Tresten turned back to the collapsed building and pointed. A wave of blue light zipped around the ground, illuminating a crater in the ground. It stretched deeper than Endric had expected—much deeper than any guard station should—as if there had been several sublevels hiding beneath the basement. Fragments of lower walls remained, even some floors. In the shadowed darkness, nothing moved.
“Nothing lives here, Dendril.” Tresten spoke softly, still staring at the remains of the building. “I can sense nothing of Listain. Or any of his apprentices.”
Endric took a breath to steady himself. The news was not all bad. “What was this place?” he finally asked his father, keeping his tone neutral.
Dendril shook his head. “It was Listain’s.”
Endric blinked at that. The Raen should have his office in the barracks, near the general, like each of the en’raens. Urik. Andril. Listain had chosen to set himself apart in what appeared to be a deep underground bunker.
His heart skipped a beat with a sudden thought. “Are there tunnels here?”
He stepped closer to the edge of the new crater. Areas in the crater were darker smudges, interrupting the strange blue light Tresten had lit.
“Some.”
“Where do they connect?”
Dendril hesitated. “All throughout the city.”
Urik looked at him and frowned. Had the en’raen known? Was this how Listain gathered all his information so easily? The man popped up all over the city without being seen. Rumors had started. Now he understood. There was nothing mystical to Listain either.
“These Deshmahne could have come in through these tunnels.” It was Pendin. He spoke softly, a slight quiver to his voice. It didn’t fit with his enormous frame.
“No. They couldn’t,” Tresten said.
“Why not?”
“These tunnels move only through the city. There is no access outside. And they are warded.”
“Are you certain?” Urik asked.
“Quite,” the Mage said. “I placed them myself.”
“That leaves the mines,” Endric said to his father.
Dendril nodded. He looked out into the city. Endric was not clear what he stared at, though his father’s eyes lost focus and grew distant. His mouth tightened into a thin line. Then he sighed, relaxing only slightly. “This miner rebellion is ill-timed.”
“Or well-timed,” Tresten suggested.
“More likely.” Dendril looked over at the old Mage, and their eyes met. A flash of unspoken communication—a kind of understanding—passed between them. “Will the Magi support what must be done?” he asked quietly.
Tresten shook his head once. “And risk upsetting the priests?” he asked, stepping closer. His voice was barely more than a whisper and didn’t carry far. Endric was not sure any others heard Tresten speak.
Dendril blinked slowly. “We run other risks if we do not pursue.”
“I trust in your judgment.”
The general narrowed his eyes, then nodded one time. “Thank you for coming, Tresten.”
“If only I could have helped more. I wish I could have helped find Listain.”
“You have done more than I could hope. Listain is not here. I pray that he found a way out before the building started to fall.”
“I as well. Other scenarios are less pleasant.” Tresten met Dendril’s eyes once more. Again, something passed between them.
Dendril breathed out slowly, then nodded.
“I must return to the palace. If there are other needs, I may again be summoned.” With that, Tresten turned and started away from the crater and the rubble. His back still stooped, though less than Endric remembered. He moved carefully, his long legs carrying him quickly away. Soon he had faded into the dust and darkness of the night.
“We must find Listain,” Dendril said after Tresten had disappeared. He looked at Urik.
The en’raen shook his head. “You know how challenging that can be. If he is down there,” he said, waving a hand toward the revealed tunnel system, “then he will be nigh impossible to find.”
“Urik. We must know if Listain lives.”
Realization dawned on Urik’s face, sweeping down from his brow and drawing his mouth open. “You fear the Deshmahne may have captured Listain?” Urik asked, his voice no more than a soft whisper.
Better that the other Denraen didn’t hear the question. Endric had, though, and understood Tresten’s concern and what had passed between the Mage and his father.
“It’s a possibility. This building was targeted. Others were damaged, but not like this. This is more than coincidental. We must know.”
“Listain would say nothing.”
“Not to ordinary soldiers, no.”
Urik closed his eyes and nodded. Endric knew what his father meant. If the Deshmahne had captured Listain to pull information from him, it was unlikely there was much he would be able to do in the face of their dark arts. Endric had felt the power they wielded, both in the Deshviili and in the strange earth rumblings that caused most of the city to be damaged. What was one man in the face of that power?
Another thought came to him, stemming from his long-held distrust of the Raen. It was a distrust he knew his father didn’t share. Still, it was there. A sudden shiver worked through him with the thought.
What if this was not an attack at all? What if Listain worked with the Deshmahne?
He turned to Pendin. His friend saw the expression on his face and shook his head. Endric needed to say something to his father, at least put the idea out there. As he started to, the ground rumbled again, heaving more violently than before.
Endric was tossed into the air and landed painfully, hitting his side as he did. The wind was knocked from him, and he coughed as he struggled to breathe. Nothing but darkness and spots crossed his vision.
The ground still shook, and he felt himself sliding.
Breath hitching, he scrambled for a handhold, but there was nothing to grab onto.
Then he was falling. Above him he heard his name.
“Endric!”
As he fell, he wondered briefly who worried for him.
18
Around him, the darkness was overwhelming, but flashes of light at the periphery of his vision hinted at something more.
Was he dead?
No. He felt pain. His arms and legs screamed from dozens of scrapes. His sides ached as if he had been punched, and his head throbbed. He wouldn’t feel that if he were dead.
Endric took a deep breath. His chest tore with pain at the effort and he coughed, spitting out a chunk of blood or phlegm. Afterward, he felt little better.
There were vague differences in the shadows. As he looked up, he saw lanterns high above him, their weak light not illuminating more than a few feet. The strange blue light Tresten had cast had disappeared with the Mage.
Endric was in the crater.
“Endric!” The voice seemed to come from a distance. Whether it was the height from which he had fallen or something wrong with his ears, he didn’t know.
“I’m here!” he called back weakly. His throat was raw and he coughed again.
He heard something from above, faint. Several voices mingled, muffling the words. Did his father even worry about his fall?
Did Endric care if he didn’t?
He took another deep breath, steadying himself. Denraen training took over. Gravel and loose dirt clung to his palms, which he wiped on his pants, then checked his legs, arms, and back to feel for obvious fractures. He felt the back of his scalp but found no open injuries, and no place hurt more than any others. His sword still hung from his side. That was important.
He had been lucky. He would have bruises, probably some cuts that might need stitching, but nothing obviously broken. He took another deep breath, inhaling and exhaling until it no longer hurt.
What had happened?
He remembered preparing to speak to his father, then the ground rumbling again. There had been no further trembles since
long before he’d summoned Tresten. Did that mean the Deshmahne had returned? Or was this something else?
The thoughts were hard. Pounding in his head made it fuzzy.
How was he going to get out of this? The crater was much deeper than he had expected, though the depth had been hard to gauge from above. Now he realized that Listain’s tunnel system must have been impressive. Still was.
“We’ll send someone down!”
It was Urik’s voice. Did that mean his father had left? Would he have mourned him as he mourned Andril?
He shook his head. The pain helped clear the thoughts away.
He was left to await his rescue. Looking around, he saw that he was on flat ground. One of the tunnels? Though his eyes had begun to adjust to the dark, he struggled to see through the blackness. He stood carefully, uncertain if he would feel more pain, but all he felt was a brief wave of nausea that passed quickly. Stretching his hands out, he felt for the walls.
When he found them, they were smooth but straight. Not curved as he would expect in a tunnel. Following along the wall with his hand, he reached up and eventually found part of what seemed like ceiling. Not tunnel then. A room. Or a hallway.
What was this place? How had Listain built it under everyone’s noses? Dendril seemed to know, as did Tresten. Did that mean the Magi had helped? The smooth stone seemed evidence of that.
Stepping forward, sliding his foot across the ground so as not to stumble upon anything in the darkness, he moved back and away from the center of the building. The walls continued, less damaged the farther he traveled, and eventually he came to a door. Frowning, he felt for a handle and twisted. It opened easily.
Endric gasped at what he saw on the other side.
Along the wall hung small lanterns unlike anything he had ever seen. Staggered dozens of feet apart, they glowed with a pale light, stretching impossibly far into the darkness.
What was this place?
Stepping into the tunnel, he ran his hand along the wall. It was cool and smooth as glass. The ground seemed the same, though he felt surefooted and didn’t fear slipping. Different from the stone of the hall he had just left, though he was not sure how he knew.
There was no way this was crafted by men. That left the Magi. Had this been designed for their purpose? How, then, had Listain been given access?
Moving helped to clear his head. The pounding pain was still there, lessened but not as overpowering as it had been when he regained consciousness. Tresten said he’d not found anyone within the remnants of the building. Had Listain escaped before the collapse? Could Senda be with him?
Endric needed to know.
He looked behind him, toward the darkness that was the outer hall he’d come through. How much time would he have before someone came for him? Not as much as he might need. He closed the door, pulling tight on the handle and twisting. In the darkness, the door might not even be found.
He hurried down the tunnel, letting the soft light of the lanterns guide him. After a while, the tunnel split off to the left and right. Lanterns lit both ways initially, though faded to darkness on the right. Left would take him toward the barracks. Right looked as if it could lead back under the rest of the city. Endric went left. It helped that it was the one he was sure remained lit.
Endric didn’t know what it was he expected to find. Likely nothing. Still, something nagged, an irritating itch that he felt compelled to follow. Not the usual nausea he felt when something was off. He had learned to trust his instincts, and they had saved him on more than one occasion. This was different.
The tunnel narrowed as it stretched onward. The soft light glowed at intervals, barely illuminating the tunnel but casting enough light for him to continue moving safely. Without that light, Endric was unsure what he would do. Would he have pressed onward? Unlikely. He was not normally scared of the dark, but getting lost within this stretch of tunnels made him more than a little nervous.
Occasionally he would see deeper shadows along the wall. Once, he stopped to investigate and realized they were branching tunnels. None were lit. Whether that was by design or for another reason, Endric didn’t know, but he chose to ignore them. What were the chances he would find someone along the darkened tunnels? An encounter like that in the dark would be deadly, which would be more likely than to expect he would emerge victorious.
He continued along the main tunnel and followed the light. If anyone had come this way, they would have needed light. That left him hopeful he could find Listain, and Senda with him.
Then what?
He wondered what he was doing, why he pushed himself through the underground maze, injured and exhausted from the day. His father would be more than angry with this. Might it be enough to finally expel him from the Denraen? Probably not, but it wouldn’t keep them on good terms. There were likely many reasons few knew about the tunnels. Now here he was exploring them.
The lights in the distance had seemed to stretch on indefinitely when he first started off. Now there seemed to be an end in sight. Darkness awaited him up ahead. Did the tunnel or the lanterns end? He didn’t know how long he had been walking—the strange lights and his still-throbbing head from the fall made telling the passing of time difficult—but he’d gone a long way. What would the reaction be if he had to turn back?
Finally, he reached the darkness.
The tunnel simply ended. Another door, much like the one he had entered through, blocked his way. After briefly worrying that it would be locked, he twisted the handle to find that it opened easily. The other side led into a wide room. Lanterns of traditional style, not the strange lanterns of the tunnel, blazed brightly. The floor was stone and smooth, but not the glasslike smoothness the tunnel had possessed.
Endric passed through the door and closed it solidly shut behind him. Looking around the room, he noticed a familiar scent to the air. Moments passed before he recognized the still mustiness of the lower level of the barracks. Had he come so far already? Could the tunnel have led directly to the barracks?
A staircase at the far end of the room caught his attention. He hurried toward it and nearly tripped upon something lying at the bottom of the stairs.
A body.
It was dressed in Denraen grays and twisted, so it was hard to tell if it was male or female. His breath caught as he took a step back. The person was lying facedown. Endric’s heart started hammering, fear for Senda sending it pounding wildly within his chest.
Kneeling before the body, he reached out carefully and felt for the person’s neck, checking for a pulse. Best not to twist an injured man if he still lived. The strange contortions the person was in made that unlikely, but he would rather be certain. There was no pulse. Grasping the shirt firmly, he lifted and twisted the body over.
He had to move the shirt to see a face, then fell backward with surprise. Olin’s dead eyes stared up at him. His head lolled on his neck, obviously broken. His face had a few scrapes, but nothing significant.
Why was Olin here?
He looked around the room behind him. There was no damage from the earthquakes. No cracks were obvious on the walls, and the ground beneath him was undamaged. The lanterns hung as if they had been there for years, and though recently lit, they hadn’t been moved. Then what had happened?
A soft noise higher up caught his attention. Something or someone was there. Suddenly concerned that there might be another injured person on the stairs, he gently laid Olin down and stepped over him, hurrying upward. A dozen steps up, he saw another person. They lay on the stairs, feet toward him and head resting on a higher step. Long dark hair had been pulled into a braid and trailed off to her side. A few strands had pulled free.
Senda.
Endric leaned down and checked for a pulse. Faint, but it was there. She stirred beneath his touch and her eyes fluttered open, distant and unfocused, but open.
“Senda,” he said, touching her cheek. It was cold. Blood had crusted dried, and he scratched it off as he stroked her cheek.<
br />
“Endric?” she asked, her voice weak.
“I’m here.”
“Olin?” she asked and started to push herself up.
Endric kept a hand on her shoulder. He didn’t know the extent of her injuries and didn’t want to risk further injury. “He’s gone. What happened?”
“Gone? Not Olin!” she whispered. Her eyes fell closed again and she took a ragged breath.
“Senda. What happened? Where is Listain?”
“Listain?” She repeated the question. Her lips were dry and cracked, and her tongue slipped out tentatively to moisten them. Her eyes snapped open again. “Listain!” she screamed.
She tried sitting up again and he held her back. He didn’t know how badly she had been hurt, but Senda was strong and pushed up wildly, her legs thrashing. At least they still moved. Her back arched and her arms quivered with the effort she exerted trying to get up. Her eyes darted from side to side, unfocused. After moments of struggling, she sank back and sighed as if exhausted. Endric had barely been able to hold her back as she struggled.
“He’s gone,” she whispered, chest heaving with the effort of speaking.
“Where did he go?” he asked.
She shook her head. “With them.”
A cold shiver passed up his spine. Them. Did she mean Deshmahne? “Senda. Did Listain go with the Deshmahne?”
Her body tensed as he spoke, then she hissed. It was a feral sound.
“Senda?” he said, touching her forehead to soothe her. Her injuries must be more than what were visible.
She relaxed at his touch but didn’t reopen her eyes. Her breathing slowed and became rhythmic and steady. Endric kept stroking her hair, finding it softer than he had expected. Nothing about Senda was soft; no woman could be soft in the Denraen. Yet here she was, helpless. She snuggled into him as he sat there. Endric found that he didn’t mind.
What had happened here? Olin was dead, Senda barely able to speak. And Listain missing. Could the Deshmahne have reached these tunnels? Tresten said they were warded—that the Deshmahne should not be able to access them. What if Listain helped? Could the Raen be involved somehow?
Soldier Son (The Teralin Sword Book 1) Page 14