Soldier Son (The Teralin Sword Book 1)

by D. K. Holmberg

  He closed his eyes, letting his mind work. Urik worried about Listain. That was clear. His warning for Andril was also clear, and now Andril was gone and Listain’s position was safe. Yet Dendril trusted Listain. His father didn’t trust easily, so his faith in Listain meant something. It must.

  The Raen’s thin face floated across his mind. He saw how much the man enjoyed taunting him. There had been definite satisfaction when he had been imprisoned, but it was more than that. He and Listain had never seen eye to eye. Still, did Listain taunt him because he disliked him or because of the way he perceived Endric treated his father?

  He had no answer. The man was a skilled soldier and a brilliant tactician. And he had control over his entire spy network. His absence left a huge hole in the Denraen. If he had been only captured, he was at risk to share vital intelligence. But if he had gone willingly…

  Senda knew the answers. He needed to get her to a healer so she could wake and tell them what had happened, and he needed to get out of the tunnels to talk to his father. Scooping Senda up carefully, he started up the stairs. Though she was lighter than he had expected, his legs felt the strain of each step. She was not frail—not Senda—but not as solid as she always appeared in her Denraen grays.

  The stairs were not lit and curved gently around, leaving the flickering lantern light of the hall behind him. Soon he was cast into complete darkness.

  He didn’t know where the stairs let out, though he suspected somewhere in the barracks. As far as he could tell, there were no doors. Or light. The stairs kept climbing. How far underground was he?

  Carrying Senda caused his arms to start burning, even as light as she was, but Endric didn’t want to set her down. Not that he feared being able to lift her. No, Senda had been through too much to be laid down upon the cold stone stairs in the dark. Better that he suffered than she.

  He continued up. The steps were narrow, more so than they had been in the wide hall at the bottom of the stairs, and became shallower as well, taking some of the strain off his legs. He kept an arm out in front of him, supporting Senda but careful that he didn’t crash her into some unseen wall, until he discovered something blocking his way.

  He shifted Senda and felt along the surface, praying it was a door rather than a wall, else he would be forced to turn around and return to the tunnels and all the way back to the crater.

  The rough texture of wood greeted his questioning hand. A door. Were he more pious, he would have offered a prayer to the gods. As it was, he searched for a handle by running his hand along the door. A splinter caught his palm and dug in painfully, but he ignored it.

  As he leaned against the door, something warm pressed on his hip.

  He tentatively reached toward what he had felt and found soft heat radiating from what seemed to be a handle made of teralin. Frowning, he steeled himself and grasped it firmly and pushed.

  The door opened slowly, but it opened.

  The other side of the door was a room he had never seen but knew existed. A small space had been carved out around the door, just enough for it to swing open. Wooden crates were stacked to the ceiling around it, creating a barricade that extended into the room. A small amount of light trickled back through the slats in the crates—enough to see clearly after the darkness of the staircase, though he didn’t know the source. Endric stepped out and closed the door behind him, noting the absence of a handle on this side.

  The room was an old storeroom that, for as long as he knew, had been barely used. Most knew it as the box room. Crates were recycled through here, but there were so many that the Denraen would almost certainly never run out. The Denraen used the boxes for various things, most often as packing for deployments. Some made sport of it and decorated them with markings of their regiment or other things dear to them. The crates this far back had never been decorated.

  Endric could follow a weaving trail through the boxes. Senda barely moved, only crying out occasionally as he bumped into the stacks. Otherwise, she was silent. As far as he could tell, there was little physically wrong with her, which frightened him more. There might be little the healers could do.

  He pushed the thought from his mind. He needed to focus on what it was he could change. Pressing along the narrow path, he slowly made his way forward. If someone didn’t know the door was back there, it was unlikely to be found. Just how Listain would want it. It just didn’t make it any quicker to access.

  As he neared the front of the box room, the stacks weren’t as tall. Denraen had painted most at some point. In the flickering lantern light, it was difficult to tell what was painted upon most of them, but a few stood out. As he stared at the markings, he began to wonder why the lantern would be lit. Most men brought their own light when grabbing boxes. Those assigned to return the crates came in pairs and were known to light the lanterns.

  Endric paused, listening for anything that might tell him there were others in the room. He heard nothing. That was good. It would be best if others didn’t discover the secret of the tunnels. He wasn’t sure how his father would manage to keep them completely secret, especially after seeing the remnants of the guard station, but he wouldn’t be the one to spoil that mystery. Besides, it could be useful to him as well. There would be time later for him to explore the extent of the tunnels.

  He smiled, realizing how much that would upset Listain.

  After waiting a few moments, he moved forward. At the front of the room, several stacks of boxes had fallen, tipped over. Legs stuck out of one end of the pile. His breath caught until he saw the dark gray uniform and realized the men were fallen Denraen. He struggled for a moment with what to do before deciding to get Senda out first and then come back for the men. His father needed to know whatever information Senda could provide.

  The other side of the door to the box room was chaos.

  Dead men lined the hall like a trail. Nearly a dozen.

  What had happened here? Endric’s heart quickened and he hurried past the bodies, not bothering to look at faces. There would be time to mourn later. Most carried a weapon, though a few were unarmed. None wore any armor. Whatever had happened had come quickly.

  He quickly shifted Senda to his shoulder—she moaned something inaudible—and unsheathed his sword. There was a quickening of his pulse as he did, and his senses seemed on edge. As he listened for anything moving, he noticed a stench in the hall, like rotten fruit. It was faint but unexpected. Suppressing a shiver, he couldn’t be slowed by his uncertainty.

  Still, he paused. He heard nothing and finally moved forward, stepping quietly and carefully around the fallen men.

  The hall was in the lower barracks. Storerooms occupied much of this level. The rest of this sublevel were the cells, though they were separated from his current position by a thick wall at one end. A separate stair led to them. Unfortunately, he was all too familiar with that area. He was less familiar with the storerooms. Doors led off the hall, most shut tight. He paused at each one, careful not to overlook something on the other side.

  As he neared the far end of the hall, the stairs now visible, the bodies began to space out. None had visible injuries. He held his sword steady in his hand, leading with it. Muscles were tense throughout his body, and his eyes flickered with each shifting change in the shadows. Part of him feared the strange dark attack he had experienced recently, dreading the sudden weakening and nausea. That it never came didn’t ease his nerves.

  The stairs were dark. The lanterns that normally lit them were either broken or, as he soon came to realize, missing. Endric inhaled deeply, then started up. It was likely that whatever had killed the Denraen had already moved through. Most likely to the tunnels. There had been many branches to the main path, none of them lit, and he realized he had been lucky not to encounter anything there.

  The stairs were silent. He moved as quietly as possible, pausing occasionally to listen for sounds of someone else. Breathing or movement. He heard nothing other than his own paranoia and continued upward.
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  The next level was deserted. More storerooms. He pressed upward.

  The next floor was at ground level. Light began filtering into the stairs, enough for him to see that he was alone. The lanterns along here were neither damaged nor missing. Just unlit. That was odd. Steeling himself for what he might see, he hurried up the last few steps.

  And froze.

  The hall was wide here, and the stairs opened near the great hall. Men moved around normally, as if unaware that below them, nearly a dozen men had been killed. Engineers examined walls in the hall, jotting notes and speaking to themselves in hushed voices. Others returned from outside, streaming back in. Many went to the great hall to gather.

  Endric hurried down the hall to the barracks entrance. Outside, the night was quiet and the air cool. A few men gave him an uneasy look as he passed. Whether it was the still-unsheathed sword or Senda draped over his shoulder, he didn’t bother to ask. Most gave him a wide berth.

  He paused, looking down the street toward the crumbled guard station building he had started from. A group of men made their way down the street, steps confident and backs tall. Even from this distance, he recognized his father’s broad form. The man remained powerfully built even as he aged. Urik walked alongside him, average height and build, but his steps were no less confident. Other Denraen trailed behind, Pendin probably with them.

  As they neared, Dendril stopped short. Endric quickly sheathed his sword and shifted Senda back to his arms, cradling her softly. She was warm but motionless. She needed help that he couldn’t provide, and he hated that.

  “Endric?” Dendril asked, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

  Endric nodded.

  “They couldn’t find you in the crater.”

  “I found the tunnels.”

  Dendril stepped closer and raised his hand. “That is not for you to discuss. Not here.”

  Endric noted the lack of questions about any injuries and snorted. “Too late. Nearly a dozen men are dead near the storeroom. I found Senda on the stairs, Olin dead in the hall outside the tunnel.”

  “Dead?” Dendril repeated. “How?” He scanned the outside of the barracks, fearful of another collapse.

  “Probably tossed down the stairs.”

  Dendril glanced over at Urik before looking back to his son. “Did you see Listain?”

  “Not Listain. Senda said he is with the Deshmahne.”

  “Taken?”

  He shook his head. “Something has happened to her. I can’t find obvious injuries, but she will barely wake. We need a healer. She knows what happened to Listain.”

  Dendril sighed. “What is happening tonight?” he said quietly to no one in particular. He sounded almost as if he expected an answer. He touched a hand to his chest and closed his eyes, breathing softly. No one else spoke. When he opened his eyes, they were clearer—more focused—and he turned to Senda. “Get her to the healers.”

  “Father—the healers can’t help with this. Summon Tresten again!”

  Dendril shook his head. “Not for this, Endric. Take her to the healers. They will see that she gets well.”

  “But she may know something about Listain!”

  “I know you worry for your friend,” he said, nearly insinuating at a relationship. “But it’s likely she knows nothing of Listain.”

  “I saw the hall—”

  “Enough!” Dendril spoke more loudly than was necessary. Such an outburst was unusual for the general, and the few men around them looked away. Urik didn’t. Something flickered across his eyes, a sort of sadness, that Endric didn’t understand. “You will obey me in this.”

  “Father?” he asked and then glanced back to the barracks. Men still streamed in. Most appeared wary. The night was otherwise clearing, the dust that had been hanging in the air now settling. The clouds overhead even began to thin, letting the light of the nearly full moon remove some of the mystery of the night.

  His father was essentially dismissing what had happened. The Deshmahne had attacked the Magi palace tonight, and then the city itself. Tresten had gone so far as to ask Dendril to pursue them. Now his father seemed to brush away the overall threat. Regardless of what Listain’s allegiances were, the man was missing!

  “The Deshmahne have attacked the city, Father.” He spoke softly but couldn’t keep the anger from his voice. “They have attacked the Magi.” He took a small step forward. His father was taller than him and wider. Endric ignored their size difference. “They killed Andril. And now you will let them have Listain?” he said, unable to keep the sneer off his face or the disdain from his voice.

  “You know not what you speak of. Take Senda to the healers and return to your quarters.” It was a command.

  “I understand why you fear them. But let us take our forces and destroy them. We need to protect the city. The Magi.”

  “You think I hesitate out of fear? You are still a child, son. Someday you may understand.” With those words, he started to turn away.

  Anger at his father seethed through him. The man refused to give him even a hint of the respect he had given Andril. Endric had earned some little measure today by stopping the Deshviili and discovering the attack in the tunnels, enough that his requests should not be taken lightly. And yet Dendril brushed him off.

  Endric glanced at Senda, lying motionless in his arms. He was barely aware of her weight. She had not moved for a long time, and he wasn’t certain what that might mean, but he was afraid. After what he had seen of the Deshmahne, he worried what type of unseen injuries she might have. What had she witnessed?

  Senda had often encouraged him to grow up, to become the person she had always seen in him. That was the reason she was often disappointed with him. She saw him as Andril saw him. He had played that off as he had played off his brother, ignoring their heartfelt requests. What had happened with his brother couldn’t be changed. But he could change how Senda looked at him.

  His father was another issue that needed to be dealt with. He didn’t know exactly what he intended, but could no longer stand being treated as anything other than the lowest of the Denraen. Something much bigger than all of them was taking place, and he knew he couldn’t stand on the sidelines any longer. Inhaling deeply, he felt Senda briefly stir in his arms. He didn’t look down at her.

  “Look at me!” Endric demanded.

  Dendril turned back warily. Pendin stepped toward him, but Endric shook his head. His friend ignored it, standing just behind Dendril. Closer to the general than Pendin would normally like.

  “Let me be a part of this. Don’t push me away. I need to be a part of this.”

  “Need to be?” Dendril repeated. “You think you are ready to command?”

  Endric took another deep breath. Was he ready to accept the responsibility his father had always wanted him to take? Was there another choice? Part of him knew what was at stake. More than just the attack on his brother. More than the attack on the city. The Deshmahne were unlike any threat the Denraen had faced. He would be a part of their response.

  Pulling himself up, he stared his father in the eyes and didn’t turn away from the steely glare he found in return. “I am.”

  Dendril snorted, then shook his head. “I do not.” The judgment was spoken softly and hung in the air.

  “You have been trying to get me to accept responsibility for years. Now I’m ready and you refuse me?” His father truly must hate him. Or hate the fact that he was not Andril. He could never replace Andril and didn’t want to, but he was ready to take the commission once offered.

  “You seek retribution. That’s not the trait of a leader, not the quality I want in the men who command my Denraen. I will not have someone with vengeance on their mind leading my men to their deaths. The ideals of the Denraen are greater than that.” He lowered his voice. “You think I fear the Deshmahne, and that guides my response. Yet there is much you do not know and are not ready to know. Now. You have your orders. Dismissed.”

  Endric looked to Pen
din, who only shook his head. It was as if his friend knew what he was thinking, knew the storm that was brewing in the back of his mind. And perhaps he did. Pendin had always known him well. Would he support him still?

  Urik stared at him, a tight frown upon his face. Even the en’raen had wanted more of a response. If the en’raen didn’t know why the Denraen didn’t attack, could there really be any reason other than his father’s fear? What didn’t Endric know? And why would his father not share with him—or at least Urik?

  And where was Listain? The fact that Dendril barely worried about the missing Raen weighed on him with surprising force. Though he despised the man, Listain was the spymaster. His absence, however it had come about, was dangerous to the entirety of the Denraen.

  Someone had to do something about it.

  His heart started pounding and a rushing sound beat in his ears. Nausea ate at his stomach. Could he do what he was thinking? Did he dare try?

  “You don’t even know what the men are saying, do you?” he asked, decided. Nervous sweat broke on his forehead. “Calling you weak.”

  Dendril turned slowly. “Careful, Endric.” The warning was spoken without inflection, devoid of feeling.

  “You’ve been acting strange since his death. People notice. And speak about it. Now even some of your officers think a different course should be taken.” He was careful to keep his gaze steady. He wouldn’t give away his conversation with Urik. Still, he couldn’t help but see the worried look on Pendin’s face.

  Dendril narrowed his eyes. “You were dismissed. This is your last warning.”

  “What would Andril say?” he asked, knowing how to hurt him.

  Rather than say anything, Dendril’s expression hardened. The heat in his eyes left and his frown disappeared.

  “Would he say that someone else should lead the Denraen if you were unwilling?”

  A frightening calm overtook his father. “You are still a child who thinks he knows everything. You have much growing up to do before you can understand.” He laughed. It was a dark and joyless sound. “And now you think you could lead the Denraen?”