“We don’t have to trust him. We just have to trust that he will translate it close enough. We can always confirm whether it’s accurate or not.”
Endric didn’t like it, but it made the most sense. He hated that they were pulling Urik deeper into the role of the Denraen, especially after what he had done, the betrayal that he had made to the Denraen. Yet with Listain’s death and with Tresten missing—not dead, not that Endric would admit to—what choice did they have?
“Would my father know anything about the ancient language?”
“Probably, but he’s gone.”
“Gone?” Where would he have gone? Did it have anything to do with why he’d asked Endric to question Urik? “For how long?”
“Long enough that I’m not comfortable waiting for his return.”
Endric wished that she might explain more, but he could see from Senda’s face that she would not. He recognized that set to her jaw and the tension to her eyes. She had made up her mind. Now that she outranked him, he would just have to go along with it, regardless of how difficult that might be.
“When will we go to Urik?”
She shook her head. “Not we.”
“But I’m the one who found this.”
“And I’m thankful that you did.”
Endric stared at her. So much had changed in the time that had been gone. He had changed. Going through what he had when he was with the Antrilii, there had been no choice. He was a different person, altered by everything that he’d gone through, and now at least partially serving the Antrilii. He knew their secrets, and he would not share them.
He had never considered the fact that Senda would change.
“Will you share with me what you discover?”
She pressed her lips together and nodded slightly.
At least there was that. He had to take solace in the fact that she might still confide in him. She was the Raen. She outranked him.
Hopefully, she was still his Senda.
11
The inside of the tavern was dim and run-down. A lutist at the back of the room played a mournful song, and a fire crackled in the hearth. The tavern was not full and those within it spoke softly, leaning over their tables.
Endric stood in the doorway, surveying the room. This was the eleventh tavern he had stopped in on the first terrace. None of the others had any sign of Pendin, and he was determined to find his friend and to understand what had happened in the time that Endric had been away. Senda had told him that Pendin would be found in one of the taverns, but had not known which one. Maybe she had, but she hadn’t wanted to share.
The tavern stunk. This was one of the less reputable places along the terrace, one where the Denraen rarely visited. It was filled with people from the city, no travelers, and most of them were poor.
He noted a man sitting by himself along the wall. He leaned over a mug of ale, and two other empty mugs rested on the table.
Endric made his way over to the table and sat across from Pendin. “This is the tavern you choose?” Endric asked.
Pendin didn’t look up from his mug. “How many did you have to stop in to find me?”
“Most of them.”
Pendin grunted and tipped back his mug, taking a long drink. “Then I should have hidden better.”
“Why are you here, Pendin?”
His friend grunted again. “It’s a tavern, Endric. Why else would I be here?”
“Why this tavern?”
Pendin stared at his mug. “The others have asked me not to return.”
Endric sighed. Was that what this was all about? Senda had been so vague about what had happened to Pendin that when she told him to find their friend in the tavern, he hadn’t known why or what she was trying to hide from him. It turned out that she wasn’t trying to hide anything, that she wanted only to allow Endric to see the depths to which Pendin had fallen.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing more than you ever used to do.”
“I was stupid and young.”
“You’re saying I’m not either of those?”
“I’m saying that you should know better.”
Pendin grunted and finished his mug of ale. He set it down on the table and waved to one of the waitresses, who made her way over to him with another mug.
Endric grabbed it, pulling it toward him rather than letting Pendin claim it.
Pendin waved to the waitress again and turned his attention back to Endric. “If you’ve come to drink with me, then drink with me.”
Endric met his friend’s gaze, debating whether there was anything more that he should say. How had it come to this? How had Pendin descended to this point?
“What happened?” Endric asked.
“You left.”
Endric shook his head. “No. This isn’t my fault.”
The waitress returned, setting the mug on the table. Pendin grabbed it quickly and brought it to his lips, drinking deeply. He set the mug down and wiped his arm across his sleeve. “Now who’s deflecting the blame?”
“I went to understand the Antrilii.”
“You abandoned the Denraen. You abandoned me.”
“My father made you his steward.”
“Which opened me up to more scrutiny.”
Endric stared at him, shocked at the accusation in the words. “You don’t think you would have had the same scrutiny had I been here?”
Pendin took another drink, finishing the mug. This was not the man Endric remembered. Pendin was never the one to get lost in his ale, was he?
But then, Endric remembered seeing Pendin drinking too much in the time leading up to their departure from the city. And Pendin had brought a flask with him, one of the few of the Denraen who had snuck some out of the city. Endric hadn’t thought of anything at the time, but now that he saw what had happened to his friend, he realized that there must have been more to it. Could it all have begun that long ago?
And had he been here, would he have been able to intervene? Would he have somehow managed to prevent Pendin from descending to the point where he had become little more than a tavern drunk?
It was a wonder that he hadn’t washed out any more than he had.
“Why would you have cared, when you were doing the same sort of things?”
“When I took my commission, I wasn’t doing those things,” Endric said.
Pendin grunted. He reached for Endric’s mug but Endric caught his arm, forcing it down. Pendin had always been strong, but either Endric had grown much stronger over the time that he’d been gone or Pendin had atrophied.
“Sure you were. You just weren’t doing it out in the open anymore.”
“You were with me. Do you really think I had an opportunity to drink when I was trying to understand my role within the Denraen?”
Pendin didn’t meet his eyes.
“Tell me about your demotion,” Endric said.
“You heard?”
“How long did you think to keep it from me?”
Pendin shrugged. “As long as possible. It’s not something that I’m particularly proud of.”
“What happens if you wash out of the Denraen? What do you intend to do?”
Pendin’s brow furrowed and his eyes darkened. “I’m not going to wash out of the Denraen.”
“Are you certain? To hear Senda tell of it, you nearly did already. Were it not for my father, you might have.”
Pendin glanced up before looking back down at the table. “Had you been here—”
Endric shook his head. “Had I been here, I wouldn’t have tolerated it either.”
“But we’re friends.”
“Does our friendship mean that I should let you become something that you are not?”
Pendin didn’t look up. He remained silent for a while, and when he did look up, his gaze lingered on the full mug sitting across from Endric. “Is that why you came here? Did you want to harass me?”
“I wanted to understand what happened to you. I wanted to s
ee if there was anything that I could do to help my friend.”
“If you wanted to help me, you never would have left the Denraen.”
“I don’t know that I could have.”
Pendin looked up. His eyes were bloodshot and he rubbed at them.
“But that doesn’t mean this is my fault. I have made my own mistakes.”
“When you returned…”
“Did you think that you would be promoted back to my steward?”
Pendin took a deep breath and nodded. “I thought you would resume your position and that you would pull me back in to serve you.”
“Even if I do resume my position, I’m not sure that you can serve as my steward.”
“Why not?”
“I need someone that I can trust.”
Pendin barked out a bitter laugh. “Trust? That’s ironic, considering everything that you’ve done over the years.”
“You’re right. I’ve made my share of mistakes. I’ve made several men’s share of mistakes. That doesn’t make them any better. All I can do is try to make amends.”
Pendin offered a sardonic grin. “If you want me to make amends, I’m happy to tell you whatever it is you need to hear.”
“I’ve been gone long enough that I don’t think it’s what I need to hear that matters.”
“What does that mean?”
Endric shook his head. “It’s not me that you need to convince.”
He pushed the mug of ale back across the table, and Pendin took it. Endric had a moment of hope that his friend would simply set it aside, but that passed when Pendin took a long drink.
“I’m here for you when you’re ready to change,” Endric said.
“The same way you’ve been here for me the last few months?”
Endric met his gaze. “No. The same way you were there for me when I needed it.”
He stood and considered trying to drag Pendin with him, but it would do no good. He remembered how he had been when he was angry at his father and his brother, angry at everything that had happened to him. His friends had supported him and, because of that, he had finally managed to break free of the person that he’d been and had been able to grow.
Could he do the same for Pendin?
He had to. His friend needed that from him. Pendin had been there for him, no differently than Senda had been.
He clasped Pendin on the shoulder. “I’m here for you when you need it.”
Pendin didn’t look up. Endric didn’t need him to but wished that he would have. He wished that Pendin would have stood, and would have followed him from the tavern, and would have returned with him to the second terrace and the barracks.
But he didn’t.
Endric made his way out, hating that it felt as if he was abandoning his friend.
12
The steady clacking of swords filled the air. Endric moved crisply through his movements, demonstrating another catah for Bem, moving first through the pattern and then demonstrating the defense. Bem picked up on it, albeit somewhat slowly. He had improved in the days since Endric had started working with him, his skill gradually increasing to the point that Endric suspected he would become a competent Denraen. He would never be an outstanding swordsman, but that wasn’t necessary. Not all men could be amazing swordsmen. Competence was enough.
He caught Bem on the arm twice, forcing the man to drop his practice stave. Endric stepped back, remaining ready, and Bem picked up the practice stave, shaking his head. “You’re too quick.”
“It’s not always about speed. It’s about recognition.”
“Then your mind is too quick.”
Endric laughed. “That’s about familiarity. The more you practice, the more that you see the catahs, the easier it is for you to recognize them.”
Bem tipped his head, nodding to Endric. He replaced his practice stave and started away before pausing. “Tomorrow, then?”
“I’ll be here if I can,” Endric said. There was no reason that he couldn’t. He had no assignments. He tried finding Senda, thinking that she might have discovered something from the scrap of parchment, but he hadn’t been able to find her, either.
A line of men waited for him and Endric nodded to the next, preparing for another attack. It was good to work with these men. The more that he did, the more he saw them regarding him with respect. Was that a secret his father had intended for him to learn on his own? His brother had always taken time to work with the men, though he had never made himself nearly as available as Endric had the last few weeks. Then again, Andril had more on his plate. His father had trusted him with real responsibilities, not at all like Endric and his lack of responsibility.
He worked with the next man, going through a series of catahs, noting the man’s strengths. Every so often, he would pause, make a few corrections and suggestions, and then begin again. The man improved even in the short session, much as each of the soldiers improved. Many of them came on a regular basis. Perhaps not daily, but often enough that faces were familiar. He didn’t know everyone’s names—not yet, but he intended to learn them. He might not lead, not as en’raen as he once would have, but he could try to understand them.
When he was finished, another man stepped in front of him.
Endric blinked. “Pendin. You don’t have to do this.”
“You seem to welcome all comers.”
Endric sighed to himself. “You’re welcome to practice with me, but maybe not so publicly?” he asked, pitching his voice low.
Pendin sneered at him. It was unusual to see such anger on his friend’s face. “Are you afraid that I might beat you?”
“No.”
The bluntness of the answer nearly forced Pendin back a step.
“Listen. I’m happy to spar with you. I’m happy to do whatever it takes to help you. But if you do it publicly, I will treat you no differently than these men.”
“You haven’t lost that arrogant streak, have you?”
“This isn’t arrogance, Pendin. This is understanding my abilities as well as understanding your limitations.”
Pendin’s sneered deepened. “Limitations?”
“You attack with strength, rather than focusing on technique. You have incredible skill, but you force it, thinking to overpower your opponent. Sometimes, strength is necessary, though oftentimes fluidity would overwhelm your opponent. You become predictable. You tend to fall into the same patterns, and though you learn quickly, you hate the fact that someone might be better than you.”
“The last could describe you as well.”
“It does.”
Pendin swung the practice stave and Endric thought that he might attack, but he tossed it off to the side, stalking away.
Endric watched him disappear. He shook his head. He hated that this was the Pendin he had returned to. With everything else that had gone on, he needed his friend more than anything else. He needed to have him not only to bounce ideas off of, but he needed to know what really had happened within Vasha during his absence. Now that Senda served as Raen, he couldn’t count on her to be quite as honest with him as he needed.
Endric sighed, tearing his gaze from the spot Pendin had last occupied. There was a line of Denraen to work with, men who were eager to work with him, who wanted to improve, and to had not sunk into self-destruction.
He would help them, but that didn’t mean he could stop trying to help Pendin. If anything, Pendin needed him more than ever. Somehow, he had to find a way to reach his friend and get through to him so that he could become a useful soldier once more. If Endric couldn’t, it was possible that Pendin would actually wash out of the Denraen. That had seemed impossible only a year ago.
Endric motioned to the next man in line, welcoming him, and prepared for sparring. As he did, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Pendin needed him and there was something he wasn’t offering his friend, but how was he supposed to help him if Pendin didn’t want help?
“Did you discover what it says?” Endric asked Senda.
They were alone in the officers’ hall, the table laden with food tempting him, but when he’d seen her in the room, he’d decided to focus on getting answers. He wanted to know what she might have learned.
She turned toward him, her face an unreadable mask. Endric wanted to go to her, to touch her, to have that familiarity again, but there had been a distance between them since his return. It wasn’t quite as great as the distance between him and Pendin, but it was distance just the same.
“Urik has given me his attempt to translate it.”
“And?”
“Endric, this isn’t something I can share with you.”
He snorted. “You can’t share? I’m en’raen—”
“You were en’raen.”
Endric blinked. “Are you saying I’ve been demoted?”
“I don’t know what you’ve been. Your father hasn’t given guidance. He hasn’t said that you can be brought back into the fold, but he hasn’t restricted you either.”
It was the clearest answer he’d gotten. Endric had felt a distance since his return, but had not expected that Dendril would exile him from the Denraen. Why would he, when Dendril had been the one to allow him to leave the Denraen? But Dendril hadn’t wanted Endric to leave. He had wanted him to remain, to continue to train with the Denraen rather than head to the Antrilii, only Endric didn’t think that he could be the Denraen that he needed had he not gone to the Antrilii to understand what he was.
“I’m still Endric. And you’re still Senda.”
He took a step toward her and cringed when she stiffened. Had so much changed for them that she was unwilling to give him the chance to be with her?
“I’m the Raen now. I have responsibilities—”
“And I was en’raen when we were together last. That didn’t change anything for us. I’ve returned to the Denraen, Senda. I’m not going anywhere again.”
She sighed and met his gaze. “If you’ve returned to the Denraen, then you will go where you’re called.”
“I will,” he agreed. He didn’t expect it to lead him anywhere—at least not for a while. He’d been gone long enough that he needed to remain in the city and to understand what had changed with the Denraen and why there was a strange sort of tension that he felt within the barracks. “What did it say?”
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