“I don’t know,” he answered slowly. “Probably wait to see what Dendril does.” He couched his words with a sense of caution. Best that Senda believed he would obey the Denraen. She narrowed her eyes again and finally frowned. Endric suppressed a shiver. It was as if she read his mind.
“Don’t do anything rash.” The words were firm. A warning.
“Senda—”
“I know how you think, Endric.” Her voice softened as she said his name. “Mourn your brother. See what Dendril does. Let the Denraen settle this.” The last came as a request.
The advice was the same as what his father had given, though more gentle. Senda held a soft spot for him, but their friendship was too valuable for him to act upon it. His dalliances never lasted, and he couldn’t lose Senda when it inevitably was over.
It was the reason she warned him. She might indulge him a little now, grant him some leeway, but he knew if he started working against the Denraen, Senda would have little choice. She would exploit her knowledge of him to protect the Denraen. There was little doubt that Listain would enjoy that moment.
He didn’t answer her request. Rather than make a promise he was unsure he could keep, he chose to change topics. “There are rumors of a miner rebellion,” he offered. Giving her information might lead her to reciprocate.
“What do you know?”
Endric sniffed as the question was reflected back onto him and he shook his head. “They may withhold the teralin.”
He watched her face and realized she had not known. Did that mean Listain didn’t know either? She quickly worked through the implications and frowned.
“Where did you hear this?” she asked, sliding forward on his bed to hover on the edge. Her arms were locked at her sides as if she readied to launch from her seat.
Should he reveal Pendin? He was a friend to Senda as well, but the intense look on her face gave Endric pause. There was something more to her expression as well. If he didn’t know her as well as he did, he might not have seen it. A hint of nervousness. Why would that information make her nervous?
“What does it mean, Senda?”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps nothing.” She paused, thinking about something before continuing. “Maybe more than I know. I must—”
A knock on the door cut her off.
They both looked to the doorway quickly, and Senda pushed herself off the bed. Endric stayed where he was. Olin stood in the doorway, looking between the two of them. A mix of amusement passed across his face and was replaced with a more solemn expression. It was little different than his norm.
“Endric,” he said, hesitating. “I just heard about Andril.” There was concern in his words and an offer of support. Olin didn’t need to speak it for him to know. The man rarely said much, but what he did say held layers of meaning.
Endric only nodded and fought back tears again. Senda had kept him from dwelling on his loss, but with Olin’s arrival, the feelings surged anew. He glanced at Senda. She stood near the open door, biting her lip. Olin looked over at her as well.
In another time, Endric would have laughed at the pining look upon Olin’s face. Senda ignored it as if she couldn’t see his expression.
“Endric. I am so sorry,” Senda said. “You know I will do anything I can.” His eyes widened a moment at the unexpected offer. “For now, I must find Listain.”
As she left, he wondered again what more she knew but didn’t tell him.
Olin looked from Endric toward Senda as she departed. “I came only to offer condolences,” he said and turned to follow Senda out the door, pulling it closed as he left.
And so it was that he was alone, staring again at the stack of books Andril had given him. The tears fell freely then and didn’t stop for a long time.
11
Endric stared at the palace, his mind blank and unable to concentrate on anything. Clouds wrapped the upper spires like a cloak, shrouding the peaks from view. The pale stone seemed duller than usual, as if it, too, mourned, and rain ran in rivulets down its side.
Endric blinked slowly, sighing. Rain soaked the edge of the street, but he didn’t move. It had taken all the energy he could muster to simply leave the barracks. His feet carried him here, to look upon the home of the Magi. Now all he could do was stare.
How could the gods have allowed Andril to die?
A chill wind whistled from the north and he shivered, but even that was half-hearted and did little to warm him.
A week had passed and he still struggled with Andril’s passing. Patrol had been abandoned. He had not bothered to seek Urik’s approval and distantly wondered what the en’raen would say when he next saw him. Endric had spent his time confined to his room and rarely even came out to eat.
Pendin saw that he had food and drink. His friend simply sat with him the first night, saying nothing, but there was something comforting in his presence. After that, he had seen that Endric had privacy. If nothing else, Andril’s death eased some of the tension that had grown between them. Pendin said nothing of their assigned patrol, and Endric mostly forgot about the miners and the possible rebellion.
He suspected Senda and Olin had stopped to check on him as well. Though he had not seen them, he would often awaken to the pleasant scent of Senda’s soap and know she had been there. A part of him missed her presence, but he would never tell her that.
“It’s been a week.”
Endric turned slowly to see Urik standing in the street, dark cloak keeping the rain off. The en’raen left his hood down.
“How are you?” Urik asked. Endric was surprised to hear a measure of concern to the words.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. He had spoken rarely since learning of Andril, and his voice sounded foreign.
Urik furrowed his brow and huffed out a breath. “Eventually that will be true enough. But it will take time.”
Endric only shook his head in response. There was no other answer. On top of his sadness, the feelings of guilt remained nearly overwhelming.
He constantly replayed each interaction he’d had with Andril in the days leading up to his departure. Each memory was painful and left him with a hollowness deep inside, but a particular memory made him feel even worse.
Andril had shown a certain uncharacteristic hesitation before leaving. Endric had thought he intended to ask him to join his regiment, but Andril had done nothing other than rebuke him. Even then, he could probably have pushed Andril to let him join him. When his brother had needed him most, he had not been there for him.
Endric felt a growing sense that Andril had known his mission was anything but straightforward. Had he learned something more about these Deshmahne? Wondering what his brother might have known drove him crazy.
“Nothing can change the fact that Andril is gone,” Urik said when Endric remained silent.
The words startled him and he shook his head again. “I should have been with him.” The words sounded bitter, even to him.
“And your father would be mourning two sons now.”
“My father wouldn’t mourn my loss.” He remembered how flat his father’s eyes had looked after learning Andril’s fate. His death wouldn’t cause the same distress.
“You think your father cares so little about you?”
He only shrugged.
“Any other soldier would have been kicked from the Denraen for half the offenses you have. Still, here you are. Not because you are a skilled soldier—which you are—but there are dozens of men your equal with the sword. Your father knows why you rebel.” Urik paused and took a step forward. “Knows. And understands. It is this reason you remain Denraen.
“You would push away your father rather than understand him. Andril’s loss has hurt him. Yours would hurt as much. If you think otherwise, you are more misguided then I was led to believe.” A moment passed as Urik stared at the palace before he looked back at Endric. “Or perhaps this is simply your anger at losing your brother. That, I can understand.”
The comment
pushed through the sadness. “You’ve lost someone close to you too,” Endric realized.
Anger briefly flashed across Urik’s face and was just as quickly crushed, leaving his usual flat expression. Slowly, the en’raen nodded. “I have,” he admitted.
Endric sighed but didn’t say anything. If Urik wanted to tell him, he would.
“I lost a son once,” Urik said. The words seemed to stick in his throat, as if even saying it pained him. “And my wife. Years ago, and before I lived in Voiga.”
He turned away, but not before Endric saw the grief still evident in his eyes.
“I grieved a long time. For months, I was inconsolable. Eventually the pain faded and passed.” The tone of his voice gave lie to those words. “As it will with you. My only advice to you is to hold his memory close. Over time, it too will fade.”
A distant peal of thunder accented the statement and the rain fell heavier, water pooling along the street.
Urik sighed and looked Endric in the eyes. “I am sorry for your loss. Andril was a good Denraen. He was a better man. Now,” Urik said, his voice firming. He’d moved on and expected Endric to as well. That was the Denraen way. Mourn and move on. “You have neglected your assignment.”
“I would have been useless on patrol.”
Urik shrugged. “It’s time you return to your duties.”
“To learn the ideals of the Denraen,” he quoted.
Urik nodded and watched Endric’s face.
“When?”
“Find Calnin for your assignment. He will expect you tonight.”
Endric could only nod. Calnin meant more patrol, and likely Stahline again. Did Urik intentionally assign him to Calnin because of their history, or was it coincidental? Either way, the result would be unpleasant.
“Yes, sir,” he said, thumping his fist to his chest in a lazy salute.
Urik considered him for a moment before turning, heading away from the palace. Endric watched the rain slide down his cloak and considered asking what he really wanted to know. “Urik!” he hollered, deciding.
Urik stopped and turned slightly.
Endric hurried over to him, splashing through puddles as he did. Rain soaked through his boots unpleasantly. “How did he die?”
Urik cocked his head and stared for a moment. “You know that information is restricted to the council,” he said, speaking quietly.
Endric nodded. “I have to know.”
“Some would say you honor your brother best by obeying the Denraen.”
He said nothing, uncertain how to respond.
Urik watched him for a long moment, then shook his head. “It is for you to decide. A man must choose his own path.” He said the last quietly and with a hint of sadness. He inhaled deeply, and his eyes hardened. “Know that I will deny telling you this.” He waited a moment for Endric to nod his acknowledgement. “Very well. First some background. Reports tell us the Deshmahne claim the gods do not exist. We know that they celebrate power and the destruction of that which the Urmahne would protect.” A wave of darkness swept across his face. “In this, they openly bastardize the lessons of the Urmahne. Humility gives way to coveting strength. Peace gives way to bloodshed.” Urik stopped, catching himself. Anger seemed to surge through him and he visibly suppressed it.
“Why Andril?” Endric asked.
Urik shook his head. “Who can say? Wrong place? He was sent to investigate the reports, to learn about the Deshmahne and their role in the growing conflicts in the south. He was not expected to meet resistance, at least not where he died. He had not even reached the southern continent.”
“Where did he die?” His father had not given him details. For some reason, he found them necessary.
Urik scratched at his arm, ignoring the rain running down his face. “They were waiting for the tides to reveal the land bridge so they could cross. They were to go into Coamdon and meet with the Deshmahne, hope to learn more about their intent.” Urik’s mouth turned briefly in a frown, and a fleeting expression crossed his eyes. “Instead, they were ambushed as they waited. Apparently slaughtered.”
“By how many?”
The en’raen shook his head. “We do not know.”
“But you have an idea.” Listain was very good at gathering information and making educated guesses. He was certain his father would want to know all he could and would have asked Listain to investigate. The council would have been informed. That would be how Urik knew as much as he did.
“Some,” he agreed.
“How many?” He repeated the question. He needed to know how many men it had taken to kill his brother.
Urik sighed. “Probably no more than fifty.”
Endric frowned. Fifty men against the Denraen? And priests at that? “How is that possible? Fifty priests destroyed an entire regiment of Denraen?” Endric shook his head. “Including Andril. There is more to it than that.”
“Possibly,” Urik agreed. “As I said, they were ambushed.”
Endric immediately turned over what he knew about everything from the geography of the crossing to how Andril ran his regiment. There was no way that all those men were lost in a simple ambush. Urik watched him and said nothing. The en’raen knew more but didn’t elaborate. What could explain this?
That was not the question he had asked. He wanted to know how the Deshmahne had managed to kill the Denraen. He needed to know why.
“Why now? What reason did they have in attacking the Denraen?”
“You begin to ask the right questions,” Urik said. The rain fell heavier and he glanced at the blackening sky. “A better question is what message did they send your father by killing your brother. What message did they send by annihilating a regiment?”
Endric thought about the question for a long moment before answering. There could only be one intention in a message of that sort, and it was one that the Denraen were unaccustomed to receiving. It reflected a lack of concern about the Denraen response, no fear for the consequences.
Attacking the Denraen was a demonstration of strength. A declaration of power.
“I see from your face that you have come to the same conclusion as the council,” Urik said.
“They don’t fear the Denraen.”
Urik shook his head. “If they did, they do not any longer.”
“And what is our response?”
The en’raen sighed. “For now, we acquire intelligence. We must know how the Deshmahne destroyed an entire regiment. We cannot risk another such loss.”
There was a certain inflection to his words, almost distaste. Endric realized that not all of the council agreed with the plan. “Waiting allows the Deshmahne to grow stronger. Gain influence.”
Urik nodded. “This show of strength was perhaps not for our benefit. Others have seen and now know of the Deshmahne. Many people respect strength, regardless of who wields it.”
“Was this the first such demonstration?”
Urik shrugged slightly and rain sluiced down his arms. “Not if you believe the rumors.”
“Then it will not be the last.”
The en’raen’s eyes hardened and a dark flicker of emotion passed across his face. He shook his head slightly.
“Will waiting improve our response?”
“I fear the Denraen cannot simply wait for the Deshmahne to grow stronger. The longer we wait, the stronger the Deshmahne could become. Eventually, it may take an act of war to stop them.”
He didn’t need to say it was unlikely the Denraen would openly engage in such a war. That, more than anything, went against the core tenets of the Denraen. The Magi would also oppose anything of the sort.
“There is more to these priests, isn’t there?” Endric asked. Senda had mentioned rumors, but they seemed impossible to believe.
Urik met Endric’s eyes. “Do you need me to spell it out?” he asked. “For the Deshmahne to defeat a regiment of Denraen, there must be more to them. Simple soldiers wouldn’t defeat a regiment of Denraen, even in ambush.” He
frowned and scrubbed a hand across his head, sending splatters of rain from his hair. “If not soldiers, then what? Are they somehow endowed with special strength or speed? Or worse—are they gifted like the Magi?” He grunted and shrugged, folding his arms across his chest. “Nothing is truly known. They celebrate power and violence. They decry the gods the Urmahne celebrate. And their influence spreads.” He took a deep breath. “That is the mystery the council and your father fears. That is why I fear delay.”
The idea that these priests had access to some dark ability had a disturbing logic to it. Endric shivered again, unable to help himself. Urik saw it and nodded, as if understanding.
“Now that you know,” Urik continued, “you will say nothing until the council acts.” He turned and started off before pausing. “That is not a suggestion, Endric. Report to Calnin tonight. Your time of mourning is over.”
Urik marched away, ignoring the rain and the increasingly bitter wind as he headed down the street, back toward the barracks. Endric watched for a moment, struggling with his order, knowing Urik was right. He had grieved for a week. More than Andril would have wanted. Duty called.
The loss of Andril somehow made suffering patrol even more difficult. Calnin relished the assignment, and Endric couldn’t really blame him; were their places reversed, he would likely do much the same. If Pendin were again assigned patrol with him, the tension between them would return. He didn’t know if he could handle alienating Pendin now.
Endric sighed and turned back toward the palace. Clouds hovered even lower, obscuring much of the towers, leaving only the main, broad portion of the palace visible. Sighing, he turned to return to the barracks when something caught his attention and he froze.
A figure shuffled around the palace grounds. Obviously Magi, and with his back stooped by age. The Mage followed the outer stone wall separating the grounds from the rest of the city, standing tall enough that Endric could see the tops of his shoulders over the wall. At each teralin gate, he paused and placed a hand upon the metal. He held the teralin gate until a deep thud, like a heavy bell tolling, almost shook his hand free. By the third gate, Endric saw that he closed his eyes as he touched the metal, his lips moving as if speaking to himself.
Soldier Son (The Teralin Sword Book 1) Page 8