Had he known all that Andril had gone through when raised to en’raen, perhaps he wouldn’t have antagonized him the way that he had.
Endric should get something to eat and return to his studies. Dendril would expect improvement tomorrow. The general was nothing if not a disciplined master.
Thoughts of Urik continued to intrude.
Endric couldn’t simply leave it alone. He needed to know what Listain knew about Urik. If he couldn’t wait for Senda, there had to be some other way.
Only, what?
It tied into the reason that Urik went to Thealon. If Endric could discover that, maybe he could find an excuse to go after him. Even his father wouldn’t oppose the need to protect the priests if one of their own made an attempt on them.
Endric found himself drawn toward the officer’s quarters.
His rooms were at one end, but that wasn’t where he was drawn.
He traced the long hall, the same one he’d once been sent to for discipline, a hallway that had been essentially closed off for the last year as Listain sought to understand what Urik had been after. Two high-backed chairs blocked the hall, angled with their backs toward each other, so that none could pass through without moving them.
Endric hadn’t been here—and hadn’t attempted to come through here—in the time since he’d stopped Urik’s attempt on the city.
Stepping past the chairs left him with a slight thrill, a tingle of sorts that ran along his arms, racing into the pit of his stomach before fading. Had he only imagined that? Probably. His emotions had been on edge since learning that his father had discovered something of Urik, and that would be enough to set him off like that.
Urik’s rooms were at the end of the hall.
Endric reached the first room and paused in front of the door. He tested the lock and found it open. The air carried a stifling sense of must, that of dust from belongings untouched for the last year. With each breath, dust swirled into the air, a tomb disturbed.
Should he even have come? After all this time, there was nothing for him here.
What did he expect to learn here? Would there really be anything that he could learn, or was it only the irritation in his mind that sent him here? He wouldn’t be able to solve the mystery of what had happened, or what had changed within Urik, not by coming to his quarters. Perhaps Endric should have patience here as well, and wait to see what his father learned.
The room was as it had been when he’d last been here.
He wasn’t certain what he’d expected, but thought that Listain might have changed things. He had not.
The room appeared much like Endric remembered. There was a simple desk made of stout oak stacked with books. Where there had once been a collection of papers, now was a dusty space atop the desk. A few jars of ink remained, one of which had been tipped over, leading to a dried ink stain on the corner of the desk. Urik had a narrow bed in one corner, preferring to sleep in his office, unlike the other en’raen who used a separate sleeping quarters. The doors to a wardrobe were cracked open, and he noted the collection of clothing inside, all Denraen gray other than a single cloak.
Endric stood in the doorway, staring at everything while searching for answers, but none came.
After the attack on the city, and after Endric had returned with the historian and the Hunter, driving the threat of the Deshmahne away, he had come to the room often. During that first month following the attack, Endric had been here daily trying to find answers. There had been nothing in the pages of the books on the table, nothing in the now-missing stacks of paper—those that had once marked troop movements and positions, insights that Urik had of the Denraen that placed him in a unique position to do more damage than most—and nothing in his wardrobe other than clothes.
He wished there were answers here, but there were not.
A sound behind him made him turn.
Standing in the doorway was a man he hadn’t seen in a year.
“Historian,” Endric said.
Novan was tall—taller than most men and nearly as tall as the Magi—and leaned gently on a long staff carved with symbols. Endric had seen him fight with the staff and suspected him to be nearly the equal of Senda, and she was incredibly skilled with her staff.
“I had not expected to find anyone here,” the historian said.
Endric laughed. “No? You thought you could sneak through the barracks?”
He shrugged, and Endric wondered if that was what Novan had intended. “Not sneak. Your father allowed me to come.”
“Dendril knows you’re here?”
Novan tapped his staff on the ground. The sound came out muted. The man’s eyes were darker than he remembered, and Endric wondered how much the teralin had changed him. He had claimed Tresten had healed him, but what if there was no healing to be had? The Deshmahne had clearly been affected by the teralin, so it only made sense that Novan would as well.
“The general is well informed,” Novan said.
Endric expected him to expand on the comment, but he didn’t. “Why are you here? Why Urik’s room?”
Novan tipped his head to the side. In the faint light coming from the hall, Endric noted a shiny scar along his cheek. What had the historian seen in the time since he’d left him? There was a mystery around the man. Not quite as much as there was around Brohmin, the man Novan called the Hunter, a man who might be the best swordsman Endric had ever seen, but there remained enough mystery about Novan for Endric to wonder what he’d been up to in the time since leaving Vasha.
“You question Urik, yet aren’t you here for the same reason?”
“You heard about his appearance,” Endric said. “That’s why you’re here.” That had been unexpected. Had it been Novan who had shared word of Urik? His father hadn’t told him how he knew of Urik’s appearance, only that he had been seen in Thealon.
“I heard. I had not expected him to appear in Thealon.”
“The Denraen will take care of him,” Endric said.
He said nothing of his doubt. Would his father allow the Denraen to get justice for what Urik had done? The lesson on patience gave Endric hope that they would, that they had to work at the right pace and not rush in to attack, but he wondered what the timeline might be. With Dendril, it was difficult to know what his father planned. There could be no response or at least none that Endric would ever know.
Novan leaned toward Endric, a dark smile on his face. “I’ve shared with you my interest in him.”
“What did he do to the guild?”
Novan shook his head. “I think you can understand how I am not able to share that with you. Know that by using the knowledge of the guild as he did, he has much to answer for.”
“You used the knowledge of the guild,” Endric said.
“Because the risk would have been too great had I not. Urik cannot make that same claim.”
Endric studied Novan a moment before turning his attention back to the room. “There’s nothing here. When he first disappeared, I searched for answers but couldn’t find anything.”
“Neither could I,” Novan said.
“You searched his quarters?”
Novan shrugged, ignoring Endric’s hard stare. These were the barracks and were meant to be under the control of the Denraen, not the historian guild. Anything that would have been here would have been for the Denraen to deal with. Yet Novan seemed unconcerned about the fact that he had violated the Denraen, much like he had seemed unconcerned with violating the concerns of the miners, or even those of the Magi. Endric knew little about the historian guild, but he was surprised by how nonchalant Novan was about digging into places he probably should not.
“There were a few journals that I needed to confiscate before they fully disappeared from the guild. Your father understood.”
“Was there anything in them that would give you any indication about where he might have gone and what he planned?”
“Not in the journals that concerned me. Those were not his property
, but the guild’s. When he disappeared from the guild, he thought to claim what he should not have.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because there are few copies.”
“What was in the journals?”
Novan smiled and shook his head. “Nothing that needs concern you, Endric.”
“Urik concerns me.”
“Does he?” Novan scanned the room. “I think Urik’s time is short, especially if he has both the guild and the Denraen searching for him, don’t you? The only question will be who will capture him first.”
“What would you do with him?” Endric leaned on the table, noting that the dust didn’t seem quite as thick as he would have expected were the room undisturbed for as long as it should have been. Who else had been here? “The Denraen would see him to justice.”
“Whose justice?” Novan asked. “Hanged for treason, or would he be jailed, placed into a cell where he would be forced to sit until the end of his days?”
Hanging seemed too kind for what Urik had done. “That will be up to Dendril.”
“Ah, then I know which it will be if Denraen reaches him before the guild.”
Novan didn’t expound. Even Endric wasn’t certain which his father would choose. Would he seek not only justice but vengeance for what had happened to Andril? That didn’t seem like what his father would do, especially after the way his father had cautioned him following their sparring earlier.
“Besides, I think Urik might have bitten off more than he expected,” Novan said.
“With the guild and the Denraen?”
“Both.”
Endric shook his head. “I doubt he thought he’d get caught.”
“Doubtless he believed himself safe,” Novan agreed, “but that wasn’t what I refer to.”
“The Deshmahne?” That was the only other possibility that Endric could come up with. Not the Antrilii. The warriors his family had descended from were more concerned with another danger, one that Endric didn’t fully understand.
Novan nodded. “They will know how he used them. The dark priests are not the… forgiving… kind.”
That was almost enough to make Endric smile. If he could somehow arrange for Urik to be captured by the Deshmahne… but he wouldn’t wish that on the man, no matter how he’d wronged him.
That wasn’t quite right. Losing Urik to the Deshmahne placed the Denraen in danger. As en’raen, he would have been privy to the deepest secrets of the Denraen and would have known more than almost anyone, excluding Dendril and Listain. That knowledge in the hands of the Deshmahne worried Endric.
Perhaps it was best that the Deshmahne hadn’t captured him.
“Why have you returned?” Endric asked.
Novan lifted the stack of books and began sorting through them, blowing dust off them as he did, a distasteful frown on his face. Was that because of the subjects of the books—most on warfare strategy—or was it because the books had been sitting, getting dustier? Endric suspected Novan would prize his collection of books and would protect them diligently, no differently than a librarian would protect their collection.
“I think there is still something to know about Urik,” he answered.
“Such as why he’s gone to Thealon?”
Novan nodded. “Such as that.”
“Do you think the priests allow him?”
Novan pressed his lips together into a tight line. “They should not.”
The historian set the books back onto the table and leaned forward, resting his palms flat down on it. His brow furrowed deeply, shadows forming on it as he did. In the dark light within the room, there was a haunted expression on his face.
“What are you after in Thealon?” Novan muttered to himself.
Endric let the historian stare and made his way to the wardrobe, pulling the door open. When he’d come before, he’d searched through the clothing but had found nothing more than the uniforms of the en’raen. He shoved them aside, thinking that if there was anything he might have missed, it would have been in the wardrobe, but he found nothing.
As he shuffled through the clothing in the closet, a glint of a reflection caught his eye.
Endric hesitated.
What had that been?
He reached into the wardrobe, thinking that maybe he’d find a knife that had been overlooked, and was surprised with what he found.
A sword.
His breath caught.
The blade was finely made, with a swirl of a blade guard worked near the base. A leather-wrapped hilt had been well cared for, but not worn at all, as if the sword had never been used. The blade held a soft sheen, and when he ran his finger along the edge, he could feel how finely it had been honed.
None of that was why his breath had caught.
“What is it?” Novan asked.
Endric turned slowly, holding the sword in front of him. “This was in the wardrobe.”
Novan shook his head. “It couldn’t have been. I’ve searched through the wardrobe before. There were his uniforms, and his cloak, and…” He shook his head again, cutting himself off. “That was it. Nothing more. Certainly no sword.”
“Look at it,” Endric directed. “Do you see what it’s made from?”
Novan took the blade from Endric, eyes scanning along the surface. As he did, they began to widen, and he let out a soft whistle. “This is a teralin sword.”
Endric nodded. He’d noted the same thing, but even that wasn’t what had surprised him. “Do you notice anything else about it?”
The moment he’d held the blade, he’d felt the strange pulsations. Would Novan?
Novan frowned before he began nodding. “You were aware that it’s positively charged?”
“Not at first.”
The historian snorted. “Interesting, though not surprising. You were able to charge the teralin in the mine as well.”
“Why would there be a positively charged teralin sword, and why would it have been in Urik’s room?” Endric asked.
“It wasn’t,” Novan said. “Not that I saw.”
“Would you have?” Endric asked. “You were influenced by the negatively charged teralin. Would you have recognized that it was there when you last searched?”
Novan’s eyes narrowed further. “You pose an interesting point. Perhaps I have more to question before I leave.”
“You’re leaving already?”
“I intend to deal with Urik myself.”
“But the Denraen—”
“Your father is aware of my intent. Even if the Denraen reach him, they will not be ready to do what is necessary with Urik.”
“And what is necessary?”
“I have yet to determine, but I fear that we may need to use what he knows to slow the Deshmahne.”
Novan scanned the room once more before turning, leaving Endric staring after him with unanswered questions.
Patience. He needed patience. Why was it so hard for him?
4
The inside of the Climbing Trellis tavern was dim and dirty at the best of times, and filthy most of the time. A few patrons scattered at the tables, most either well into their drink or gaming as they drank. The air was musty, and even the scent of ale and the recent meal served out of the kitchen did nothing to suppress it. A pair of lanterns glowed with a dirty light, the oil putting off a thick black smoke as it burned. Endric tried not to think about what kind of oil they used that would generate smoke like that.
Without Senda, he was forced to resort to finding his own sources of information. Places like the Trellis hosted many who had the pulse of goings-on outside the city, but there was another reason he’d come here, though it was a reason that Senda would not be pleased to learn.
He hadn’t been here in well over a year, long enough that he hoped Kayla, the waitress he’d once shared a night with, hadn’t moved on. She was connected to the city, and before he’d challenged his father and had been exiled from the city, he had used her for what she knew.
Kayla leaned over the counter as he entered, and she looked up, her blue eyes sparkling but otherwise ignoring him. She recognized him, though he hadn’t expected otherwise. He was tall for most within Vasha and distinctive in his Denraen dress gray uniform.
Endric went to an empty table and took a seat.
Pendin sat across from him. “Do you think they still serve that swill here?” he asked.
“I wasn’t too focused on the quality of the ale when I was last here,” Endric said.
“No. You were more concerned about the quality of the waitresses.”
Endric shot him a warning look that Pendin promptly ignored. “I just want to get this over with.”
“Is that what she told you, too?”
“Bastard,” Endric said.
Pendin shrugged. “You were always too greedy. You never let your friends have any fun.”
“You were always too shy.”
Pendin laughed. “By shy, I think you mean sober. When we were on this level, I think you were drunk most of the time.”
“Not when I patrolled.”
“Fine. Not when you patrolled, but the rest of the time, you preferred to drink your way through the first terrace.”
Endric sighed, watching Kayla. She made a point of ignoring them, going so far as to send another server, this an older woman with a tight bun of gray hair, to deliver two mugs of ale. When she waited for payment, Pendin arched a brow at him.
“You’re the officer,” he said.
Endric shook his head and fished out a few coins to pay for the drinks. It was probably more than they were worth, but there was something to be said for sitting and having a mug of ale in a dark tavern again. As much as he hated to admit it, there were times he missed those days. They were simpler in so many ways. These days, he spent so much of his time working with his father, learning the way to lead his troops, and simply trying to understand his role as en’raen, that he hadn’t the time to really sit back and enjoy a mug of ale.
Soldier Sword (The Teralin Sword Book 2) Page 3