Soldier Son (The Teralin Sword Book 1)

by D. K. Holmberg

  “Their attack on the city was not simply about destruction,” Endric said, thinking aloud.

  Novan shook his head. “Such an attack draws too much attention.”

  “They had already drawn attention with their attack on the Denraen.” Endric took a deep breath, pushing away the feelings of sadness that always surfaced when he thought of Andril. Especially how things had been left between them.

  Blinking away the sudden moisture in his eyes, he glanced around. The cavern continued onward, stretching into the darkness, and Novan moved forward while they talked. There had been no sign of any other way out. The cavern narrowed as they walked, the walls on either side pressing closer, but overhead stretched high into the darkness above.

  “They sowed fear. The Denraen will remember the losses. And how none of the Deshmahne appeared to have been killed. If that were all, it would be enough reason for the attack.”

  “You do not think it the only reason.”

  Novan turned away, staring into the darkness. The lantern only lit a small circle around them. Beyond the light’s boundary, the blackness was absolute. There was nothing, no light or sound other than what they made. Even the sound of the hidden stream had faded. “No.”

  “Then why? Why did my brother have to die?”

  Novan didn’t look back as he answered. “I wish I knew. It could be something as simple as chance; misfortune that it was his regiment that went. Or it could be something more devious. Perhaps the Deshmahne knew exactly who they attacked and killed him for that reason.”

  “What reason?” he asked, though he thought he knew.

  Novan turned back. There was sadness in his eyes. “That he is Dendril’s son.”

  “I am Dendril’s son,” Endric said, more harshly than intended.

  “And have faced the Deshmahne more than any man I know. Other than Brohmin,” he finished, turning away.

  The historian let the silence surround them, saying nothing more. Endric didn’t know what else to say. Could it be that the Deshmahne had attacked Andril as distraction to his father? The answer seemed both too simple and complex. Endric preferred the idea that he had died by chance. Wasn’t it chance that he had been sent in the first place?

  But he knew that it had not been. The idea and plan had been Urik’s. The en’raen had said as much. Urik was to have gone, but Andril was sent in his stead. Perhaps as a simple matter of wanting to prove to their father that he was worthy of the promotion. What if there was another reason?

  His heart was beating harder in his chest and he struggled to breathe. He paused, hands on his thighs, and looked up and into the darkness as he took a few slow breaths. There was nothing he could change anyway. Andril was gone. And so many questions remained. Now they would die in this cave, without food, only water burbling nearby, waiting as the Deshmahne swarmed over them…

  A sudden thought broke through his sadness, his mind clearing with it.

  He took a deep breath, squinting into the darkness as he looked up. “I think we are looking in the wrong direction.”

  “There is no other direction, Endric. It is not wide enough to look anywhere else. This cavern stretches onward and we go forward.”

  Endric shook his head. “Not only onward, but upward as well.”

  Novan looked up, following his gaze. He stared for many heartbeats, finally closing his eyes as he peered into the darkness. Slowly, the deep frown crossing his face disappeared, replaced by a tight smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “I should have felt it,” he said, mostly to himself.

  “Felt what?”

  The historian turned and looked at him, his eyes dark, haunted. Endric nearly took a step back, recognizing it as the same expression he had seen upon Brohmin’s face.

  “The teralin.”

  Endric frowned, puzzled, and looked overhead. It was then that the realization dawned on him. Why the dark thoughts had suddenly plagued him. “Why does it affect me now?” he asked, staring into the blackness above him. He had grown up around teralin. So much in the city was forged with the metal, yet he had no memory of similar thoughts bothering him. Or maybe he simply had not known.

  “Teralin in its purest form is neutral. That is how it is typically mined. The energy within the metal changes when its power is accessed, and it can never be changed back. Few have known how to access the energy in many centuries. Somehow the Deshmahne have learned.” He sighed, shaking his head. “The teralin in these swords has been twisted toward destruction.”

  “What of the teralin in the city?” Endric asked.

  “I suspect the Magi do not know how to access it.”

  “Meaning?”

  Novan looked at him. “Meaning it would still be neutral.”

  Endric blinked slowly, understanding coming to him. “And primed for the Deshmahne. Extracted from the mountain all these years and yet most of it is ornamental.”

  Novan closed his eyes a moment, feeling along the walls, looking upward, murmuring quietly to himself. He moved away, the lantern glowing in the darkness, floating with him as he searched. Though he walked with the light, the shadows didn’t leave him. Endric followed from a distance, leaving the historian to his quiet search. Novan kept his other hand up, his palm facing the dark. Occasionally he would slow before starting forward again. And then he stopped.

  Novan set the lantern down and pressed his hands upon the hard rock wall. His fingers probed the rock, moving around. Then he started up.

  Endric hurried over. The lantern cast a white light on the wall of the cavern. At first glance, the wall appeared smooth, but pockets of darker shadows interrupted it. Endric tentatively touched one of the areas and was surprised to find a recess. Mimicking what Novan had done, he felt along the wall and realized similar indentations were spaced regularly. A ladder.

  He picked up the lantern and lashed it around his neck using the length of twine dangling from it. Then he started up the wall, after the historian. The climb was easy once he knew the cadence, and he soon rose high above the cavern floor. Endric hazarded a glance down, but the light from the lantern blinded him and he continued upward. Then he reached a ledge.

  As he did, there came an explosion from behind him.

  The Deshmahne.

  “I thought they’d take the road up to the city,” Endric said with a grunt.

  Novan grabbed his arm and helped him over the stone lip. When Endric stood, he was in another cave. This was wider and not as tall. Clearly man-made. A gentle warmth radiated toward them. Teralin.

  “It seems they had another plan in mind,” Novan answered.

  Endric looked around and then inched over to the ledge, peering down into the blackness of the cavern below. Without him sensing something, they wouldn’t have found the hidden stairs either. But with more lighting, he wondered if this would have been easier. “We won’t have long.”

  “No. We must hurry.” Novan started forward, running a hand along the wall. “There’s still teralin along this chamber. I can feel it.”

  Endric nodded. “I feel the warmth.”

  “Not just the warmth,” Novan said, not looking back as he started down the mine. “This is different.”

  Endric touched the wall and frowned. The stone was warm with a hint of dampness to it, as if the heat pressed moisture from the surrounding rock. There was nothing else, no evidence of anything more.

  “What do you feel?” he asked. The sound echoed in the cave and he worried how far his voice would carry.

  Novan had continued forward, his hand trailing along the wall. Endric hurried after him, afraid to lose the historian. Novan had been acting strangely ever since they entered the cave.

  He caught Novan at a split in the tunnel. The historian stood, back straight, eyes closed, breaths coming slowly. The hand holding the sack of teralin blades trembled slightly, the tightness of his grip blanching his skin. Endric said nothing as he looked around, leaving Novan in silence. One of the branching caves appeared to descend deeper into the ea
rth while the other sloped gently upward. Soft heat wafted on gentle currents toward them from both entrances.

  “We should take the way that slopes upward,” Endric said. The city was still high above them, and he didn’t know how long they had before the Deshmahne came upon them. There was little room for error.

  Novan suddenly shivered, his body trembling violently, and his eyes snapped open.

  He started forward, the sack of teralin-forged blades swinging toward the cave sloping downward. Novan disappeared quickly into darkness.

  Endric paused, breathing slowly of the warm air as he stared after the historian. Could using teralin affect him that quickly? Brohmin had acted strange like this as well, surrounded by darkness and anger. Now it seemed as if the same had trapped Novan.

  His hand went to the sword at his side, finding the hilt involuntarily. He squeezed it as he inhaled deeply, drawing strength from the plain steel blade. Then he started after Novan.

  Several hours passed in the darkness of the old mines. Endric worried they were moving too slowly. How long would it be before the Deshmahne reached the city? Could they reach it first and warn his father? Would he even believe?

  The air never grew any warmer, and they saw no signs of miners. The lantern started to flicker, its light dimming, and he wondered how much longer they would have it. Novan was useless for questions, not responding to anything Endric tried and having gone otherwise mute.

  The historian paused before each branch in the tunnels, staring intently as if there was something only he could see. Each time, he would shiver and start off again. Endric had taken to waiting quietly as Novan decided which direction to take. After the first tunnel, they generally went up, sloping gradually higher through the mountain, the grade nearly the same as Endric remembered the road leading into the city itself.

  The tunnel they were in now was different. Steep stairs interrupted the otherwise flat tunnel every hundred feet. Each step seemed made for a man slightly taller than him so that after only a dozen steps, his thighs burned and his lungs ached. Novan didn’t slow, showing no signs of fatigue. Rather, he moved faster here, almost as if pulled forward.

  After climbing for nearly an hour, Endric was nearly overwhelmed by the relentless pace. Novan pulled away, climbing as a vague shadow far ahead of him. The lantern continued to flicker, the pale light fading, so that Novan completely disappeared at times. The stairs continued upward, though in the distance the tunnel appeared to veer to the left.

  What would happen if he lost the historian? Would he wander, aimless and lost, through the tunnels? He doubted that he could find the active mines, and the miners within them, on his own. Whatever drove Novan seemed to help guide him in the right direction, but what price did he pay for such guidance?

  The lantern flickered one last time and finally died just as Novan turned the corner in the tunnel. Suddenly there was nothing but blackness.

  Waves of panic threatened to overwhelm him. It was bad enough being trapped in the mines with no known way out and the Deshmahne behind them. But being trapped in utter darkness was another thing altogether.

  His heart fluttered and he swallowed the hard knot in his throat. Never before had he thought he would be afraid of the dark. Now, standing on a huge rock stair, warm stone walls pressing in around him, he felt fear.

  Endric took a deep breath and slowed his breathing through an effort of will. The knot in his throat and the nausea never completely left. There was no other choice but to go on. The Deshmahne must be stopped, and he couldn’t rely on Novan in his current state. He tossed the lantern to the side and placed his hand upon the wall, letting the warmth of the rock seep into his skin. Then he started forward into the darkness.

  Several times, he slammed into the next step until he began to get a feel for the distance. Staggering forward, thighs on fire, legs stinging from scraping on the rock, he hurried on. Novan had not slowed as the lantern light faded, and Endric didn’t think he would wait now that it had died. If the tunnels branched again before he caught up, there was no telling how long it would take to find the historian again. If he found him.

  Endric stumbled, tripping as the expected step didn’t come. The hand trailing on the wall flailed into empty air. As he tried to catch himself, he fell into a wall, hitting his head against the rock. He grunted, biting back the scream welling up within him, fearing to give away his location by shouting. When the pain faded, his head still throbbing, he felt along the wall now blocking his way. For a moment, he was disoriented as he tried to find the tunnel to the left.

  A quiet scraping in the distance startled him. Calming himself, he followed the sound, hoping it was Novan. Using the wall to guide him, he continued forward. No more steps blocked his way, the tunnel again sloping gently upward. Endric began to count his steps, uncertain what he would do if he took the wrong direction. After reaching his third hundred steps, he gave up.

  Then the tunnel branched. He discovered that as he smacked into a divider, his breath knocked from him. He could see nothing. Moving to his right, he found the wall again and followed that branch for a dozen steps. The ground seemed to slope downward and he stopped, turning back until he reached the divider again. He took the other tunnel and moved slowly, running his hand along the inner wall, hoping it would slope upward. His tension eased when he realized that it did.

  This tunnel moved upward more rapidly than the others and was narrower as well. The other wall was close enough to touch. The warmth of the teralin surrounded him, hotter than it had been. Sweat poured off him, stealing precious moisture. Endric stumbled into another step and began moving more carefully, taking the steps as quickly as was safe. His breaths came hot and ragged and his steps began to slow, dragging harshly on the rock. There was no other sound in the tunnel.

  After taking a particularly large step, he moved forward onto a flat expanse, the tunnel widening again. He sensed it, unable to see the walls around him. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and for a moment he thought he saw a faint light in the distance. After rubbing the sweat out of his eyes, he saw that the light remained.

  He held his breath, staring intently into the dark. The light didn’t waver. As Endric started forward, it gradually brightened. He moved quickly at first, then slowed as caution got the better of him. How high had he climbed? Could he have reached the active mines?

  Or had the Deshmahne circled around him?

  Endric paused, taking a deep breath to slow his heart, and waited. The burning sensation he felt when the Deshmahne were near was a distant pain. This was not Deshmahne.

  Then what?

  He crept forward. The walls of the cave slowly resolved, becoming distinct, darker splotches now more than an arm’s width away. The cave ceiling was high overhead, shadowed and indistinct. The orange light in the distance brightened with each step. As he neared, he saw that it flickered, as if a flame on a breeze.

  Endric reached an intersecting corridor and stopped. The tunnel he was in continued forward, but the light came from a branching tunnel to his right. Going straight took him back into darkness, though the slope of the ground told him it led upward. The lighted tunnel remained flat.

  He didn’t know which way to choose. Always he had been going upward. But the light in the tunnel indicated someone was in that direction. Perhaps even Novan, though the historian could be anywhere. Endric needed to simply find his way out, not worry about the historian. Once he reached the city, he would figure out a way to warn his father.

  He turned down the lighted tunnel. The light was not bright but still burned eyes that had grown accustomed to the darkness. After hundreds of steps, he reached the source of light. A large, ancient-looking oil lantern hung at another intersection of tunnels. The tunnel also continued forward past the intersection. Each direction was lighted, additional lanterns flickering far in the distance.

  Endric stood, paralyzed as he struggled to decide which way to go. Standing in the intersection, he closed his eyes, hoping for the s
ame insight that Novan had. Perhaps the teralin would pull him forward.

  He stood for long moments, eyes closed, exposed at the intersection of the caves.

  And felt nothing.

  Feeling foolish, he opened his eyes. The caves were still and silent. Only the flickering light moved.

  Suddenly he paused, watching the flickering lantern light. As he stared at it, he realized he felt occasional puffs of air, like the hint of a breeze, coming down through the tunnel. Stepping into the branching tunnels, he didn’t feel the same.

  He would follow the airflow.

  Endric hurried through the caves, pausing at each intersection to feel for the flow of air. Each time it came down only one tunnel. Generally the ground sloped upward, often steeply. More than once, he encountered sets of stairs carved into the rock. He walked for what felt like hours. His legs ached and fatigue threatened to topple him, but he pressed onward, not wanting to be caught sleeping in the caves.

  Finally he reached an intersection that was different. The caves veered off in only two directions. One side was lit more brightly, the lanterns more frequent. The other, though dimmer, had the soft breeze fluttering through it. Endric stood, his tired mind struggling with the decision.

  Really, it was no decision. He moved into the dimmer tunnel, following the breeze.

  The tunnel stretched far in front of him. The lanterns began to be spaced less frequently, then seemed to stop altogether. The tunnel still stretched onward. Darkness threatened to overcome him again.

  Had he chosen the wrong path?

  Stumbling forward, he considered turning around when he reached the end of the tunnel. The light from the last lantern was fading, but he saw no other branching. Frowning, he wondered how he had felt the pull of the breeze down a dead end. Then he saw it.

  First as a deepening of shadows. Stepping over to the darker area, he saw that the tunnel didn’t end as he had thought. Rather, a low opening was carved into the tunnel end. From that, a steady, warm breeze blew out. There was nothing but blackness down the narrow tunnel.