He hurried back to the last lantern and pried it off the wall, then returned to the small opening. The lantern light didn’t make it any more appealing. But he was committed to this path and crawled in. The walls were warmer here, nearly hot. Teralin coursed through this part of the mine.
Endric crawled forward. The walls didn’t narrow as he had feared, leaving him room to look back and see how far he had come. Eventually, even the small entrance to the tunnel was no longer visible. Still it stretched forward.
The walls were smooth. More so than the outer walls had been. The breeze didn’t change, blowing toward him like a warm breath.
He didn’t know how long he had crawled when his hand found an opening in the tunnel beneath him. Endric froze. Ahead, the tunnel continued forward, but the air came from the drop-off. Stretching the lantern forward, careful with the oil, he could see nothing but the rock walls.
Endric broke off a piece of the lantern and dropped it down the opening, listening carefully as he did. The hunk of wood hit with a dull thud after a little more than a second.
Not a short drop then.
He dropped the lantern next, watching the light as it fell. It flickered but stayed lit. The oil splashed out, spraying the ground, and a small fire burst from far below. Too far to safely drop.
Shifting his sword, he slipped into the opening and shimmied down, pressing his back against the rock with hands and feet. The warm stone threatened to burn his hands. Teralin was not supposed to burn, but he had seen the effect the teralin-forged blades had on the grasses of the plain. He imagined the same thing happening to his hands, his back, his feet, as he scraped along the rock, slowly easing his way downward.
As he descended, the rock became hotter, to the point where he could only rest his hand and arm for a few seconds before needing to pull away. Checking below, he realized he had only come partway down. Worry crept through him, different than fears of being stranded in the dark or being chased and found by the Deshmahne. What if the rock became unbearably hot? He could climb back up, but now that he had committed to this path, he was determined to see where the tunnel led. A foolish decision, he began to think. What if he was burned by the teralin? Any injury would make pushing forward even more difficult, and he didn’t want to consider who would find him. If any did.
The heat built. His fingers and hand stung from a combination of scraping the rock and the heat; he could no longer distinguish which was worse. He feared his back was blistered and was thankful for the small barrier that his shirt provided. Endric couldn’t take the pressure off his back or he’d fall straight down. He dared not look below, barely able to keep his eyes open as he gritted his jaw tight, concentrating on moving carefully.
Then he could no longer stand it. Both hands pushed away from the scalding rock at the same time, upsetting the balance he maintained with his feet. He slid, scratching his back worse, the heat of the rock seeming to eat through his shirt and into his flesh, and finally dropped. Bracing for the fall, Endric bit back a scream. The ground was closer than expected, and his breath was knocked from him as he hit the ground.
When he opened his eyes, he saw he was in another tunnel. The tunnel stretched in either direction, its walls perfectly smooth, though different than other tunnels he had been in, and wider. He wondered if it were connected in any way other than the small opening he wiggled through. The soft breeze blew through this tunnel, warmer than before and now easily noticeable.
Endric stood slowly, checking his hands for burns but finding none. His back ached and he feared for the worst, yet there was no choice other than to press onward. The lantern burned nearby, close enough that he realized his luck in not rolling in the spilled oil. He grabbed the lantern and started down the tunnel into the soft breeze, hoping the light from the remaining oil would last long enough.
He still didn’t know what he expected. There was little hope that Novan had come this way; the historian likely wandered through wider and more easily traveled tunnels, yet the strange wind pulled him forward. It was the only thing he had that he could follow. For all he knew, he moved in circles, now near a tunnel he had already been through.
It was these troubling thoughts that were plaguing him when he came upon the door.
Made of solid teralin, it emanated heat like a blast furnace. The soft breeze seemed to pulsate from this heat, as if it disturbed the air enough to create a gentle wind. Endric had to take a step back in order to tolerate the temperature. He stepped away and the airflow lessened, then increased again near the door. This was where he had been pulled.
Nothing obvious adorned the sides, no carvings or sculptures like the teralin ornamentations in the city. Only a small handle, carved in intricate detail to look like the branching of a tree, disrupted its surface.
Endric sighed, glancing in either direction down the tunnel. No other lanterns lit the way. His lantern sputtered, the drop having spilled most of the oil reserves. Soon he would be back in darkness. That left the door. Of pure teralin.
Swallowing hard, he stepped forward. Heat enveloped him and sweat erupted from his face, chest, and underarms. He dared not take a breath. Another step and he stood before the door.
Endric set the lantern down carefully, feeling light-headed from the heat and lack of air. Blinking slowly, he grabbed the handle. Searing heat shot through his hand, down his arm.
He screamed, unable to contain it, and pushed.
30
The door swung open slowly. The heat lessened as the massive door swung away and Endric was finally able to take a deep breath, filling his lungs with teralin-heated air, coughing raggedly as he did. Relief flooded through him as he released the handle, fearing to look at his hand and see reddened and ruined flesh. Pain receded slowly, resolving into a dull throbbing ache that seemed to ease as he opened and closed his fist. He had intentionally used his off hand, saving his sword hand for whatever defense he might need. There was no telling what lay before him.
Then he looked into the room.
When he did, he nearly fell over. The walls were lined with alcoves, and in each were stores of teralin. Some were sculpted into various shapes and forms like those in the city above. Most were not. It was a veritable treasure trove of the ore.
The room was hot from it, though less than the door, as if its massive size created a more concentrated effect. A few small lanterns were set into recesses, different than the oil lantern he had found in the caves and more like the strange lantern Novan had carried. Now that lantern lay burned out and dark, somewhere below him in the caves. He started forward into the room, staying as far from the door as possible.
The room was nearly twice his height, the long alcoves spaced evenly like shelves up the walls. Staying to the middle of the room, he avoided the teralin stores. This must be what the Deshmahne sought, the reason they attacked. So much teralin was stored here and most of it, he suspected, was still neutral. How many of the dark blades could be forged with what was in this room alone? What else could they do with it?
In spite of the heat, the thought made him shiver.
Halfway down the room, he froze. A large chair, almost a throne, was the only item on the far wall. Small lanterns hung on either side, casting a soft glowing light that still didn’t clear the shadows. That alone would give him pause. What made him freeze was the realization that someone sat atop the chair.
Grabbing his sword, he unsheathed quietly and crept forward. The person didn’t move and made no sound as he approached. The light resolved little as he moved closer, and he could see that a dark cloak covered wherever the light did reach. The figure didn’t seem aware that anyone was in the room.
Endric slid closer, cautiously holding his sword in a defensive position. His nerves on edge, he frowned as he realized why he felt something was off. Bands of dark metal circled the figure’s wrists and ankles, binding him to the chair. Heat flowed from the chair. Solid teralin, like the door.
Could anyone survive such torture?
The person didn’t move—no muscles twitched beneath the cloak, the chest didn’t rise and fall with breath. Nothing. Whoever sat atop the chair was likely dead.
He shivered again as a new fear started through him. Endric didn’t want to be caught here when whoever would do such a thing returned. And he wanted to turn away but couldn’t. Locked in place, he started to turn, realizing it was past time for him to find Novan.
Then suddenly the figure coughed.
Endric took a step back before catching himself. Could Novan have been caught and tied to the chair? If it was the historian, he needed to help.
Sliding closer, he used the tip of his sword to push back the cloak. He gasped when he saw the captive’s face.
“Listain?” he whispered.
A dark stubble of beard covered the haggard face and his eyes were more sunken than they should be, but there was no doubting that this was his father’s Raen. Sweat slicked his hair and his cheeks were a mix of ruddy and pale. The face was more like a skeleton, the flesh thin and cheekbones prominent. Even this close to the chair, the length of the sword keeping him at a distance, the heat was nearly unbearable. How long had the man been trapped here? He couldn’t fathom how Listain tolerated sitting atop the chair, only the cloak as a barrier.
“What happened?”
Listain tried to open his eyes but couldn’t. “Who?” he croaked. His voice was a ragged whisper, rough and raw.
“It’s Endric. What happened?”
“Endric?”
It was then that he managed to open his eyes, barely raising the lids enough to stare out, struggling as if weights hung from them. Eyes bloodshot and unfocused, he stared past Endric as if seeing something else. Fear flashed across those eyes, stark and clear, his body suddenly rigid before fading. Then Listain sagged again.
“How?” Listain said. He didn’t reopen his eyes. His breathing came slow and shallow and he coughed, bringing bloody spittle to his lips.
“Who did this?” Endric asked, avoiding the question. The answer was too long, too difficult, but he realized the questions he suddenly had about Listain were nearly as difficult.
He had thought Listain was somehow involved in arranging for Andril to be out of the city and had blamed the Raen for that, thinking he wanted to usurp Dendril’s authority. Had he not seen the man meeting in Stahline with one of the Magi? When he disappeared during the attack on the city, Endric had viewed it as confirmation of the Raen’s involvement. Yet this was not the face of a man involved in the attacks.
Listain was a victim.
Endric almost missed it when Listain answered, distracted by his sudden questions.
“Captured,” he said. “Black swords. Teralin.”
Endric blinked at the answer, uncertain that he had heard correctly. “The Deshmahne did this to you?” That meant they already had access to this room. These stores.
“Not Deshmahne,” Listain said with a single shake of his head.
Endric frowned. Who else but Deshmahne would use teralin-forged swords? Brohmin had, but not by choice, and Endric was certain the man had not captured Listain. Novan had used the sword, but only once they reached the caves.
A soft click sounded off to his left, like the tumbling of a lock. Endric spun, his sword held before him, and saw an unseen door swing open. The door appeared to be made of rock and was hidden between the alcoves. A figure stepped into the room, stopping suddenly when he saw Endric, almost as startled as Endric had been. The newcomer stood in a confluence of shadows, the light from the lanterns unable to fully penetrate, but something about the person’s stance was familiar.
Endric slid forward slowly, carefully, then nearly dropped his sword. “Urik?”
The en’raen stepped into the light and unsheathed his sword. The dark blade seemed to absorb the light, pulling shadows deeper around him. A teralin blade.
“You should not have returned, Endric,” Urik said. His words were cool and lacked the warm familiarity the en’raen had shown him in the past.
“You?” Endric asked, flicking his gaze to Listain. “You captured Listain? What reason could you have?” A sickening sense of betrayal threatened to overwhelm him. Had this been how his father had felt when Endric had challenged him?
Urik took a step forward, jarring the thoughts from his mind, his feet nearly silent along the stone floor of the room. The dark sword was held threateningly before him. “Pray you never have to understand my reasons.”
“You’re Denraen!”
“And of the guild before that. And a father once.” The last came out as a whisper.
The comment broke through his feelings of betrayal. Urik had been of the guild? It explained much.
“The guild sent you to survey the caves,” Endric said.
Urik frowned, the comment, more than anything else, giving him pause.
“Did you let the Deshmahne into the city as well?”
Urik glared at him, nearly upon him. “Your father needed a reason to attack. He didn’t believe the growing threat of the Deshmahne in the south, but I knew. And the Denraen have done nothing.” He swung his sword and Endric danced backward, staying away from it.
“I thought I could reveal the danger, that your father learning of loss would convince him… but even that didn’t. A show of force in the city didn’t, either. And then you were foolish enough to challenge him.” He paused, swinging his sword up to a ready position. “I would ask how you survived, but the answer does not matter.”
With that, he attacked.
The teralin-forged blade swung in a quick arc. Reflexes and his readied sword saved Endric, but barely. Urik slashed a few more times, heat radiating from the sword. Each attack was blocked. Endric slid back as he defended himself, realizing almost too late Urik’s plan as he felt the heat from the huge teralin throne pressing upon his back.
Endric switched to attack. His muscles were stiff with fatigue and the hours in the tunnels, but still Urik was quicker than he remembered. Nearly as quick as the Deshmahne had been, and combined with the skill of Denraen training. A near-deadly combination.
A cold chill ran up his spine. Could he have come so far only to fall short?
The city above was completely unaware of what was about to take place in the tunnels beneath it. The Magi didn’t know that their precious teralin—perhaps more precious than even the Magi were aware—was about to be stolen by the Deshmahne. And if he failed, Urik could return to the Denraen. Even Dendril would be none the wiser.
A fresh surge of anger filled him, loosening tired arms, burning away the fatigue. Endric pressed the attack, knowing his time was limited if he didn’t, throwing himself against Urik almost carelessly. The same way he’d attacked the Deshmahne what felt so many nights ago. Urik fell back against his onslaught, more surprised than overwhelmed, expertly blocking each thrust of his blade. The teralin-forged blade he held managed to stop each attack as Endric began to slow.
Urik smiled, recognizing that Endric grew fatigued. “You did better than I expected.” It was not clear whether it was praise or a taunt.
“Face me without the Deshmahne sword!” Endric demanded. He was breathy, spitting out the last few words.
“Deshmahne? Is that what you believe?”
“I recognize the sword.”
“I discovered the key to their power. Any can use it. And I will, to destroy them.” He slid forward, nearly under Endric’s defenses, slicing with the dark blade.
Endric felt the heat radiating off it as he skidded backward, barely avoiding injury. Sweat dripped, a heavy droplet falling into his eye that he blinked away. In that moment, Urik slashed toward his gut. Endric anticipated the attack, somehow sensing it as he had sensed the Deshmahne attack while with the Antrilii, and his plain steel blade—the one borrowed from Novan—met the teralin-forged blade.
And shattered.
He felt Urik’s awful smile as he ducked, rolling away from the heat of the throne, ducking under Urik’s outstretched arm. Endric kic
ked out as he rolled and Urik fell backward, arms spinning as he righted himself. Endric stopped, jumping into a crouch as Urik caught himself and turned back to face him.
Endric held the broken shard of the sword tightly. The sword had shattered near the blade guard, leaving no more than a few fingers of sword. Not enough to even attempt a defense. He held it out anyway, his other arm stretched out behind him, searching for something he could use. As he backed up, he felt one of the alcoves behind him, barricading him from moving farther. Left with no other choice, he reached into the alcove, quietly praying he would find something he could use.
When Urik swung the teralin blade at him, Endric’s fingers found something long and solid. And warm. Closing his eyes, he gripped the teralin rod, bracing for the searing heat. There was none.
Instead, his hand tingled where it touched the teralin. Not painful or unpleasant, just warm. The sensation began creeping up his arm, oozing through him.
He swung the rod around and was surprised to find a solid shaft of teralin slightly longer than his arm. It was heavy but manageable. The rod whipped around just in time, barely blocking Urik’s attack. The en’raen frowned, eyeing the length of teralin. Dropping the sword shard, Endric shifted the rod to his other hand and the warmth spread up that arm as well, seeming to slide just under his skin.
“I’d warn you to be careful with that, Endric,” Urik said. “You may not like the consequences. But you would have to know how to access the teralin first.”
Endric ignored him, focusing on the strange sensation now coursing through him. This was unlike his previous exposure to teralin. The swords had a darkness about them, almost innately twisted, tainting whoever carried them. Brohmin. Novan. Endric had feared the same would happen to him. But what he felt was not dark or tainted. Just warm.
There was something else about the warmth that he couldn’t place. Like a tickle to his mind at the edge of his senses. An energy, almost a vibration. He felt that if he only had time, he would understand. Urik didn’t give him that time.
Soldier Son (The Teralin Sword Book 1) Page 30