Endric hesitated, unwilling to reveal his affiliation with the Denraen. “There must be some soldiers able to help.”
The Antrilii sniffed, then answered with a single shake of his head. “This is something we must do.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If you would face groeliin, you would understand.” He fell silent for a few moments. “We are Antrilii. This is our task.”
Endric felt no clearer on the issue, but at least he knew Dentoun’s name and some little about why they had appeared in the southern lands.
The Denraen knew of the Antrilii, knew them as skilled warriors, but nomads who wandered the near-deserted north, not settling in one place for long. Few knew how many Antrilii actually lived in the northern lands. That was the extent of Endric’s knowledge. Now, at least, he knew they hunted groeliin. Whatever they were.
They rode on in relative silence. The merahl called, keeping a steady pace in front of them. The moon lit the night with a gentle glow, and no clouds marred the sky. In other circumstances, it would be a peaceful night, made all the more relaxing by the wind whispering softly through the long grasses.
As they topped a gentle rise, Endric saw the landscape laid out before him in a familiar pattern and recognized where they were.
They rode nearly straight south, cutting through the grasses. The horses had no difficulty with footing, and Dentoun didn’t seem to fatigue as he walked alongside the horse, leading Endric. If they continued this direction, they would reach Ilowan.
“There is a town not far from here,” he said to Dentoun.
The Antrilii didn’t look back as he answered. “Aye. We will pass through tonight.”
Endric considered the response. He had not expected that the Antrilii would pass through Ilowan, instead thinking they would avoid the small town if possible. The Antrilii continued down the gentle hillside, following the rolling landscape. Hours passed as they rode, the moon again sinking down in the sky. The night grew quieter and even the call of the merahl grew less frequent. Still there, though, and reassuring for its presence.
He was surprised at that. Having creatures as powerful and as obviously intelligent on his side provided a certain comfort in the deepness of the night, even if they didn’t follow at their side. Knowing they roamed the rolling grasslands, scaring away other predators as they had the laca only a few nights before, was heartening.
Eventually they topped another rise and followed it down to a darkened valley. Fog circled around the horses’ hooves as they descended, growing thicker the farther they went. Morning mist, a marker in the valleys for the time just preceding dawn, had significance to some in this area. This fog was thicker than he remembered, covering them like a blanket, eventually even muting the sounds of the horses’ hooves and the occasional call from the merahl. Were it not for the line tied to his saddle, he would have felt increasingly isolated. The stars still shone overhead, faintly twinkling, and only increased his sense of desolation.
So it was that they reached the low wall surrounding Ilowan without additional warning. The wall, made of pale stone likely quarried from the beds of the near half-dozen rivers running through this part of the land, reached the chest of the horse. More of a boundary than true protection, though it was likely enough to keep nocturnal predators away. A call from the merahl erupted from nearby, within the town, putting lie to that thought.
Ilowan was a simple town. Its people were farmers mostly, though some skill with woolens came from them as well. Endric had stayed within its walls at least twice while on patrol with the Denraen. It was similar to the other small villages that dotted the land. The people had been generally friendly, appreciative of the Denraen, and had provided for their needs without question, happily accepting their coin. He wondered how they would react to the half dozen Antrilii, dressed in dark leathers and carrying an assortment of weapons.
Probably with fear, he decided, looking over at Dentoun. It wouldn’t be the vicious curved sword he carried, though admittedly that was intimidating. More likely his painted face, glistening in the moonlight, a fearsome expression upon it, would send dread through them.
A low growl penetrated the fog and the night, piercing like a sword through flesh. The merahl had found something. The sound was nearby. Definitely within the city. He wasn’t sure when the merahl had slowed or if he had missed one of the Antrilii whistles communicating with them.
The Antrilii dismounted and followed the stone wall as it circled the town. Endric climbed clumsily from his saddle to follow. His legs were still stiff, and his arm throbbed. Less than it should have, he knew. He gave thanks again for the medicines the Antrilii had used. They reached the gateway to the town. The wooden gate hung open, one side tied back, the other swinging slowly in the light breeze flowing over the hilltop, as if moved by an unseen hand. Endric shivered.
The town was quiet. The fog lifted somewhat as they passed into town, and he could see the small houses protected behind the wall. Something was wrong.
He couldn’t put a finger on what it was. As he looked around, he saw nothing moving and no lights flickering in any of the windows. He didn’t know what time it was, but much of the night had already passed. There should be some townsfolk awake at this time, he realized, some activity. Endric had never known a baker who slept past midnight. Yet there was no smell of rising bread. Another thought troubled him. Ilowan was a farming town. The farmers, at least, should be readying for the day.
There was absolute stillness.
Something else troubled him. An odor tickled his nose unpleasantly. He couldn’t place the scent or its location; it seemed to come from the entire town. “There is something not right here,” he said to no one in particular.
Dentoun walked near him and grunted. “Groeliin.”
Endric looked around, suddenly feeling more uneasy. “They’re here?” He saw nothing else—just the small houses, a small grass plaza, and the town wall.
Dentoun shook his head. “Not here now.” His voice was pitched low and carried only to Endric’s ears. He didn’t look over to him; his eyes were searching the shadows for signs of movement. His body was otherwise relaxed, though his hand hovered near his sword. Endric understood, feeling naked without his own sword.
One of the merahl appeared out of the mists, sliding into view from behind a distant house. The merahl moved gracefully, silent in the night, hackles raised and ears upright and alert. The creatures stalked over to Dentoun and whined. The sound was barely more than a whisper of wind.
Dentoun leaned forward and whispered something in response, and the merahl loped off, disappearing into darkness. A quiet call interrupting the night was answered by two other voices on the other side of the town.
He was startled into movement as Dentoun led them deeper into the town. A darker shadow blotted the roadway not far from the town gate. As he neared, his nose told him as much about what it was as his eyes.
A body.
It lay sprawled upon the road, its legs spread in a grotesque split. When he realized the body was missing its head, he looked away, sickened. The memory of his brother’s head sitting atop his father’s desk made the sight too difficult to look upon. His eyes fell upon another body in a similar condition.
It was then that he recognized the odor. Rotting flesh.
“This is groeliin?” he asked, finding the idea hard to believe.
Dentoun nodded.
The creatures attacked men in town? Few animals would even dare approach a town, let alone enter. If these creatures had, what exactly were these groeliin?
“Are you certain? The Deshmahne beheaded my brother in a similar manner.” This seemed more like the kind of attack the dark priests would make.
Dentoun looked over at him. His mouth tightened, and the shadows around his intense eyes deepened. “Perhaps they are the same.”
Endric shook his head. “Deshmahne are men,” he answered firmly. They might have abilities he didn’t understand, but they
were still men. They could be killed.
“Then not the same.”
“Why do you think this is the groeliin?” he asked.
Dentoun looked back down at the splayed bodies, and Endric followed his gaze. The remaining clothing writhed eerily. Endric didn’t need to examine the corpses to know maggots had made their home. Another wave of nausea threatened him.
“Come with me,” Dentoun said quietly.
The Antrilii led him house to house, torches suddenly in hand, casting a horrible light upon everything. Even in the weak torchlight, the horror was unmistakable.
There were no survivors.
The street was littered with dead men. The first bodies they had found had been in the best condition. Others had bite marks and some looked as if they had been chewed by animals. A deep scent of rot hung over everything. At first, he wondered why they had only found men, and when he learned the answer, he nearly vomited again. They found the remains of women and children behind barricaded doors. Oftentimes there was nothing but scraps of clothing remaining.
Endric had seen much in his years with the Denraen, had known battle, bloodshed, and death, and so was surprised by how this massacre disturbed him. There was something different to this attack, something almost evil.
As the Antrilii led the search of the town, he realized he was the only one having difficulty. The faces of the Antrilii were firm, fixed with their painted masks. They moved in businesslike fashion in their search of the town, very professional, and he realized this was not the first time they had seen something like this.
“How can this be?” His voice was hoarse, and the darkness of the night swallowed it. Fog seemed thicker the farther into the town they went, and the torches almost sputtered, as if the darkness itself tried to extinguish their light.
There was no answer; the Antrilii continued their search.
Occasionally the dark-furred merahl would return, hackles raised as they stalked protectively around the Antrilii. At times they would growl suddenly and then quiet again. They, at least, seemed to sense the inhuman destruction of the town.
When they reached the other side of Ilowan, Endric found Dentoun and limped over to him. Grabbing him roughly by the sleeve, he turned the Antrilii to face him. The broad man didn’t try to shake Endric off, watching him carefully from beneath his painted face.
“Where are the groeliin? This entire town is slaughtered. These men had to have injured some of them.” Endric had seen many of the slain men with swords or clubs lying next to them, under them. They had not been unarmed.
Dentoun shook his head. “These men would do nothing.”
Endric looked back at the town with a surge of anger. “These men died defending their families! They were not cowards!”
“No. Not cowards,” Dentoun agreed. He did not raise his voice to match Endric’s anger. “There was little they could do against this enemy.”
Endric stared at him incredulously for a moment, then looked at the other Antrilii standing nearby. “These groeliin killed this entire town, and you hunt them with your small band?” One of the merahl growled then, as if it understood the comment.
Dentoun whispered something unintelligible and the growl ceased. Turning back to Endric, he motioned for him to follow. They walked over to the town wall and Dentoun knelt.
Endric copied the posture, the stiffness in his legs making it more difficult than it should be, so he leaned against the wall for support, feeling the cool stone penetrate his shirt.
When Dentoun spoke, his accented voice was soft. “Listen carefully to what I tell you now. You have seen the destruction wrought by the groeliin.” He swept an arm toward the town. “We do not hunt the groeliin for sport. We do it because these men could do nothing against the groeliin. Few can. These men died because they couldn’t see the groeliin.” He paused, watching Endric as the words sank in. “Groeliin have a dark magic, something in their blood that hides them from man.” He shook his head and grunted, a mixture of anger and frustration. “You cannot fight what you cannot see.”
Endric laughed without a hint of mirth. “If men can’t see them, how do you expect to fight them?”
“Because there is something in our blood which reveals them. The Antrilii have long stood as the barrier to the groeliin; we have battled them because we must, because we are of the few who can. The gods have chosen us for this, and we will not fail.”
There was an urgency and a fierce pride to Dentoun’s words, such that Endric couldn’t doubt the man. He leaned back against the wall, thinking about what it was the Antrilii was telling him. He no longer doubted the veracity of Dentoun’s claim; what he had seen in the city was truth enough. He struggled with understanding how such fearsome creatures could be otherwise unknown and the idea of trusting their fate to the nomadic, warlike Antrilii.
“You said the groeliin have moved south before?”
“They try every season.”
Endric frowned. “What season?”
“Breeding season. Sometimes a brood will break free. We chase.”
“Like you are now.”
Dentoun nodded. “This is not a large brood.”
Endric looked back toward the remains of Ilowan, wondering how much damage a large brood of groeliin could do.
“They usually do not get this far. I am not sure why they press this time.”
“Have they ever come south in large numbers?” Endric asked, feeling it was somehow important.
Dentoun nodded gravely. “Once. It was over a thousand years ago.”
“What happened then?” he asked, though he was beginning to suspect. He wasn’t as well versed in the histories as he should have been, but he knew Vasha was over one thousand years old and founded by the Magi. The timing was too close to be coincidental.
Dentoun frowned at him. “You do not know?” he asked, watching Endric’s face. Seeing him shake his head, he continued, “No. I see that you do not.”
“Know what?”
Dentoun sighed before answering, his features softening. “Much was lost. Cities destroyed.” He looked over at the remains of Ilowan and shrugged. “Men were forced to start anew.”
“And the Magi?” he asked. “What role did they play?”
A wry smile curved the Antrilii’s lips, contorting the painting upon his face. “Most have forgotten their role. Intentional or not, the result is the same.” A hint of sadness entered his voice. “Before there were Antrilii, the Magi fought the groeliin. Once, they were all that stood between mankind and complete destruction. Of course, they were not known as Magi then.”
“What were they called?” Endric was surprised to be interested, but hearing that the Magi had not always been the peace-loving Urmahne was more than a little fascinating. The idea that the Magi would fight anything, let alone creatures that could destroy an entire town, was laughable. The Antrilii at least looked the part. Dressed in leathers, faces painted garishly, they carried swords that seemed a part of them. He believed the Antrilii could battle these groeliin.
“They were men, gifted by the gods. They fought the groeliin, pushing them back. It was only by the grace of the gods that the groeliin were defeated. Our records are vague, but the gods must have performed some miracle to help, else mankind was lost.”
Endric suppressed a smile, not wanting to upset the Antrilii. Dentoun spoke about the gods nearly as reverently as the Magi. The gods performed a miracle? More likely it was less profound. The gods had never interfered in the lives of men, if they even existed at all. He shook his head, pushing away that line of thinking.
“I can see you do not believe,” Dentoun said. The expected anger was not present in his voice. “Few understand the destruction even a single groeliin can manage. None have seen the effort of all the broods attacking at once; not for a thousand years has that been seen. Not even the Antrilii can make that claim. Luck or the gods will keep the groeliin broods from working together. If that happened, even Antrilii wouldn’t be enough.” T
he emotion in his voice made it clear that Dentoun believed what he said.
A tingle worked its way down Endric’s spine. “How have I not heard of this before?” The Denraen patrolled these lands and traveled to the north.
The Antrilii nodded. “Most have forgotten.”
“Most?”
Dentoun shrugged. “There are those who still remember.”
Endric leaned back again the wall again, settling his head against the stone. The Denraen did patrol the north, but not often. It was mostly unsettled save for Rondalin—little was in the Antrilii range other than small mining towns. The northern ranges were not as flush with ore as those in the south. The people who lived there were isolated. Endric had never questioned why the Denraen didn’t patrol more often into the northern ranges. Perhaps only to minimize contact and conflict with the Antrilii; Endric sensed the Antrilii would be a formidable foe even for trained soldiers. But perhaps there was another reason.
Could his father know about the groeliin? Did the Magi?
“Do the Magi still know?” he asked. The answer to that question would be easier to stomach, but he knew he would need to learn the other. Dentoun nodded carefully, as if considering how much to share. Endric wondered why the Antrilii had shared this much, though the destruction in Ilowan needed answers.
“It’s possible. Most choose to forget.”
“Why? If the groeliin are capable of destroying a town the size of Ilowan, what stops them from attacking a larger city?”
Dentoun smiled then, flashing his teeth. “Antrilii stop them. The Magi do not want to know the truth.”
Endric frowned. “What truth?”
“The truth of their origin. The Magi were soldiers once, warriors. Like the Antrilii. When they laid down their swords, the Antrilii didn’t. We remember.”
Dentoun stood as he said that last, sad and proud at the same time. Endric wondered what it cost this man, his people, to constantly battle these groeliin, to stand between men and this destruction. He watched as Dentoun walked away. A whistle, low and solemn, was followed by the merahl standing and loping off. Their calls followed, piercing the night.
Soldier Son (The Teralin Sword Book 1) Page 21