Soldier Saved

by D. K. Holmberg

  “Which direction?” Endric asked.

  Urik glared at him. “You’ll find out the direction we travel when you need to know.”

  Endric laughed, meeting his eyes, making a point of holding his attention. “I’ll know the direction we travel a moment we climb on the horse. Unless you somehow plan to blindfold me? Even then, I’ll feel the warmth on my skin.”

  Urik kicked at the ground as he reached the horse. He climbed into the saddle. “I don’t intend to blindfold you. You’ll be no good to me then.”

  Endric laughed again. “I’ll be no good to you anyway.”

  “Now you think you have me figured out? You sleep through the morning and somehow you think this has given you the upper hand?”

  Endric shrugged. “I know you.”

  He said nothing else, letting that sink in, letting the comment alone be enough that it could unsettle Urik. And he knew that it would. Urik had proven himself a man of pride, a man who believed himself superior. He was a man was so different than the one Endric had believed he had known when Urik served the Denraen. That Urik had been unassuming and quiet, a servant of the Denraen and a servant of the Urmahne. If teralin still painted him, and if teralin were responsible for the way he behaved, Endric would play upon that.

  “You know the man I allowed you to know,” Urik said.

  Endric grunted. “Isn’t that true of all of us? We’re a different person to ourselves than we are to the outside world.”

  “Now you would philosophize? Men are defined by their actions. Your actions tell me all I need to know about you.”

  Listain had once believed the same thing, but Endric hoped that the old spymaster had discovered something different before his passing. “Then your actions would make you a traitor several times over. Is that the way you want to be defined? Is that how you want the gods to perceive you?”

  Urik leaned toward him. “Do not dare question me about the purpose the gods have for me. I have a greater understanding of the world than you will ever possess.”

  “In spite of that, I’ve stopped you twice.”

  “Through luck. It was not through any skill of your own.”

  Endric looked down at the sword. His sword. “Luck? Did luck grant me the ability to defeat you the first time because it placed me in contact with the Antrilii, or was it my father?”

  Urik’s brow furrowed. “Your father had no idea what he was doing. Had Dendril known, he would have seen my plan long before.”

  Endric shrugged. “Perhaps he was caught off guard, but I don’t think you surprised him the second time.”

  “Your father allowed me to bait him into a challenge. You are much like him. Impulsive. No foresight. No ability to plan and anticipate. Nothing.”

  “And you possess these qualities?”

  “More than you will ever understand.”

  “What are you after? If you have me trapped as well as you think you do, and if you are planning the way that you claim that you are, what is it that you propose to do?”

  “You’re so certain with what you know, aren’t you?” Urik said.

  Endric shrugged. “I’m certain that I’ve seen more of the world in the last year than I ever knew existed. I suspect I know even more about some things than you do, despite your claims to the alternative. I believe that my Antrilii heritage connects me to the past—and to the gods—in a way that you can only dream of.” Endric twisted so that he could fix Urik with a hard glare. “And I am certain that I will escape, and that you will suffer for what you have done to the Denraen.”

  “Only if I let you live.”

  “Your threat’s an empty one. If you had any intent to end my life, you would have done so long ago. No. You need me for something.”

  Urik grabbed the reins and pulled, leading the horses away. They traveled south, veering across the thick grass, occasional blades scratching at Endric’s legs. Dew dampened his pants and boots.

  “You have it all figured out, don’t you?” Urik asked. “Everything other than the fact that you know nothing. You think that you know so much more than you do. Ignorance can be dangerous, and in your case, it might be deadly.”

  “For who?”

  Urik glanced over. “For you. For the Denraen. For everyone.”

  Endric watched him, thinking that he was boasting again and that Urik intended to torment him, but he sensed no boasting from the man, nothing that would make Endric believe that he was anything other than honest.

  That might be even more concerning.

  18

  Endric thought he figured out which direction they headed by the end of the third day of captivity. They traveled south, but also easterly. When they reached the Rondall River, Urik wandered upstream until they found a passable bridge. On the other side of the bridge, they would pass from Gom Aaldia and into Thealon.

  Each place they traveled left him with memories of people he had lost. Endric had come through here, facing the Ravers, and had lost Denraen who had agreed to travel with him, men who were good soldiers, skilled warriors, and who had given up their lives in service of an ideal. Endric had nearly died countless times on that journey, but only once had he done so because it would have served the Denraen. The others had been a sacrifice he had been willing to make on behalf of his friends—and Senda in particular.

  His father had believed that he served the Denraen and that he had fought honorably, but Endric knew the truth. He knew that he had been selfish. Had he not, and had he been willing to make the necessary sacrifice, one that may have resulted in the loss of Senda, the Denraen may have held onto a valuable leader in Listain.

  They paused at the river’s edge, letting the horses drink. Urik granted Endric a reprieve, long enough for him to quench his thirst as well. Endric was reminded of a conversation he’d had along the river, when he had first learned of Senda’s connection to Listain, and to the Magi.

  He looked up to see Urik watching him. Endric wiped his hands on his pants and straightened his back. “Did you know Listain was descended from the Magi?” he asked Urik.

  Urik blinked. “That’s the question that comes to your mind as we stand along the edge of the Rondall?”

  Endric shrugged. “It’s one of the questions that comes to mind. Did you know?”

  Urik’s mouth tensed and his jaw opened and closed before he finally sighed. “Not while I was in Vasha. Listain managed to conceal his connections to the Magi. I should have known. He would have had to have connections to the Magi in order to know about the tunnels beneath the city.”

  “Not necessarily.” Urik frowned. “The miners might have guided him otherwise. Especially the master miners in the university. They would’ve had access to any of the tunnels and would have known how they interconnect even more than the Magi.”

  Urik flashed a half smile. “There is a difference between the mines and the tunnels Listain used. His were older than those of the mine. Those connections were there from the very beginning, built at the time of the city’s construction.”

  “How did you discover them?” When Urik frowned again, Endric pushed. “You had to have learned about the tunnels somewhere. You used them to attack Listain and drag him off.”

  “Did I? Or was it the Deshmahne who did that?”

  Endric shook his head. He stood at the edge of the water, scratching the toe of his boot in the sand and making an absentminded pattern as he did.

  Urik pushed him back and sent him staggering. He caught himself and considered lunging at Urik, but decided otherwise. If he would have, he might have sent Urik into the river, but he would still be bound. He didn’t want Urik to escape. He wanted to ensure that he captured the traitor and that Urik would be punished for what he had done.

  “What was that—”

  Urik stared at the ground. “Where did you see that pattern?”

  Endric stared at him incredulously. “What pattern?”

  Urik pointed toward the ground where Endric had been dragging his toes thro
ugh the sand. “This pattern. Where did you see it?”

  Endric approached slowly, cautiously. He looked at the ground, trying to figure out what it was that had unsettled Urik the way that it had. The pattern was a strange one, one that appeared to be an incomplete triangle, with one line bent in, crossing the other. An eye was made around that line.

  Why would he have made a shape like that?

  He must’ve seen it somewhere. Was it something he’d seen in the Antrilii lands? There were plenty of patterns that he had observed there, and the Antrilii used shapes—and languages—that no longer were utilized. “Probably in the north,” Endric said.

  “This isn’t a pattern of the Antrilii,” Urik said.

  “If not the Antrilii, what is that?”

  “You really don’t recognize it?”

  Endric shrugged. “I don’t know why I would be expected to recognize that.”

  “You don’t know… You drew it. That’s why you would be expected to recognize it.”

  Endric snorted. “I must’ve seen it somewhere.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to get out of you, Endric. Where did you see this?”

  Endric studied Urik. Whatever this shape was, it was important to him. He could use that and try to get information out of the man. “Tell me where we’re going.”

  Urik stalked toward him. One hand was near the hilt of the sword, but he left it sheathed. “That’s not how this works. You will tell me what I want to know.”

  “For what?” Urik’s brow furrowed. “If you kill me, you won’t find out what you want to know and you won’t be able to use me for whatever purpose you intend by bringing me into Thealon. It seems that bargaining is the only way you’ll find out what you want.” He held Urik’s gaze, making a point of not looking away.

  Urik’s jaw clenched but he said nothing. He grabbed the reins of the horses and led them along the edge of the river, toward the bridge.

  The bridge crossing the Rondall was made entirely of stone. It had been constructed long enough ago that the stones had weathered and faded. It was solid and had withstood countless storms over the years, and it remained one of the safest places to cross the river outside of cities like Chrysia and Riverbranch. The Denraen used this crossing frequently.

  In times of war between Thealon and Gom Aaldia, the bridge was contested. The last war between these nations had been dozens of years ago, though there was always an edge between them. Endric had read books about how to best defend the bridge, and there had been entire war plans drafted on maintaining access between the nations. It was a safer way to cross than trying to go through one of the cities.

  “Why do you care so much about that symbol,” Endric asked as they neared the edge of the bridge.

  Urik looked over, glaring at him. “You will tell me where you saw that.”

  “I’ve told you my price.”

  “It is not a negotiation.”

  Endric shrugged. “Everything is a negotiation.”

  He pursed his lips. “Is that something your father taught you?”

  Endric sniffed. “No. Listain.”

  Urik glared at him for another moment before leading the horses across the stone bridge. When they reached the peak of the arch, Endric saw movement in the distance. Even from his position, he could see horses and the gleam of the sun off metal armor. Soldiers.

  In Thealon, soldiers could be either the Denraen or the Ur. Both patrolled widely, and Endric would receive a different welcome from either.

  Urik noted it as well. “Don’t get any ideas about escape.”

  “You mean don’t get any new ideas?” Endric asked. “I can assure you, I’ve had plenty of ideas about escape. In fact, I might even leave that symbol burned into your flesh when I escape.”

  Urik sneered at him. “I thought I was the one with the edge of darkness to him.”

  “All men have darkness within them. It’s how much they let it out.”

  “Another thing that Listain told you?”

  Endric shook his head. “Not Listain. That was my brother.”

  He held Urik’s gaze, forcing the man to focus on him. Speaking of Andril was always difficult for Endric, and it always left him with an unsettled feeling and an emptiness. So much had been lost through Andril’s death, but no longer could Endric deny that he had gained as well. That made him uncomfortable and left him wondering if Andril’s death had been something desired by the gods all along. He had no idea why that should be, but would he have accomplished half of what he had if Andril still lived?

  That was the dark line of thinking and not a way that he wanted to consider his brother. Maybe if his brother had lived, Dendril would have forced Endric to the north to meet with the Antrilii regardless.

  Urik hurried along the bridge, reaching the other shore. From the shoreline, it was difficult to tell whether the soldiers they had seen from a higher vantage had noticed them. If they were any kind of soldier, they would have.

  Urik must have had the same thought. He urged the horses across the ground, kicking them forward at a faster pace than they had ridden before.

  They traveled east, which meant that if they continued in this direction, they would eventually come across the city of Thealon and the Tower of the Gods. Was that where Urik brought him? He had been housed by the Urmahne priests before and had been given safe passage, but that had been when he had used negatively charged teralin to influence them. Without that, would the priests be as welcoming as they had been before?

  They rode until the soldiers were no longer visible in the distance.

  Urik finally slowed, and though they took a slower pace, tension was evident in his posture and the way that he scanned the horizon.

  “A Denraen patrol will be more than you can manage,” he told Urik.

  “We won’t encounter any Denraen patrols,” he said.

  “The Denraen patrol in Thealon as much as they patrol anywhere else. Perhaps more.”

  Urik grunted. “Not more. The Denraen rely upon the Ur to patrol in Thealon. Your father thinks that they can extend their reach more by allowing the Ur to provide that coverage.”

  Endric laughed and shook his head. “My father wouldn’t do that, not after the way that you showed the Ur were so easily influenced. He’d prefer to have soldiers under his command.”

  “I’ve spent more time with your father over the last few months than you have. I know how he thinks, much like I know how you think.”

  “You keep making assumptions that you know about me, but I don’t think you know nearly as much as you believe. If you knew what you thought that you did, you would have known what that symbol meant.”

  Endric was determined to use that symbol to his advantage. Urik wanted to know about it, and he might be willing to offer up information in exchange for it.

  Something motivated Urik to head toward Thealon. He wasn’t certain what it was, and whether it was only a matter of trying to reach the priests, or was there something else that he hoped to gain?

  What else would there be in Thealon for him?

  Endric tried to think about what else would be in Thealon. There was the Tower, which lent credibility about the gods’ proximity to the city. There was the head of the church, the High Priest of the Urmahne who remained in Thealon. And there was the university.

  Urik couldn’t reach the tower and he’d already been to the temple, which left Endric wondering if there was something at the university he hoped to procure.

  Why would he need Endric, though?

  It had something to do with Tresten, though whatever connection it had was not anything Endric could think of. What had Tresten shared with him? He’d shown him how to change polarity of teralin, but that didn’t seem to be something that would be of much importance to the university. Besides, anything that had to do teralin would be less valuable at the university.

  “I know what that symbol meant,” Urik said softly.

  “What was it?”

  “I saw
the symbol the day my family died,” Urik said.

  Endric blinked, almost unable to respond. He hadn’t expected Urik to answer him, hadn’t thought that he would say anything.

  “I thought the Deshmahne killed your family,” Endric said.

  “They did.”

  “Then why is that symbol important to you?”

  “You’ve faced the Deshmahne. Think about what you know about them.”

  They fell into an uncomfortable silence. “Their markings?” Endric asked.

  “Markings. Tattoos. Symbols of power that the Deshmahne place upon their flesh.” He looked over at Endric. “There was one marking that I will never forget. It was on the man who took my wife.”

  Endric’s breath caught. At least he understood why Urik had reacted as strongly as he had, even if he wasn’t sure why he had made the symbol. Where had he seen it before? It didn’t seem like one of the symbols he’d seen on the Deshmahne, though Endric couldn’t be certain.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  Endric had been staring at Urik when it happened, and the man stiffened, scanning the horizon, looking out toward the north, as if he expected to see soldiers riding down on them.

  He lunged.

  It happened out of instinct. He jumped toward Urik, slamming into his back, and reached for the sword, pulling it from the sheath before Urik had a chance to react. Even bound as he was, as soon as his hands gripped the hilt, he felt a surge of hope and victory wash through him.

  Urik kneed him in the side as they rolled, but Endric had the sword. Urik kicked and Endric fought against it, trying not to double over, not grunting or making any other noise, needing to hold on.

  He slipped his arms forward, slicing the ropes holding him, trying to avoid cutting himself as well.

  His hands were free.

  Urik lunged to his feet, but he was too slow.

  Endric slipped the sword underneath the ropes holding his legs.

  Jumping to his feet, he faced Urik with the sword. “You should have killed me if that was your intent.”

  “My intent? Do you really think to know my intent?”

  “Why Thealon?”