“There is more to being Denraen than being a skilled fighter,” the general said. “If you choose to ignore the opportunity I have given you, ignore the chance to lead, then you will learn what is expected of my soldiers.”
“I know what is expected of the Denraen,” he said.
“No. You do not.” His father stood and fixed his eyes on Endric. “You have been protected. That stops now.” He grabbed a slip of parchment and scribbled something before folding it and fixing his stamp upon it. “This is your last chance, Endric. Do not treat it lightly.” He handed the parchment across the desk. “Give this to Urik. You are dismissed.”
Endric took the paper and left. His eyes lingered on the council table, sliding off when he reached the door. He felt his father’s eyes on his back. Though he had heard no movement, he suspected the general had sat back down, staring at him from behind his desk.
Endric didn’t look back as he turned down the hall.
3
He found Urik in his office. It was smaller than his father’s and had room for little more than his desk, but Urik had been en’raen long enough that the office was cluttered with stacks of books and papers. Nothing like the clean organization his father maintained.
Endric stood silently before the desk while Urik read the parchment. Endric had resisted the urge to open it and see what his father had written. Whether it was out of fear or respect, he didn’t know. Perhaps he truly didn’t care. He crossed his arms over his chest so that he didn’t reach for his missing sword.
Urik quickly finished reading it and set it down atop his desk. “You know what is said here?” he asked. His eyes caught the crossed arms and narrowed slightly.
Endric shook his head once. He imagined what the general had requested. Discipline had been mentioned often enough that he knew Urik was expected to dole out some sort of punishment.
Urik smiled. It was a slight turn of his lip. It did nothing to make him more remarkable, and it was this plainness that made him a dangerous opponent. Most didn’t expect the keen mind and quick sword behind such average features. Yet his father had seen the whole man.
“You are assigned to me.”
Endric frowned. “One of your regiments?”
Urik turned his flat brown eyes upon him. “Me.”
“I’m not sure what that means.”
Urik chuckled, though it came out as a grunt. “Me neither. Seems you have offended Andril. So Dendril assigns you to me. To ‘learn the ideals and understand the role of the Denraen.’” Urik looked up from the parchment and shook his head. “Be easier if you took the commission he offered.”
Easier, but not what he wanted. It was simpler to just serve. There was something satisfying in being a mindless soldier. He didn’t tell Urik that. Instead, he said, “It’s no longer offered, I think.”
Urik laughed again. “You don’t know your father then. To him, any man can be an officer. He just needs to earn the right.”
Endric didn’t think there was anything he could do that would regain his father’s good graces, let alone warrant earning a commission. Too many years had been spent intentionally antagonizing him. Still, he never let it show. Always the general, never the father.
They were interrupted by a harsh knock on Urik’s door. Urik looked over Endric’s shoulder and frowned. “Enter.”
The door opened to reveal Listain standing on the other side. His face became drawn and tightened even more when he saw Endric. He was clean-shaven, revealing a few old scars along his chin. Most of the officers shaved, but Listain frequently grew out a beard, hiding his scars, though he kept his hair shorn close in the style of the Denraen officers. Only the general wore a beard routinely.
“The general convenes the council,” Listain said, flicking his gaze to Urik.
“When?”
“Now. New report from the south.”
“I’ve warned of the south, but you have convinced him that it’s not a risk.”
Listain shot Urik a hard look. As Raen, he outranked Urik.
Urik nodded carefully. Listain glanced at Endric before turning and closing the door. “Seems we will start later. Best that your father assigned you to me rather than the Raen.”
Endric looked back at the closed door and nodded. Listain would have tormented him and relished doing so. Even his father had acknowledged that.
“I know the two of you haven’t always seen eye to eye,” Urik continued.
Endric turned to Urik and snorted briefly before he remembered his place. He was assigned to Urik to learn how to be Denraen. It wouldn’t do to offend him already. “He is the Raen.”
Urik laughed. Emotion never reached his eyes. “Exercising caution already?” He tilted his head, seeming to weigh Endric before smiling slightly. “The two of you are both misunderstood. It is only natural that such misunderstandings lead to conflict.” He hesitated, glancing at the door as he considered his next words. “Listain serves the Denraen well. The intelligence he gathers is nearly irreplaceable. You would do well to remember that.”
The implication was clear. Listain was irreplaceable. Endric was not.
Urik chuckled softly, breaking the brief tension. “There are some things his spy network does not help him see. Such as the rumors that spread about him.” Urik shrugged. “Or maybe he sees and doesn’t care.” He met Endric’s eyes and held them. “Who is to know?”
Endric shifted uncomfortably, uncertain what to say.
“Perhaps he knows his days are numbered. That may be why he suggested Andril head south,” Urik said, the comment strangely casual. “Andril will succeed your father someday, and then—”
Another knock interrupted them, leaving Endric wondering what he’d been about to say.
Urik glanced at the door and then grabbed a handful of papers that he stuffed into a small satchel near his desk. “Council awaits.” He glanced up at Endric. “I think for your first assignment, we should focus on the ideals of the Denraen.” He smiled, his teeth flashing briefly. Turning to his desk again, he leaned and scribbled something upon a scrap of paper, then held it out for Endric. “Take this to Tildan. You have patrol the next three nights.”
Endric bit back a comment at his assignment, feeling a surge of irritation flash through him. Patrol was meant for the earliest of recruits… and perhaps that was the point.
Urik watched his face for a moment, then pushed past him as he moved toward the door, holding it open while he waited for Endric to follow. “After that, we will discuss what is next.”
Urik hurried down the hall toward Dendril’s office and the council. Andril would be there, sitting alongside their father. Endric had never felt that their father wanted the same for him. Not that it mattered to him anyway. He was happier being a simple soldier.
A thought troubled him as he made his way to find his sword and then Tildan. He had not thought of how Andril’s eventual succession would affect others. Andril’s promotion to en’raen had come with Tordal’s retirement. The man had served the Denraen for thirty years and had left scarred but on his own terms. All knew Dendril intended Andril to be general. None in the Denraen debated the logic of the decision; Andril was nearly as respected as Dendril, if not as unapproachable.
But Andril’s eventual promotion would impact others. Each general put their own stamp on the Denraen leadership, and Dendril had been no different. Something Urik had said bothered him. The spymaster was calculating and a skilled planner, traits his father respected and used. But could those same traits complicate things for his brother? Could Listain already fear Andril’s promotion?
He started down the hall toward the cells to retrieve his sword, wondering if there was more to Listain’s attitude toward him than he had thought and suddenly realizing he might need to be more careful.
4
The alley was dark.
The clouds overhead let little light through, but the alley would have been dark even on the sunniest day. Not that there were many of those in Vasha.
Endric squinted down the alley, looking for motion more than anything else, but saw nothing.
The longer he stood there, the more he wondered what it was Urik had him doing. Endric held little rank, but enough that he had not been on patrol in years. Pendin stood next to him, silent and more relaxed than Endric felt. Tildan had pulled Pendin from his other duties to patrol with Endric, telling him that it was Urik’s request. Pendin had not objected, but Endric saw the displeasure on his face, leaving him wondering if that wasn’t really the lesson Urik intended.
It was the fifth night of patrols. Urik had only assigned him three, but so far Endric had been unable to find the en’raen, so he kept at the patrol rather than upset Urik. Fear of expulsion from the Denraen was a powerful motivator. As much as he refused the commission his father had offered, Endric didn’t know what else he would do if not for the Denraen.
The other nights had been silent and uneventful. Pendin never mentioned his annoyance with the assignment, but then, he wouldn’t. Somehow Endric would have to make it up to his friend. Only, he didn’t know how. Endric had no influence, and what little pull he may once have had because of his name disappeared as men saw him on patrol.
He sighed, breaking the thick silence between them. Tonight was darker, and they were deeper in the Stahline section than they had patrolled on previous evenings. Endric kept his hand hovering over the hilt of his sword. The shadows along the alley shifted and he tensed, squeezing the hilt. The leather wrapping creaked.
Pendin turned and looked down at him, shaking his head once. “Relax,” he whispered.
Endric grunted. “Easy for you to say.”
Pendin frowned. “Because I grew up in this part of town?”
“Mostly because you stink. You smell like you belong here.” He hoped the words came out as a joke, briefly fearing how Pendin would take the comment.
There was truth to his words as well. This part of the city smelled of rot and decay. Once, he had thought it simply from the trash and waste in the countless alleys that worked through here, but the problem went deeper than that.
Pendin shook his head. “Nice of you to say. Tell me. Why is it that we’re here?”
Endric snorted. “I am to learn the ideals of the Denraen.”
Pendin narrowed his eyes, considering the comment a moment before he chuckled quietly and shook his head. “And I am here because I know…”
“This part of the city. Dirty Stahline.”
Endric looked at Pendin. His muscular friend fairly filled the alley, and Endric sensed his frown. Pendin rarely shared much of his youth, but Endric knew the fact that he had survived to become Denraen after growing up in this part of the city was a feat in itself.
Vasha, the city of the Magi, prided itself on following Urmahne custom. Peace. Fairness. Justice. Still, there were hard parts of town. The Stahline section was one of the hardest.
“Most in this part of the city work the mines,” Pendin said.
Endric grunted softly as he looked around. It felt like it. This section of town was dirty and dark like the mines. An air of oppression seemed to weigh over everything. “Not all, though.”
Pendin met his eyes. “Not all,” he agreed. “Some are thieves. Some women are whores. Few are honest tradesman.”
“You are.”
Pendin shrugged. “It wasn’t easy leaving Stahline,” he admitted. “Most here feel abandoned by the Magi. And the Denraen. Most feel that you abandon your family by leaving.”
Pendin looked away and Endric didn’t push. Pendin rarely spoke of his family remaining in Stahline. Endric knew there was a sister and that his parents still lived, but little else.
A sound came from the end of the alley, and Pendin motioned for him to follow. Technically, Endric outranked Pendin, but barely. That mattered little between the two. Endric followed him into the darkness. It practically swallowed him.
Light at each end of the alley was all he saw. The walls lining the alley were sensed more than seen and pressed upon him like a physical weight. Pendin moved swiftly. Endric followed silently, using the skills Andril had taught him so long ago.
They reached the end of the alley and found nothing. It opened onto a street only slightly wider than the alley. Storefronts were lit with sooty lanterns that smeared the lettering of their signs. Most along the street couldn’t afford oil, and Endric didn’t want to know what it was they burned instead. Instead, he ignored it like the Denraen had done to this part of town for years, preferring to focus most of their patrols outside the city.
Pendin motioned him to follow out into the street. They wore their Denraen gray, and each wore his sword at his side. Still, Endric didn’t feel comforted by that. Perhaps it was the disdain the people in this part of town felt for the Denraen. Or something else. Pendin’s presence provided small comfort.
A shuffling sound scratched its way along the broken stones that defined the street. The dim light of the lanterns cast a hazy light—nearly enough to see down the street—but there was nothing. No one moved.
“What is it?” Endric whispered.
Pendin cocked his head, listening, and turned to face Endric. “I don’t hear anything.”
The strange sound was farther away but still audible, like a stick scratching at a stone. Or nails on stone. Endric could see nothing.
He shouldered past Pendin and stepped carefully down the street. The leather wrapping of his hilt was comforting as he gripped it, now careful not to make a sound. He moved as silently as possible, envisioning Andril as he did, trying to mimic the silence his brother so easily managed. He didn’t think he could copy his dangerous grace.
The street ended at an intersection. Endric saw little more than storefronts along the cross street. The lanterns were no brighter. If possible, they put off an even hazier light as the street stretched into darkness. He sensed Pendin’s approach and turned. As he did, something scurried off between two nearby buildings.
“What do you see?” Pendin asked.
Endric took a deep breath and relaxed. “Just a rat, I think.”
Pendin chuffed and shook his head. “Surprised it came out of the garbage lining the alley. Surprised it didn’t attack you.” He stared down the street, his eyes narrowed as he tried to pierce the darkness. “Come on. We should be patrolling. Not sneaking.”
“You sure?” Endric knew how the Stahline people felt about the Denraen. Pendin had made that clear.
Pendin frowned at him and waved him forward. They started down the intersecting street, moving quietly and staying to the middle. Neither spoke. Their steps were muted along the stone, the sound quickly enveloped by the silence. Little unsettled him, but this patrol somehow managed to do so.
The street eventually opened onto a square. Once, it had been a place of greenery in the midst of the city. Now, crumbling sculptures marked each corner. A stone bench along the edge of the square was tipped over. Grass no longer grew; instead, tall weeds sprouted randomly. No lanterns lit the square, and what light seeped toward the center did so by accident.
“Fits this part of town,” Endric whispered.
Pendin ignored him. His eyes were fixed on something on the far side of the square. Endric couldn’t make out what it was that Pendin saw. Suddenly, Pendin grabbed his jacket with a firm grasp and pushed him behind a building. Into darkness. He raised a finger to his lips and nodded toward the opposite side of the square.
“What is it?” Endric said. He pitched his words to be barely more than a whisper.
“Not sure. Movement.”
“We’re Denraen. We’re the ones patrolling,” he said.
“Doesn’t matter. Not here. Gather information first. Then we can patrol.”
Endric snorted quietly. “We have the swords.”
“They may have the numbers. Trust me—the type of people that would be out at night here wouldn’t hesitate to attack Denraen.” The whispered words seemed to hang in the heavy, cool air.
Pendin pointed to an area no
light managed to penetrate. At first, Endric saw nothing but inky blackness. Gradually the darkness seemed to lighten as his eyes adjusted to the low light and he saw what had caught Pendin’s attention.
Two figures stood on the far side of the square. One was cloaked and only distinguishable as a change in the blackness. The hood of the cloak appeared to flicker, a smudge of changing shadows, and Endric imagined the figure looking around nervously. The cloak was pulled tight and the outline of a sword was concealed beneath.
The other person stood casually and appeared dressed in a simple robe. As his eyes adjusted, Endric saw this figure much more clearly. Nearly a head taller than the other—and taller even than most of the Magi he’d ever seen—he didn’t carry a weapon.
A Mage.
Endric was surprised to see one of the Magi in Stahline. They tended to avoid this section of the city—this level, really—preferring to ignore its existence. The Magi were the first priests of the Urmahne, and though they no longer served that role, they still held themselves above the common man. And those from Stahline were as common as men could be.
“A Mage,” Endric whispered.
He sensed Pendin turn toward him. “You sure?”
“Too tall to be anything else. And the robe is a giveaway.”
Pendin stared for a few moments longer. “I’ll take your word for it.”
They two figures spoke for a few moments longer before suddenly parting. The Magi turned and came toward them, walking quickly but confidently. Though they were Denraen and served to protect the Magi, something told Endric this one didn’t want to be seen. Some said the Magi saw well in the dark. Endric was not sure if it was true or not but didn’t want to take a chance. He pulled Pendin deeper in the space between the buildings and crouched down.
The Mage passed them without pausing. There was just enough light for Endric to see a smooth jawline and softly angular face. His hair was cut short and his gray robe practically dragged across the stone.
Soldier Son (The Teralin Sword Book 1) Page 3