Soldier Son (The Teralin Sword Book 1)

by D. K. Holmberg

  “How do you know this? The mines are guarded closely, the passages known only by the urmiiln,” Endric said.

  “As I said, the guild studied the mountain years ago.”

  “Even if we manage to find this central shaft, how will we keep from wandering from it?” Endric asked, thinking of what Pendin had told him.

  “The central mine shaft connects the others.”

  He said nothing more. They rode onward, slowing occasionally to water the horse. Endric slipped into a shallow sleep once or twice more, leaning on Novan each time. The historian didn’t seem to mind. Fatigue never appeared, and he rode straight-backed in the saddle. The day was sunny and overcast, the air never truly warming. As the sun neared its zenith, the trees around them thickened. Endric was surprised, thinking it would take several days to reach the forest’s edge. At this rate, they would reach the lower slopes of the mountain by nightfall.

  Novan would occasionally glance behind them, staring intently into the distance, even at times closing his eyes while holding his breath, as if he could sense the Deshmahne. Each time, he exhaled quietly and turned away. Endric wondered how far back the Deshmahne were. He didn’t doubt they trailed behind.

  Endric was no longer afraid of facing the Deshmahne. Rather, a tingle of excitement coursed through him when he thought about the opportunity. Not because he wished for death. There was still much for him to live for. He couldn’t reclaim his old life, but still wanted to see Senda and Pendin. And now he had questions that needed answers. Novan. Brohmin. His father.

  The Deshmahne were a threat to more than just his friends. He could see that now and wondered if Andril had known as well. Or maybe Andril’s death had simply been coincidence. Either way, the threat was real. Only he and Novan stood in the way. The situation was daunting but not overwhelming. Not any longer.

  It was clear what needed to happen. Not only could the Deshmahne not be allowed the teralin, they must be destroyed.

  When he opened his eyes, the sky was growing dark again. A heavy mist surrounded them, covering them in a protective blanket. Shadows stretched long around them and tall pines pressed in, dark sentries in the growing eve. The air smelled of moisture and hard earth mixed with the scent of the pine; it was a familiar odor and he smiled. They were near the base of the mountain.

  “You’re awake,” Novan said, turning back to him. His face was drawn and wrinkles lined the corners of his eyes. Fatigue finally began to weigh upon him; still he sat straight-backed in the saddle.

  Endric nodded and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He must have been asleep for hours and was surprised he had been able to do so and remain in the saddle. His back stiffened and the recent injuries to his shoulder and legs—while mostly just a memory—still ached from their time in the saddle.

  “Good. You might be needed.”

  “Are they close?” he asked. The sense, like a burning itch along his shoulder blades, was there. Faint, but still noticeable when he turned his attention upon it.

  “Not as close as before,” Novan said, smiling grimly. “Brohmin and the Antrilii did as they promised. They bought us time.” The historian blinked slowly, shadows surrounding his eyes, and turned away.

  “How are we going to navigate through the tunnels?” Endric asked.

  “The Deshmahne helped with that. They have provided a large quantity of teralin,” he answered, patting the sack of teralin-forged blades.

  Endric looked at the bulge strapped to the front of the saddle. He had nearly forgotten they carried the swords, but now that Novan reminded him, he saw darkness swirling around the sack. Similar to the darkness he had seen around Brohmin. He understood now why Novan knew Brohmin had used the swords; there was a taint to them, a presence different and nearly as bad as the Deshmahne who wielded them. That taint, the darkness seeming to seep from the metal itself, had contaminated Brohmin.

  Endric wondered if the taint was inherent in the teralin or if it was something the Deshmahne did to it. He had never paid much attention to teralin in the city, but with the many adornments crafted from the metal around the palace, he should have seen something like that before. The fact that he had not made it likely it was something the Deshmahne did.

  “You think you can use it?” he asked. He was not sure what would happen if Novan used one of the swords, but if Brohmin was any indication, he knew he didn’t want to find out.

  Novan smiled as if reading his thoughts. “For what I have in mind, yes. Teralin attracts teralin.”

  “Like a magnet?”

  The historian shook his head. “Not the same. This is something different. As it attracts, it strengthens. That is why mining it has always been challenging and why those who can do so successfully are valued.”

  Endric frowned at that comment. The miners within the city were certainly not valued. He wondered what sort of response the average miner would have to Novan’s comments.

  “With the quantity of teralin we have, I think we can use it to guide us toward an active mine. From there…”

  The historian fell silent, guiding the horse in a slow climb as they neared the mountain. The lower slopes rose gradually, tall, fragrant pines stretching far overhead. The ground was soft mud and made a squelching sound with each step as the Antrilii stud pulled his large hooves from the earth. The mist around them thickened as they rose, making it seem like they were ascending into the clouds, and clung to them, slowly moistening his shirt and pants. The muted call of the huge Drolin owl echoed forlornly through the fog and was the only other sound they heard.

  Novan led them north before twisting around to the west, following a path or a memory only he knew. Endric couldn’t see well enough to get a sense of direction, the mist and fog making anything more than ten paces away a blur. As he attempted to pierce the fog, he felt a moment of panic rise within him, fearing that the Deshmahne closed in upon them while they meandered up the mountain. Pushing it away, he focused on the sensation he felt earlier, the burning itch, which signaled to him how far back the Deshmahne rode. It was faint, little more than he had sensed earlier, but clearly growing stronger.

  The Deshmahne gained on them.

  “How much longer?” Endric asked.

  “I search by memory of what I read.”

  “How long ago did you read of this?”

  The historian shrugged. “Fifteen, twenty years, I suppose.”

  “How clear is the memory?” Endric asked, feeling a surge of worry.

  Novan frowned at him, insulted. “Crystal.” He turned away and said nothing more.

  They rode onward. Endric wondered if the stallion tired, though he never seemed to slow. The fog thickened as they climbed, to the point where he could see little more than dark shapes around them. He wondered how Novan guided them without being able to see where he was going.

  The slope steepened and the pines thinned somewhat. Endric knew they thinned even more on the road into Vasha. Eventually nothing more than bare stone hid travelers on their way into the city. More defenses. At least on a clear day. Dense fog, like tonight, was not uncommon, though less so on the upper edges of the slopes. The mountainside managed to stay mostly clear; whatever didn’t come to the road seemed to often settle into the city itself.

  Gradually, the night grew darker. What light remained seemed to reflect off the moisture in the fog, giving it a nearly mystic glow. They had been riding along the lower slopes of the mountain base for several hours, slowly climbing and circling the mountain. Endric wondered if they were backtracking as well. He was no longer certain where on the mountain they rode, but he knew they had long since passed the main roadway up into the city. The horse followed a path barely wide enough for them and amazingly never seemed to lose his footing. Endric’s amazement with the Antrilii mount never abated.

  A low howl split the night, hollow and slowly reverberating to them. For a moment, Endric was reminded of the merahl and looked up hopefully, knowing it was only the sound of one of the huge mountain wolve
s so common to the slopes. They rarely left the forest, hunting small prey on the hillsides. The wolves were usually not much threat to men, scared off by the horses and their weapons. At least this one sounded far enough away.

  Novan suddenly tapped the horse and they stopped. Endric sat up, alert, wondering if the historian had found the cave entrance they sought. “Are we—”

  Novan turned sharply and brought a finger to his mouth. “Deshmahne,” he mouthed, barely whispering the word.

  Endric frowned, pausing for a moment and then shaking his head. The strange itch along his shoulders had not changed. He was not exactly sure what it was that he felt—or why he could feel it—but he believed that he sensed the Deshmahne.

  “I don’t feel anything different,” he whispered.

  “I do,” Novan answered, tapping the horse once.

  The stallion surged forward, climbing quickly. Endric looked around, searching for the Deshmahne the historian claimed was nearby. He saw nothing. After a while, he stopped looking.

  Novan guided the horse with his knees, twisting in the saddle and staring into the fog as if he saw something Endric didn’t. Tension built along his shoulders and he sat straighter in the saddle than he had. One of Novan’s hands drifted toward the sack holding the teralin blades, hovering over the rough brown fabric. He turned briefly and his eyes darted to the sides, his breath coming in short bursts of mist in the cool air.

  Then Novan tapped the horse again and they stopped. Swinging quickly from the saddle, he hurried to a nearby wall, sliding his hands along the stone. The fog was dense but enough light was retained that Endric could see the stone rising in a sheer wall before them. He climbed from the saddle and joined Novan.

  “Is it here?”

  Novan shook his head once. “I’m not sure.” His voice was tight, clipping his words. “From what I recall, the cave entrance should be nearby.”

  Endric bit off his response, wondering how the historian could see anything in the fog, and turned to help search. Long moments passed as they looked along the wall. Endric was nearly ready to give up and suggest to Novan that they search elsewhere when the historian suddenly grunted. The fog muted the sound, and Endric felt a flutter in his chest as he wondered if the sound meant Novan was pleased or surprised.

  He hurried behind the huge boulder Novan had disappeared behind. There was barely room to squeeze behind the rock, but when Endric did, he saw what had generated the response. A small entrance was visible now that Novan had moved a few smaller stones. The historian crawled into the darkness, his back brushing the top of the cave.

  “It is here,” he said, then whistled softly. The Antrilii stallion found them quickly and Novan pulled his staff and the sack of swords from the saddle. Turning to face the horse, he paused. “Thank you for your speed. From here, we are on foot. Find Nahrsin and return to your home.”

  He patted the stallion on the neck, stroking it briefly. The dappled horse snorted, flipping his tail and stomping his hooves. Novan patted the horse again and he nuzzled his hand. “We must go where you cannot,” Novan whispered and then rubbed the mount’s forehead. The horse stomped again and finally turned, starting down the slope, quickly lost from view in the fog.

  Novan started into the mouth of the cave. Endric hesitated, looking around and seeing nothing following them, then crawled after the historian. Darkness swallowed him instantly.

  He crawled forward. Pausing after a long minute, he looked back. Even the mouth of the cave was obscured, everything behind him nearly as black as the teralin blades. Endric took a deep breath and turned, moving forward again, wishing for light.

  After crawling barely more than a body length, he heard a faint scratching sound behind him. He froze, listening intently. The sound didn’t come again. His heart hammered in his chest and a cold sweat broke on his forehead. There was no room to turn around quickly; an attack from behind would be over quickly. Hesitating, he considered moving forward again when he heard the sound return.

  Endric closed his eyes; he could see nothing anyway. Breathing slowly, he waited, not daring to move. When he realized what the noise was, he suppressed a groan.

  The burning itch along his shoulders was more pronounced, like a fresh sunburn. The Deshmahne was near.

  He hurried forward again, not concerned with being quiet. Of greater concern was reaching a place to make a stand. He couldn’t do it within the narrow cave.

  Suddenly, a faint light flickered in the distance. Endric pushed faster, ignoring the scraping along his arms and back, praying quietly that it was Novan. He had not heard anything from the historian since they entered the cave, and the gods only knew how long this stretch of tunnel went.

  The scraping behind him grew more prominent. Closer. Endric pressed forward, moving toward the light as quickly as possible in the confines of the narrow tunnel. The cave gradually became narrower. Would he reach Novan in time? He had no false ideas about what would happen were the Deshmahne to reach him first. An involuntary shiver went through him at the thought of the teralin-forged blade stabbing into him.

  Then he reached the light. Novan grabbed him by his shirt and dragged him forward into a huge open cavern. A small globe glowed to one side, casting the pale white light he had seen. Endric had never seen anything like it but didn’t stare for long. The strange lantern didn’t hold his attention.

  Rather, it was the dark blade held outward in Novan’s hand.

  “Why do you have a teralin sword?” Endric asked. His voice was breathless and his chest heaved with the effort of speaking.

  “Move back,” Novan said.

  Endric frowned and did what the historian said, stepping away from the small opening. Novan touched the sword to the stone and muttered a quiet word. A deep rumble suddenly shook the cave, heaving Endric forward. Dust and rock sifted down from above, peppering his hair. He coughed, clearing his throat.

  “Novan!” he yelled, fearing being trapped in the cavern. He had witnessed something like this shaking before and had seen what it could do.

  The historian ignored him. The sword swirled around the opening to the cave, grazing along the stone. Where it touched, the rock trembled. The ground continued to heave. A faint glow surrounded the sword, more like a shifting of the darkness around the blade.

  An arm reached out of the cave. The dark tattoos along the skin were clear, twisting up the pale skin. The hand clutched a sword similar to the one Novan held. The historian batted it away, grunting as he did, and then slammed the sword he held into the stone.

  And then the cave collapsed.

  29

  The pale white lantern flickered as a cloud of dust settled over the cavern. The small cave they had crawled through was gone, a crumble of stone and debris. The tattooed arm hung limp at the spot of what had once been the opening. Novan straightened himself, wiping debris from his cloak, and knelt before the arm, examining the tattoos.

  “He was a sentry,” Novan said, then shook his head as he stood. “They should not know of this entrance. Only the guild knew of this.”

  Endric frowned at the comment, pausing to make sure he didn’t have any injuries. “We’re trapped here now.”

  “Does not matter. This will only delay the Deshmahne.”

  “How did you do it?”

  “You remember that teralin has many qualities?”

  “You know how to use it?”

  Novan snorted. “I am a historian. I know many things that are now forgotten. There is power in learning from the past, from gaining knowledge. The Magi have lost sight of this. The Deshmahne have not.”

  The historian’s comments reminded Endric of what Urik had said, but he pushed thoughts of the en’raen away. He couldn’t help them here. No one knew they were here, trapped beneath the earth. How long before they became lost, wandering blindly in the darkness until weakness and hunger overtook them? Or worse, the Deshmahne came upon them, overrunning them, a hot teralin-forged blade piercing his chest…

 
; He shivered, forcibly pushing the thought away. It was a dark thought, one that was too much like what he’d felt when facing the Deshmahne. “You said the guild knew a way through?”

  Novan nodded. “That is what has been written. I am hopeful it is accurate.”

  “And if it isn’t?”

  The historian exhaled slowly. “We cannot think like that. Do not let the teralin influence your thoughts,” he said, stuffing the sword, and that of the now-dead Deshmahne, into the sack. Endric felt the dark thoughts begin to ease.

  “Then we should move.”

  “Agreed. I do not know how much time we have. The Deshmahne will still follow. This will only slow them,” he said, motioning toward the collapsed cave.

  The historian grabbed the pale lantern and started off through the cavern, twisting to shine his light into dark recesses. Endric saw nothing other than rough walls. There was no evidence that this was anything other than a naturally occurring cavern. As they moved farther into the cavern, he heard a soft burbling sound. At least they wouldn’t die of thirst.

  “The Deshmahne knew of this entrance.” Was that how they’d gotten into the city the first time? They could have come another way as well.

  “It appears they did,” Novan agreed.

  “The other attacks focused on possessing the mines. The Deshmahne already had access to them. Why attack the city? The Magi?”

  They walked a little farther.

  “You’re right,” Novan said finally. “I don’t know what they intend. None other than the high priest can claim they know the full extent of the plan. Previous attacks have been about gaining teralin.” The historian shook his head. “I can’t think of anything else they may seek to possess.”

  Endric fell silent. The Deshmahne had attacked the palace first. At least, that was what he had thought after disrupting the Deshviili. He had first assumed it was simply an attack, a way of disrupting the Magi influence, but there had to be more to the Deshviili. The attack on the city seemed mostly diversion, though an effective one.