Soldier Saved

by D. K. Holmberg

  “A different man than the one you brought up to your room?” When Endric grunted, she shrugged. “We all know what you have up there. Daisy saw him in the room.”

  At least Endric knew the name of the girl who had seen him. “What has Daisy said?”

  Darla shrugged again. “You have a man tied to the bed. That sort of thing isn’t all that uncommon here, but you don’t have the look of a person who enjoys such activities.” Darla scanned the tavern and pointed to a thin man sitting near the hearth. “Him, on the other hand, enjoys tying and being tied. A few others like similar things. You,” she said, turning her attention back to Endric, “have the look of a man with a purpose. I don’t get the sense that you have him tied up there for your pleasure.”

  Endric grunted. “If it were my pleasure, his neck would have been slit open a year ago.”

  “What’d he do?”

  He lifted the mug of ale and took a long drink. It was warm and had a dusty taste mixed with a hint of salt. A strange combination, and it burned his throat as it went down. “Led to my brother’s death,” Endric said.

  Darla nodded slowly. “I probably would have slit his throat too.”

  Endric looked up. There was an earnestness to the way she spoke that told him she likely had lost someone and that she had suffered. “Who did you lose?”

  Darla held his gaze for a moment before looking down at the table. “Most of us here have lost someone. You don’t come to a place like the Shallow Scabbard if you have much of a choice, do you?”

  “I had a choice and I came here.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Did you have a choice, or did you only come here because you thought it would draw less attention than other places?”

  She was smart.

  “I don’t intend to kill him here, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

  “He wouldn’t be the first man to die in this tavern.”

  “Are so many killed here, this close to the Tower?”

  “The Tower?” she asked with a snort. “You think our proximity to the Tower makes men behave more godly? Most think that being here grants them a little more freedom, as if they will be forgiven for their behavior. Take that man,” she said, nodding toward the priest. “I imagine in other cities he would be better behaved, but here? Here he’s one of the worst. More than a few are left with bruises, or worse, when they spend time with him.”

  “Why do they spend time with them then?”

  “Because he pays. For all his behavior, his coin is good. With everything that he’s done, he gets charged a premium, and he willingly pays it. Women see that as an opportunity.” She shrugged.

  “Some opportunity. Risking themselves for money?”

  Her gaze drifted down to his waist, where his sword was still buckled to his belt. “Are you so different? You have the look of a soldier, though I can tell you’re not of the Ur. What are soldiers but men who prostitute themselves for different purpose?”

  She stood and patted his hand. “If you do slit his throat, don’t leave the sheets on the bed. It disturbs some of the women to find them like that. Throw them in the fire and leave a few extra coins for Jester so that he doesn’t rage at us too much.”

  Endric shook his head. “I don’t intend to slit his throat here.”

  “Then you do intend to do it at some point?”

  Endric smiled. “You’re persistent,” he said. The matter-of-fact way that she spoke amused him, as did the fact that she seemed unconcerned about what he might do to Urik. There was something very much Denraen about her. What must Darla have seen to have hardened her in such a way? How could she have suffered so much, this close to Thealon, and this close to the gods?

  “Persistence is the only thing that has kept me alive,” she said.

  She had started to turn away when Endric said, “I don’t know if I will do it.”

  Darla turned back to him. “Why not? If he was responsible for your brother’s death, why wouldn’t you take his life?”

  “He needs to pay the penance for what he’s done, but there are times when death is too good for a man.”

  She watched him and then nodded. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “You never told me who you lost.”

  “A father. My family.”

  “In Thealon?” Endric had a hard time believing that there would be such loss in Thealon, though there seemed to be more of an undercurrent of darkness in the city than he had realized. He had thought that Thealon would be clean—pure—but it was just like every other city he had visited.

  Darla shook her head. “Not in Thealon, but near enough.”

  “Why did you come here?”

  She sniffed. “Why does anyone come here? We come for answers, and we come for the hope that the gods might watch over us and bring us a sense of peace.” She looked toward the door and Endric could tell that her gaze drifted toward the Tower of the Gods, which loomed over everything in the city. “The gods might watch over us, but they don’t bring us any peace. They bring only heartache. Had they never Ascended, wouldn’t they have been better able to observe and maintain peace? If they were still here, would my father and my sister still be alive?” She turned her gaze upon Endric. “Would your brother?”

  She stared at him for a moment before spinning and leaving Endric watching her.

  Endric had no answers. His gaze was drawn toward the priest sitting near the front of the tavern, a man who should have answers for those who sought them, but even he wouldn’t have any, not if he came to a place like the Shallow Scabbard, and not if he was the worst of those who came here.

  When he went to the temple, would Endric find any answers? He could search for Tresten, but if he was truly gone—dead, as everything that he’d heard would indicate—what answers might he find? Tresten might want him to look, but there seemed to be nothing for him here.

  Maybe it would be best for him to return to Vasha, drag Urik with him, and resume his place, whether that was as soldier or as something else. No longer did he know quite what he was supposed to do to serve. It should bother him, but it didn’t.

  Returning had been about taking his place among the Denraen, but he still hadn’t earned it, had he? It was no different than when he had been given the title of en’raen. All he had done for that had been revealing a plot against the Denraen. He had not worked his way up through the ranks, and he had not shown any real leadership, which made it easier for him to accept the fact that perhaps he was better suited to serve as a soldier.

  Senda was a leader. She had earned her position.

  When he returned to Vasha, that would be what he would do. He would gladly serve and willingly take patrols and be a dutiful soldier.

  He stood, a smile crossing his face. It was strange that such peace would find him in Thealon, especially as he had arrived here for answers that he still had not acquired. Even if he never found anything about Tresten, the visit to Thealon had been valuable.

  And now he would see if the priests hid anything that would be useful. If Tresten had remained with them before returning to Vasha, maybe there was something they knew, and something they would be able to tell him, about where he had gone before his death.

  As Endric made his way from the tavern, he felt the weight of a gaze and found Darla watching him. She nodded, and he nodded in return.

  Out in the street, he looked up, noting the Tower rising above everything, the shadow cast by its height stretching in this direction. The shadow moved over time, circling the city somewhat like a clock, so that everyone was eventually within the shadow of the gods. Endric suspected that was intentional, but was that what the gods would have wanted? Did they want to overshadow the people of the city?

  Who was he to know? Who was he to question the intent of the gods?

  And who was he to go to the temple searching for answers?

  22

  The temple was silent. The stink of incense hung over everything like a cloud, the haze of smoke filling the air. A
few lanterns cast a flickering light, but not enough for Endric to see clearly. There were hundreds of people within the temple, more than he had expected at this time of day, and all remained perfectly still, their eyes fixed on the dais near the back.

  The priest standing atop the dais wore flowing robes that brushed along the floor. He wore no adornments other than his robes. The priests believed in austerity and rarely wore any jewelry, nothing that would set them apart from each other. This man had a thin face and his head was shorn, but his voice had a deep and booming timber. It carried, easily filling the entirety of the temple as he chanted. He paused every so often, waiting for the worshipers to chant in return.

  Endric had been raised according to the Urmahne faith and knew the proper words. He said them without much enthusiasm, careful not to draw any unwanted attention to himself.

  It had been years since he’d attended a service. Despite having been born and living in Vasha, he had not spent much time in temple during his youth. Few of the Denraen made it a point to attend worship regularly. There simply wasn’t time in between training. There were some who were devout, which made Urik and his devotion notable but not exceptional, but it was not all that common.

  The temple itself was stifling, the humid air leaving a sheen of sweat across his skin. The incense and the smoke filled the air, making for an unpleasant experience. He kneeled, following the motions of the other worshipers around him, before getting to his feet and raising his arms in exaltation. He recognized the service, even though he had rarely attended them. This was one celebrating the Ascension, a time of great celebration for the Urmahne.

  Could it be Ascension time already?

  It was fall, which meant the season was right, but Endric didn’t recall the calendar well enough to know whether they were that near the Ascension service or not. If it was, it explained the miners’ presence in the city. Many people in outlying villages made their way toward larger cities—and larger temples—to celebrate the Ascension. Even in Vasha, there were thousands more people at that time of year. He imagined it had to be tenfold more in Thealon, especially because the Tower of the Gods was the place the gods had Ascended from.

  The priest’s chant ended and silence fell over the temple.

  All around him, worshipers kept their arms raised. Endric followed them, not wanting to stand out but feeling somewhat deceptive in the fact that he was here, that he attempted to worship. He had no devotion and no belief, not as so many did. He believed the gods were real—at least, that they had been real—but how long had it been since they were a part of the world? How long had it been since they had any interest in influence?

  To most of the people around him, none of that mattered. Most of the people awaited a time when the gods would return and rejoin the world. If they practiced peace long enough, and if they maintained that peace as the gods desired, the return would be expedited. Endric had a hard time believing that would happen.

  For him, the gods were gone. They had abandoned the world. It was up to the Denraen—and the Magi, if they were interested—to maintain peace.

  And then the service was over.

  People around him gradually began to lower their arms and slowly make their way out of the temple. Endric waited until the group around him had thinned and started toward the dais at the front, hoping to catch the priest before he disappeared.

  As he approached, he noted the priest lighting incense along an altar set behind him. The smoke trailed up and up, drifting in a thickening cloud as it rose toward the ceiling and away, vented in some hidden way.

  A few people near the front of the temple eyed him strangely before turning away. Endric had made a point of wearing his robe and keeping his sword covered. In the temple—a place designed to celebrate and worship in peace—his sword would not be welcome.

  Endric stood off to the side, waiting for the priest to finish lighting the incense. The smell became nauseating, nearly overwhelming him with its pungency. How did the priests manage to tolerate it as long as they did? Maybe it was like anything else, something he could grow accustomed to, but he couldn’t imagine ever getting to the point where he welcomed the scent.

  The priest glanced over, and Endric recognized him.

  There had been a dozen or so priests he had interacted with when he had come with Tresten, all of whom had been influenced by the negatively charged teralin. Surprisingly—and coincidentally—this man had been one of them.

  Any thoughts that the priest’s recognition would encourage him to come over and engage in conversation faded as the man quickly turned away and hurried toward a hidden door near the back of the temple.

  Endric blinked. Had the priest just avoided him?

  It seemed that way, though why would the priest have avoided him? Was he embarrassed about the fact that he had been influenced by the negatively charged teralin? There had been plenty of others who had been similarly influenced, so there should be no reason for him to be embarrassed by the fact that he had succumbed to it.

  Unless there was another reason.

  Did the priest know something?

  He glanced behind him and noted the temple was nearly empty. A few worshipers remained, though not nearly as many as there had been even a moment before. Those few who did remain stood transfixed, their gaze focused on the altar. Each of them breathed slowly, inhaling the stench of the incense as if it would help them reach the gods.

  Would any notice if he went through the door reserved for the priests?

  Did it matter?

  If he were caught, the worst that would happen would be that he would be thrown from the temple. Even then, he could claim the need to speak to the high priest and could defend his decision.

  What choice did he have?

  The entire reason that he had come to Thealon was to find Tresten. Now was not the time to let something as simple as a door stop him.

  Endric darted through the door and found himself in a narrow passageway. A single lantern lit the hall, the design created by Urik when he had still been in the temple. It glowed with a soft orange light and a hint of smoke trailed up from it. The hall stretched away from him, with the light of the lantern barely pushing away the edge of darkness.

  The priest had disappeared.

  Endric glanced over his shoulder. There would be no way out once he started down the hall. He could turn back and leave through the temple, and even attempt to gain access to the grounds where he and Tresten had first found the High Priest. That might be the safest plan.

  Endric hurried along the hall. He assumed he would find other doorways, but he did not. He quickened his step, moving away from the lantern and the light and heading into darkness. It soon swallowed him. Another lantern glowed in the distance, and he headed toward it.

  He thought of what he knew of the shape of the temple, and this hall didn’t fit with what he expected—unless it ran underground. That was possible, especially considering the main hall of worship had been set below ground, requiring him to take steps down in order to enter it.

  When he reached the other lantern, he found a doorway. It was locked. The hall continued onward, eventually disappearing into darkness much as it had the last time. Had the priest disappeared here? He could have gone through this doorway, or he could have continued along the corridor.

  Endric crouched in front of the door, pulling one of his knives from his boots, and jammed it into the lock, popping it open.

  The room on the other side was little more than a storeroom. Dozens of barrels were stacked near one corner. The shelf with boxes set into it was on the wall. A layer of dust coated everything. It reminded him of storerooms within the barracks in Vasha. The air smelled stale and had traces of the incense odor to it. This must be where they stored the spice they burned.

  He surveyed the room, looking for another access point, but there was no other door.

  He stepped back into the hall and pulled the door closed behind him, unconcerned about whether it locked.
He hurried down the hall again, disappearing into the darkness before another lantern became visible.

  When he reached that lantern, there was another door. Much like the door before it, this one was locked. Endric pried it open with his knife and pushed it open, expecting another storeroom. Instead, he found another hall.

  He glanced back behind him and considered continuing along the path he had initially taken. The lantern light faded into darkness, but now that he had seen it happen a few times, he expected another lantern to appear, and likely another doorway.

  What would he find along this path?

  It was better lit than the other. A pair of lanterns hung on the wall, both shaped like those Urik had made. He could wander through these corridors indefinitely, at least until he came across one of the priests, much as he once had wandered through the teralin mines beneath Vasha. At least with these hallways he had a sense that he could find his way back out.

  Endric decided to follow this path. More lighting made it more likely that this would take him someplace where he could find answers. In the unlit halls, he was less likely to find anyone who could help him.

  The lanterns along this corridor were spaced evenly, and he found a few doors lining the walls. He checked the first few and found storage rooms behind them that reminded him of the one he’d seen in the other passageway.

  After walking for a while, the hall ended in a doorway.

  This door appeared different than most of the others he had seen. There was a patterning to the wood, carvings that were set into it that reminded him of paintings he’d seen in Vasha depicting the gods. The carving was skillfully done, and the door itself was stained a deep auburn. This door was locked as well.

  Endric tried prying open the lock, but found no success. He jammed his knife into the doorframe, hoping to pop open the door, but that wasn’t successful either.

  He stood back, considering the door. He could throw himself against it, attempt to break it down, but if he did that, he would be unlikely to get any help from the priests if they caught him.