Endric shook his head. “So you would send me from the north, and I would return to the Denraen?”
Melinda met his gaze. “It is not as simple as that.”
Isabel spurred her horse forward. She offered a dark smile to Endric. “If you refuse this, you will be tied by each limb to one of these horses. We will then ride in separate directions and leave your remains here for the groeliin to feast on.”
Endric licked his lips. They had gone suddenly dry, and he didn't know what to say. He had little reason to doubt that they would tie him to the horses and quarter him, and little reason to doubt that they had the strength to do so. They were Antrilii, and though they were women, they were all armed, and he didn't doubt that they would be skilled enough to stop him.
The other option was a slower death. He could venture into the mountains as they suggested and attempt to escape to the south, but he suspected that they had chosen this location for a reason and that by coming here, they had brought him where the groeliin would be found and where there would be no chance for him to escape.
No good options.
He'd wanted to know about the people he descended from. This told him about their brutality. They had allowed his father to leave and had not forced him back, though they considered him an oathbreaker. Endric would have been given the same option. He could have simply left, but he had made the mistake of thinking that he could suffer this penance, that he could take on his father's punishment, and in doing so, he could find a way to understand the Antrilii.
It was now clear to him that had been a horrible mistake. It was now clear that Melinda had been trying to protect him by encouraging him to refuse. He had let his eagerness drive him.
Not only eagerness but his desire to understand. He had wanted to know about the Antrilii. Now that he learned what they did to people they felt violated their sacred vows, he had learned something more about them. He had learned how hard they could be, and how unforgiving. Endric swallowed and stepped forward.
Isabel tracked him with her eyes, her gaze practically daring him to attempt to run. He suspected she would take sadistic joy in chasing him down and, in the hunt, do whatever it took to return him so that she could quarter him.
He looked at Melinda. “I, Endric, son of Dendril, general of the Denraen, descendant of the Antrilii, accept this penance.”
He removed his jacket first.
He turned to Isabel. “I will assume the vows you claim my father broke. I will follow the customs of the Antrilii and will head into the mountains as the gods made me, naked and unarmed. When I slaughter my brood, I will return.”
While holding her gaze, Endric pulled his breeches free. He stood there in small clothes, and a shiver worked over his skin.
“When I return, I expect to be welcomed among the Antrilii. I expect my father's debt to be forgiven.”
With that, he pulled off his small clothes and stood there naked in front of them. He felt exposed in a way that he never had before. There was nothing more he could do.
Melinda nodded. “It will be what the gods choose.”
With that, Endric started into the mountains, naked and unarmed.
11
Endric headed into the mountains. A chill worked through him as he did. He wondered whether the cold would kill him before he even reached the groeliin. It seemed a cruel fate to send someone out into the mountains this way. Even crueler was that if he survived the cold of the mountains, they expected him to slaughter an entire brood of groeliin.
Only, they didn't expect that. They expected him to fail, and they expected him to die.
A narrow trail worked its way through the mountains, so Endric followed it, snaking his way along. Without his boots, the rock ripped at his feet. He felt pain where the stone tore at him, scraping away flesh. Traveling for too long this way would leave him shredded, a bloodied mess, and an easy target for the groeliin to track. Perhaps, he wondered, that was entirely the point.
The wind began to whip around him, growing increasingly colder. He was forced up, given no choice but to continue to climb, the road through here so narrow that he either had to follow it or he would have to take the time to scramble up the face of the rock, a much harder route.
What was he thinking agreeing to this? What was he doing risking himself? It felt incredibly foolish to him, as if he were sacrificing himself to a cruelty that he should not need to subject himself to.
Yet, what alternative did he have? He had drawn himself in so deep, had forced his way into this. He had no one to blame but himself for his predicament. In some ways, that was even worse.
He continued climbing, moving steadily upward.
As he did, the wind and the cool air became more brutal. Before long, he would need to find protection from the wind, only he wasn't certain what he would discover. There was a nothing but more rock around him.
He paused, standing exposed to the elements, forcing his mind to work through what he needed to do and how to get himself to safety.
If he were to face the groeliin, he needed protection, which meant both clothing as well as a weapon. A weapon would be almost easier. There were plenty of rocks around, but that wasn't going to be enough to keep him safe if the groeliin attacked. With their clubs, what good would a rock do? The damned creatures moved too quickly for him to defend himself with only a rock. He could find a tree, break off a branch, turn that into a club, and use that, similar to how he would have used a sword to defend himself. That seemed the easiest solution. First, he had to find a tree, then he had to find a way to break something off.
More than that, he would need to discover some way to get himself clothed. That would be the most difficult. If he didn't protect himself from the elements, he wouldn't last long in the mountains. Even if he managed to find a place to hide, someplace where he could remain protected from the wind and likelihood of snow, and even from the groeliin were they to attack, he needed to focus on that first.
His mind went through lessons that he'd had over the years, each of them from the Denraen. Most came from lessons his father had taught, or lessons that his brother had taught. From them, he had no answers. How did he intend to protect himself? How would he dress himself without fabric?
Endric surveyed the land around him. It was mostly barren, although there were patches of long, dried grasses that cropped up in places. To the south and to the east, he noted a few twisted trees. He began to think through the possibilities. He could use the trees. He might need them anyway for firewood as well as the club he had already determined he would need to create.
Endric grabbed the grasses, carefully plucking them from the base, and bundled them together as much as he could. With these, he could at least weave some sort of covering.
Endric hurried from one clump of grass to another, taking what he could. Most of it was not long enough to do much with, but he was willing to try, and when he had several fistfuls of grasses collected, he made his way toward the distant tree. He didn't want to remain out in the open, though here he was exposed everywhere he went. If he could find a cave or a rock overhang, at least he would be protected. Endric didn’t like his chances if even something as simple as a mountain wolf came at him in the middle of the night.
And he thought his night of reflection had been not very restful.
When he reached the place where he saw the trees, he realized they were off the narrow path leading through the mountains. That forced Endric to climb, but he hoped that the soil was better there, that maybe he could find more of the grasses. When he reached the trees, he saw that wasn't the case at all. They somehow grew through the rock, sending roots deep below. He didn't recognize the type of tree this was, but it had a rough bark, a sharp contrast to the smooth bark of the tree he had rested next to the night before. The branches were twisted, all of them warped in such a way that he doubted he could make an effective club. He would worry about that once he managed to find a way to clothe himself. Already the wind was growing chi
lly, and his feet throbbed where they had scraped along the rock.
He sat and began weaving strands of grasses together. It was slow work, but what did he have other than time?
As he worked, his stomach rumbled. A new concern came to him, one that he hadn't considered before. What would he eat? The mountains weren't plentiful with food. There wouldn't be much he could forage for here. Had he even a slingshot, he thought he could hunt, but he would have to do so by spear, or by using the blunt force of throwing a rock.
His gaze drifted to the tree, but he saw no branch straight enough to be an effective spear. That meant that he would have to throw a rock.
He continued weaving the grasses together, his stomach rumbling, and he forced himself to ignore it, much like he forced himself to ignore the increasingly oppressive chill that surrounded him.
Night had come on. Endric had managed to weave together something of a wrap that he had wound around himself, providing some protection from the wind. The grasses scratched and itched, but he had forced himself to ignore it. At least he buffered some of the cold. Much more than that, he would need cloth or for. His fingers throbbed from weaving the grasses together. And he felt the steady burning where the grass rubbed along his flesh. It was an unpleasant experience, but one that he knew he would have to get used to.
He leaned against the tree, holding onto the irregularly shaped branch that he had dragged free. The tree was tough; at least he had that going for him. Had it not been, he wasn't sure that he would've been able to use the branch for defense.
He'd been shivering for the last hour. There was not much else that he could do. After a while, he suspected he would grow numb to the cold and suspected that he would no longer be able to withstand it. He needed more protection than what he had now.
Even sitting as he was, leaning against the tree, he needed to keep himself moving. He had to survive this somehow.
After only a day in the mountains, already Endric had begun thinking of simply surviving. It was a strange transition from wanting to prove himself and agreeing to accept his father's punishment to now wanting only to survive. Doing so meant one of two things. Either he managed to cross the mountains and return to the south, or he would somehow manage to slaughter an entire brood of groeliin armed with only his twisted and stunted club and whatever rocks could find. Endric liked the odds crossing the mountains much better than surviving an attack on a brood of groeliin.
Another gust of wind blew through, and he shivered.
He couldn't stay here. Doing so would leave him too exposed and in danger of the elements killing him before anything else had a chance to do so.
No, he needed to keep moving.
Endric stood and carefully made his way along the rocks. As he did, he focused carefully on moving slowly. A single misplaced foot would cause him to tumble down the rocks. Endric was not willing to perish that way. There were plenty of other ways for him to go, and that would not be one.
When he reached the trail through the rock, he had some protection from the wind, though it wasn't much. And certainly not enough to keep him safe. There was a bite to the wind that blew through his grass wrap and overwhelmed even that thin ability to protect himself. Without it, Endric didn't know if he already would have been frozen.
Endric ran his hand along the rock as he made his way, forcing him up the slope of the mountain. As he did, the contour of the rock changed, leaving him more and more exposed. Perhaps it was a mistake coming this way and leaving himself exposed like this. He wondered again what he had been thinking.
In his tired and cold state, he decided that he really wasn't thinking. His mind wasn't working as it should, and as much as he might want to, he couldn't generate the drive to keep his mind clear.
He kept his eyes open, searching for an opening in the rock, something that would offer protection, that would shield him from the wind.
He stumbled onward. After a while, he began to lean on the makeshift club for support, using it almost like a cane. His feet were numb. His face and mouth felt frozen shut. Each breath labored. He had become slightly delirious. The hunger he'd been feeling earlier, pulling at his stomach, reminding him of his last meal in Farsea, had settled to a muted ache. It was still there, but not with the same intensity. At least that much suffering was no longer there.
He stumbled, tripping over a rock, scraping his foot painfully. Endric almost cried out but clamped his mouth shut, fearful of what might live in the mountains. He was less concerned about things like the merahl, creatures that he had come to know as almost benevolent hunters, and more concerned about wolves or foxes or, the gods knew, groeliin.
Would he even notice the groeliin when they attacked?
When he had survived them before, there had been only the help of Brohmin that had helped him recognize that they were coming. Without him, and without one of the merahl hunting, braying as they did and raising attention to the groeliin, Endric doubted that he would have enough notice, that he would even be aware that they were there. If that happened, all he could hope for was a quick death. He doubted it would be painless, though he had that hope as well.
Staggering forward, he found himself leaning on the branch more and more, and it became a crutch. After a while, he was dragging it, no longer even aware of the noise that it made. His breathing was more like a wheeze. The air still had the same cold chill to it, but he was becoming numb to it as well. His mind drifted from thought to thought, flashing through memories, similar to what it had done the night before when he had been instructed to reflect. In his current state, he knew the danger of that and knew that he risked himself by not thinking clearly.
Endric shook his head, trying to clear it. It did so slowly.
The pathway twisted, taking him through rocks sloping down on either side of him. He fell forward and remained lying there for a moment. His eyes struggled to stay open, and he blinked, seeing flashes of color that he knew weren’t there.
As that flashing of color faded, what was left was streaks of darkness.
Endric reached a hand toward it.
His heart skipped. An opening.
Could he have found a shelter in the rock? Could he have found someplace where he could get safety?
It seemed almost too much to hope for.
But what else did he have but hope? He was hopeful that he had found safety. Hopeful that he could sleep for a time, maybe protected from the wind, and perhaps even use his grass-woven wrap to warm up.
Endric squeezed the wooden club and crawled toward the opening. It was a tight fit, but he squeezed through. He was forced to let out his breath as he did, forced to expel everything on the way in. He had a fleeting thought that he might get stuck here and that this would be a worse way to die than either the groeliin finding him or being quartered.
Then he was through. The inside of the cave was fairly low, but it was enough for him to sit up. And it was deep enough. Endric crawled in, still dragging the club as he did, before finally settling along the far wall. His eyes drifted closed. Even as they did, Endric knew they shouldn't, knew that he should try to warm himself, but doing so was beyond him.
A scratching sound in the cave woke him. Endric rose, his body tensed from the sound. He squeezed the stick and rested it on his thighs, holding it ready. It would be his club, and it would protect him, but he could see nothing. There was nothing but darkness around him.
The scratching persisted, this time closer.
His heart hammered. What if this was a groeliin?
No. That seemed unlikely. They would've struggled to get in through the mouth of the cave. Endric had done so through desperation. The groeliin would need to do so because they knew he was here, and he didn't want to attribute that much intelligence to those creatures.
“Hello?”
He felt ridiculous calling out, but a part of him was hopeful that perhaps the Antrilii had come after him. What if Melinda had a change of heart and had either come herself or sent someon
e else up the mountain and into the cave after him?
There was no answer. Only more scraping.
This time, it was clear that it was the sound of claws on stone. There was breathing, the steady sound of it, a rhythmic, halting sort of breathing.
Endric squeezed the club. His muscles tensed, stiff and achy from the day spent climbing the rocks and the night spent practically frozen.
Likely this was nothing more than a mouse, possibly a squirrel. Either creature would be in the mountains and just as likely to use this cave as anything else. In the darkness, his mind created images of massive rats, or of squirrels with sharp fangs chewing on his exposed flesh. In the dark, it was easy to imagine any sort of horror coming for him. None of them were reasonable, and Endric knew that. It didn't change the fact that those thoughts came.
The sound came closer.
Endric could wait no longer. He swung with his wooden club, batting at whatever was nearby.
He missed, sailing through the empty air. He landed sprawled across the stone of the cave, his face scraped as he did.
There came the clatter of claws across the stone again.
It wasn’t his imagination. There was something here, and close. He rolled, swinging the club overhead. Once more, there was no resistance.
Endric shuffled backward, pushing with his heels along the rough rock of the cave floor, tearing them up even more. Pain shot through his heels as he did, but he ignored it, his heart now hammering in his chest.
He swung the club in front of him, praying that it would connect, but it never did.
Was it only his imagination? Was there nothing here with him?
No, he didn't think that was possible.
There was something here.
He wasn’t able to reach it. The creature, whatever it was, managed to sneak away. Unless it was nothing more than his mind. Maybe this was nothing more than some small animal, that he was swinging too high to reach it.
He wanted to return to sleep. To rest. A distant part of his mind, the part that wanted to survive, knew that if he managed to connect, if he managed to somehow crush this creature, he might have food to eat.
Soldier Sworn (The Teralin Sword Book 3) Page 8