When they reached the second terrace, he motioned for Pendin to guide the rest of the men away. Pendin did so without argument, and Endric was thankful that he didn’t need much more of a command. He handed the reins of his horse over to one of the other Denraen soldiers and watched as the men moved past, heading toward the stables and back into the barracks. Even after the confrontation with the raiders and an ambush—or almost ambush—they hadn’t lost any men on this journey. There had been too many lost over the years during his command, but the men he’d brought had been well prepared.
Endric headed toward the command bunker. He nodded to a few of the men standing guard before passing into familiar hallways. His gaze drifted across the line of portraits, each of them depicting the previous generals of the Denraen. He lingered on his father. The artist had chosen to paint him as he was now. He had the graying hair and wrinkles around the corners of his eyes. There was strength in the way that his jaw clenched and a certain gleam to his eyes.
“Are you trying to figure out what to say?”
Endric turned slowly and nodded to his father. He had appeared quietly, and Endric didn’t expect much less. The general was nothing if not skilled. “I was just admiring the detail.”
His father stepped up next to him and crossed his arms over his chest as he studied the painting. “I’m not certain there is much detail in this to admire.”
“No? Not even the silver in your hair?” Endric asked with a smile.
“All men would be lucky to reach the point where their hair turns gray. When I was younger, I often wondered if I ever would.”
Endric grunted. “There were times when I have felt the same about myself.”
“Yes. And you have faced things I cannot imagine.”
“I doubt that to be true.”
Dendril shrugged. “You can doubt it all you want, but the truth of the matter is that your calling has been a difficult one. Maybe you don’t feel that way, but what you have done over the last five years—”
Endric shook his head. “Over the last five years, I haven’t done a whole lot. It’s been more of the same. Raider attacks, men who should know better threatening the Denraen, but nothing that poses too much of a threat.”
“You sound almost disappointed.”
Endric frowned. Was he disappointed? He didn’t think so. There was some value to be had in the normalcy of his activities. The patrols that he led out of the city were the type of Denraen patrols he had known his entire life. On those patrols, he worked with the soldiers, sparring and training and keeping them ready, and he had done as well as he could to ensure his men were prepared for anything that might come their way. They had survived.
But perhaps his father was right. The last five years had been boring, at least compared to the time before that. There had been no service to the Conclave. It was almost as if they had gone silent, no longer needing his assistance after calling upon him time and again following his brother’s death.
“It’s not disappointment,” he said.
“I know you wish to be more involved.”
Endric clenched his jaw. “I have been as involved in the Denraen as I have wanted.”
“That’s not the involvement I refer to,” Dendril said. He nodded for Endric to follow and started down the hallway, stopping in the officer’s lounge. As there usually was, a spread of food had been set out. Endric ignored the tankards of ale, choosing some meats and cheeses instead, watching his father while he ate. It might only be his imagination, but it seemed almost as if Dendril had slowed somewhat.
When the door was closed behind them, Dendril looked up at him, studying Endric for a moment. “You wish there was more of an opportunity to serve the Conclave.”
Endric sighed. “I do.”
There was no use denying it. His desire when it came to serving the Conclave was not something he hid, at least not something he hid well. And it wasn’t that he wanted to rush into danger. It was simply that given what he had learned of the Conclave, there was a desire on his part to be involved in something more. And the Conclave was something more. They were a secretive group of men and women who fought on behalf of the gods, and there had been a time when Endric had been asked to fight with them.
Lately, all of that had changed.
“It’s my experience that the Conclave will call when we least want them to,” Dendril said, turning to the hearth and taking a seat in front of it.
“The last I heard from the Conclave, they wanted me to serve the Denraen. I have done that.”
“You have done it well,” his father said.
“There are times when I can’t shake the feeling that there should be more,” Endric admitted. He looked up at his father, worried that admitting that to him would be like admitting that he wanted more strangeness, but that wasn’t what he wanted at all. It was more that he wanted to be involved. He wanted to be in the know, at least as much as it was possible to be.
“You only feel that way because you know that there is more,” Dendril said. “And I have faith that there will come a time when you will need to be ready. Until then, you still serve the Denraen. It’s all a part of your song.”
Endric smiled. “My what?”
Dendril looked at the fire. “Ah, maybe it’s only that I’ve begun to sense the end of mine. When you have enough experiences, there’s the hope that minstrels will sing songs of your exploits. You only have to hope they’re the ones that make you proud.”
Had his exploits made him proud? What kind of song would be sung about him when all was done? “And I wouldn’t change anything,” he said.
They sat in silence for a while before Dendril spoke again. “What did you encounter?”
“Nothing more than partially organized bands of fighters.”
“That’s all they were?”
“Oh, there might have been some organization to it, but there wasn’t anything that posed much of a threat. When we confronted them, even outnumbered at times, they immediately gave up.”
Dendril nodded. “That’s for the best. As you know, fighting leads to—”
Endric nodded. “I know. Fighting doesn’t serve the gods, and it’s our purpose to serve the gods.”
“You should know better than most how important that is.”
Endric took a seat next to his father. He stared at the fire, watching the flames dance within the hearth. There was reason for him to be careful, especially when it came to ensuring peace. While most men viewed the gods as having Ascended long ago, Endric had met one of the gods and suspected there were others still living, too. It was even more reason that he wanted to work with the Conclave. If the Conclave served the gods, how could he want to do anything else?
“I understand. I’m not arguing with the need, I’m just…” He shook his head. He was just complaining about the need to ensure peace, but then again, that was the purpose of the Denraen. They existed to stand alongside the Magi, ensuring that peace was maintained.
“You’re just longing for something more,” Dendril said.
Endric sighed and leaned back. “Maybe I am.”
Dendril turned to look at him. “There is something that could offer you a different challenge.”
Endric frowned. “What?”
“The next step in your progression within the Denraen.”
Endric stared at his father. “No.”
“You’re ready, Endric. You’ve been ready for quite some time, and I have not pushed, but perhaps you taking command would allow you to deal with your desire for more in a different way.”
“And what happens to you?” Endric leaned forward. “Once I challenge you”—he no longer worried about losing to his father in a challenge, having realized several years ago that he was the better swordsman of the two—“what will you do?”
“You understand that the challenge is to—”
“I’m not challenging you to the death,” Endric said.
“I seem to recall that you were willing to d
o so once before.”
“I would never have harmed you, Father.”
“Maybe you’re not ready,” Dendril said, turning to look at the fire.
Endric chuckled, shaking his head. “Because I refuse to hurt you?”
“Because you refuse to lead.”
“I haven’t refused to lead. I have served as your Raen for the last five years.” He had fulfilled that role ever since they had returned from Salvat, and Senda had been more than willing to let Endric take over that position.
“It’s one thing to serve as second-in-command and quite another to lead the Denraen. If you were general, you would decide the direction the Denraen would take.”
“And what direction is that? How differently do you think I would lead then you?”
Dendril studied him for a moment, tipping his head to the side as he did. “Do you know the focus of the Denraen when Jorah was general?”
Endric shook his head. Jorah had served as general of the Denraen for nearly twenty-five years, and Endric hadn’t been alive to know what his rule had been like, only that he had been considered a solid leader. There were worse things to be considered than solid, though it was not an overwhelming sort of praise.
“You know that I was too young to know what that was like.”
“I’m not expecting you to remember what it was like, but I would ask that you have a sense of history. Serving in the Denraen requires the leaders to be something more than mere soldiers.”
“I am something more than a mere soldier.”
“I mean, I would ask that you recognize that you have a greater responsibility than only to lead the men. You have to appreciate the connections to the past, and you have to realize that the general, and the men beneath him, need to have a certain appreciation for the events of the past so as not to repeat mistakes.”
“You would have me become a historian?”
Dendril chuckled. “Nothing quite so formal as that. But there are many things you could learn from the historians.”
Endric knew of only one historian. He had been around Novan often enough to realize that he was an unusual historian, which didn’t really give Endric much of an idea about what others might be like.
“It’s more about an appreciation for the past. The historians think to document as they observe, claiming they cannot be involved, but what I’m asking for is the same sort of appreciation of the events of the past.”
“What do you intend for me to gain from this, Father?”
“Maybe nothing. A sense of perspective. An understanding of the place the Denraen serve within the world. All of that is valuable.”
Endric nodded. “Is that your assignment for me?”
“I think you have progressed beyond needing me to assign you tasks,” Dendril said.
“You are the general,” he said.
“I am the general,” Dendril agreed, leaning back. His eyes drifted closed, and Endric stared at him for a moment. His father appeared tired. What was he going through that left him like that? What was there that had seemingly weakened him?
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe his father was simply exhausted for other reasons.
He sat next to him for a little while longer before taking his leave, grabbing a few scraps of food before heading out of the officer’s hall and heading to the yard outside the barracks. He paused and looked around. This was a place that he had known well over the years. It was a place where he had come to train and practice, and where he had worked with many of his instructors, learning how to use the sword during those earliest days. His brother had been one of his first instructors, and he had been far more skilled than Endric, leaving Endric to wonder if he would ever match his brother.
There were times when he still thought about the fact that his brother was gone. Andril had been the one who was destined to lead the Denraen, not Endric, and though he no longer fought the commission required of him—at least not much—there were times when he wondered how differently things would have gone had it been his brother rather than him.
Would Andril already have replaced their father? If so, what would have come of Endric? It was possible that he would have done the same as he had, eventually falling into line and serving the Denraen as he now did. It was equally possible that he would have remained a common soldier.
A dozen men were working on different forms, and Endric watched for a moment before stepping forward. “Not like that,” he said, his voice booming.
As he approached, the men all turned to him. They nodded. He was recognized and respected, and even the instructor—a man by the name of Michael—stepped to the side when Endric approached.
“You need to ensure that your movements are exact. There cannot be any slop in your swordsmanship.” He reached for a practice sword, and one of the younger Denraen hurriedly grabbed one for him. Endric stepped back, positioning himself into the stance needed to prepare for this catah. It was an intermediate form, but it was one the men needed to master to continue moving forward. Once they had this one down, there were others that would advance on it.
Endric stepped through the patterns, sweeping his sword. As it often did when he was working with the sword, his mind went blank, and he managed to move through the pattern quickly and easily. When he was done, he pointed to the nearest man, who happened to be the instructor, motioning him over.
Michael stepped up, and Endric guided him through the catah, moving quickly and using the defense for the pattern. When he had gone through it, he stepped back. “Better,” Endric said. “Keep your motions more compact.”
He nodded and then stepped away.
Endric turned to the next man in line, motioning for him to step up. He didn’t need to work with each man by himself, but he knew there was value in his doing so, much like there was once value in different swordmasters working with him. There was probably a better use for his time, too, but this was the task before him now.
As he worked through the men in the line, correcting some, praising others, a sense of relaxation washed over him. Maybe his father was right that he needed to accept more responsibility, but there was a part of him that didn’t really want to. It meant he would no longer have his father for an advisor, and more than that, it meant his father would have a different sort of responsibility.
“My turn,” a voice said when he had finished with the last of the men.
Endric turned to see Pendin approaching across the barracks yard. He flashed a smile. “I thought you had enough of me during our travels.”
“Oh, I had more than my fill, but I figured that since you were giving lessons…”
Pendin grabbed a practice stave and took up a position opposite him. He circled around Endric, moving in a compact pattern. Pendin was one of the few who gave him a little bit of a challenge these days, but even Pendin wasn’t able to challenge him much.
He waited for Pendin to start and dance forward, sweeping the practice stave around into a catah that Endric recognized. He blocked, sending his friend scurrying back, sweeping his practice stave in a series of quick movements. Pendin clenched his jaw and lunged forward again, this time shifting his approach. The catah he used was one Endric had shown him, though most of them were. Many of the catahs were modified from what Endric had once learned, and he had improved upon others. Pendin knew as many of them as Endric could teach.
Even knowing the same patterns, Pendin still wasn’t quite the same swordsman as Endric.
It was tied to the fact that Pendin didn’t have the connection to the Antrilii that Endric did. That connection gave him speed and strength and tied him to the teralin that flowed through the mountains in a way Pendin’s connection to the mines did not.
They danced forward and back, sliding around the courtyard, Endric never truly challenged but taking his time to ensure that Pendin had enough of a spar to find it valuable. When he was done, he finished Pendin with a flurry of movements and then stepped back, raising the practice stave and nodding to him. Pendin gr
inned and grabbed the practice stave from Endric before joining him again.
“What was that about?” Endric asked.
“I thought the men needed a reminder of who you were.”
“You think they forgot?”
“Well, maybe not who you are, but sometimes when you’ve been gone for a while, it’s easy to forget just how skilled you are. The men we traveled with got to see it, but them?” He swept his hand around, motioning to the crowd that had gathered. “They haven’t seen you in months. Besides, I don’t know how much Dendril has been working with the men, and they needed to be reminded that you are capable.”
“My father is capable.”
“Endric—”
Endric frowned at Pendin. There were no others around them, so he didn’t worry about people listening in, but what Pendin was saying troubled him.
“Dendril remains capable,” Endric said.
“Capable, but is he the most capable?”
“Not you, too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that both Senda and my father would like for me to take a greater leadership role than I have.”
“Senda doesn’t surprise me, but the general wants you to challenge him?”
“That’s the way it sounded.”
“Good,” Pendin said. He glanced around the barracks yard before turning his gaze back to Endric. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but there have been rumblings throughout the barracks since I got back. It didn’t even take long to hear them. Some are wondering whether Dendril is really the best fit to continue to lead.”
“He’s still the general.”
“He is, and I don’t think that anyone would try to challenge him—”
“They would probably lose.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen your father sparring in years. Have you?”
Endric frowned. Dendril had sparred, but it had been with Endric. They didn’t spar out in the open, not anymore, not wanting to raise the attention of others within the Denraen. No one else needed to know that Endric had surpassed Dendril in skill. It didn’t matter, not until Endric offered him a formal challenge. And he didn’t want to formally challenge his father, not really.
Soldier Song (The Teralin Sword Book 6) Page 3