interest, which is owed to something else entirely.”
“And that is?”
Bellimar leaned back and regarded him over steepled fingers. “You have no aura.”
Amric blinked, and waited for elaboration.
Bellimar studied him for a long moment before nodding. “I wondered if you knew, if it was somehow done intentionally, but I believe you. Every living creature has an aura, varying greatly in magnitude depending on many factors. It is the breath of primal essence intrinsic to the individual, marking one’s life force and affinity to magical forces. Call it the spark of life, if you will.”
“Then there is no great mystery,” Amric said. “I do not have, and do not wish for, any aptitude for magic.”
“Your dislike for magic has little relevance as to its affinity for you, swordsman,” Bellimar said, leaning forward again. “But there is more to it than that. As I said, every living creature has an aura. It can be faint or potent, but it is always present. For that matter, every unliving creature will have an aura as well, though it would be imbued or converted rather than inborn.”
“Unliving? You mean the animated dead, ghosts and wights and the like?”
“And the like,” Bellimar agreed. “Do you think me a foolish old man, telling fireside tales when I speak of such creatures? Or that they haunt only the dusty crypts of ancient kings, as heroic fables would have us believe?”
Amric shook his head, expression grim. “I might have disregarded your words mere months ago, and been skeptical of the tales of the things lurking in the forests here, but I can testify that the same taint has begun to spread much further south as well. No, I do not doubt that Keldrin’s Landing makes its plea for help in earnest.”
“Good. I find it tiresome penetrating that kind of ignorance. And many of the ranks of Unlife are drawn irresistibly to strong auras as a source of sustenance, so they are relevant to our topic in more ways than one.”
“We have wandered from that topic, Bellimar. You were telling of your interest in me?”
“So I was,” Bellimar said. “As I was saying, every living creature has an aura, and its character, intensity and magnitude define that creature. Or from another perspective, that creature’s defining attributes are reflected in its aura. Whichever stance you take, there is a strong and undeniable connection. Beyond even affinity for magical energies, many attributes are reflected in one’s aura, such as charisma, magnetism, leadership, drive and empathy; other creatures respond to these attributes and to that intrinsic energy out of reflex.”
“And you can see these auras around creatures?” Amric asked.
“Yes, I can. Of the many fields of research my long years have afforded me, you could say that the study of auras is my greatest enduring passion. It requires concentration and training to see them, akin to engaging another sense, a separate kind of sight, if you will. But this is not a unique skill, as countless practitioners of the arts can do the same.”