Suddenly, his mind felt freed. Fear of the Deshmahne left him, only contempt and hatred remaining. The pattern to the Deshmahne attack became clear, and he darted between their sword thrusts, stabbing with the blunt teralin rod before falling into his defense. Over and over, he attacked. The Deshmahne fell before him.
Still, it was not enough.
They had him surrounded. He felt as much as saw the dark blades streaking toward him. He had no idea if Novan still lived. The sound of his own heartbeat thumped loudly in his ears. Distantly, he was aware of the snarling merahl attack. He heard nothing else.
Through the heat of the teralin, the strength it lent him, fatigue set in. His reaction time slowed, and he suspected he had been cut at least once and probably more than that, yet he felt nothing other than the rolling waves of heat under his flesh. When two more Deshmahne joined the circle around him, he knew his time was short. Hopelessness pressed upon him like a physical presence.
“Novan!” he screamed, squeezing the teralin rod, almost welcoming the distracting heat into his body as he prayed the historian still lived.
With the scream, the warmth flared once more, hot and painful. Strength and speed surged through him again. The sensation was incredible, power unlike anything he had ever known and speed such that time seemed to slow.
The hopeless feelings fled and Deshmahne fell before him.
That still was not enough. The room was filled with Deshmahne, and more seemed to enter, replacing the fallen. Novan still stood, his sword moving more rapidly than Endric once would have believed possible, four Deshmahne held at bay in front of him. Several lay dead nearby.
When Endric was set upon by another circle of Deshmahne, he knew he and Novan wouldn’t succeed. Whatever strength and speed the teralin lent was not enough. They would fail. The city would fall. The Deshmahne would win.
He sensed the dark satisfaction of the Deshmahne surrounding him, as if they knew his thoughts, his fears. Yet there was nothing he could do. He was beaten. The Deshmahne would win.
The Deshmahne suddenly attacked in a frenzy, like wolves sensing weakened prey. Endric had all that he could manage simply fighting them back. With each passing moment, the teralin-forged blades came nearer.
Somewhere, a door slammed open, a cool breeze coming with it.
He didn’t look up, unable to spare a glance, thinking it only more Deshmahne.
A loud roar erupted from the open door. Even the attacking Deshmahne paused to look, giving Endric time to see who—or what—had arrived.
What he saw caused his heart to skip a beat. It was the last thing he had expected to see within the dark tunnels as he fought the Deshmahne for control of the teralin.
Dendril tore into the room, Trill spinning in a fury. Deshmahne fell back against the onslaught, many dying quickly. Pendin followed Endric’s father. Behind him came others of the Denraen.
The Deshmahne fell back. And into the merahl.
The remaining Deshmahne around him attacked with urgency. Hope found Endric for the first time in hours. The warmth beneath his skin surged again, flaring hot and painful. He welcomed the sensation, lashing out with the teralin rod and dropping the remaining Deshmahne.
And then the room was silent.
Endric looked around. Dead Deshmahne littered the floor. At the far end of the room, flanked by two snarling merahl, stood Brohmin and two Antrilii. He couldn’t tell if Dentoun was one of them. He blinked slowly, wondering if the others had died.
Novan still stood to his left. The historian was bloodied, his face and chest cut and oozing, but he was alive.
Then there was his father. Dendril stood with his sword tip resting on the stone ground. Nearly a dozen Deshmahne lay dead near him, killed in little more than an instant. How had he ever thought he was his father’s equal?
Dendril’s dark eyes scanned the room before settling on Endric. “Son.”
Endric breathed slowly, his heart still hammering in his chest. “Father.”
Dendril took a deep breath. When he exhaled, his features softened and he turned to Novan. “Thank you for your warning.”
Warning? Endric thought they had traveled to the city to provide a warning.
Novan tilted his head in acknowledgement. “You almost didn’t make it.”
Dendril snorted. “If not for our guide, we wouldn’t have.”
Endric glanced at his friend, who only shrugged, then looked away.
“The miners still strike?” Novan asked.
Dendril flashed a wry smile before nodding. “Always questioning.”
“It is my nature.” Novan turned and gestured toward the teralin chair. “The throne must be protected. The rest”—he looked around the room—“must be charged. Find one who knows how.”
Dendril nodded. “There are a few.”
“It is time you return to the conclave.”
Dendril sniffed. “I never left.”
Novan narrowed his eyes. “Do not pretend I don’t know what happened.”
Dendril stared for a moment before backing down and looking away. “You’re right. Much could have been avoided.”
“We were all caught unaware, Dendril. But we must learn and move forward.”
“You sound much like Listain.”
“If he awakens, he will tell you the same,” Novan said.
“You found him?” Dendril asked.
Novan motioned to the alcove Endric had set the Raen inside. “I don’t know if he will live.”
Dendril motioned and one of the Denraen moved past to look in the alcove.
“He lives. I’ll get him to the healers.”
Dendril shook his head. “Not the healers. Tresten. Have the Mage see to him. Tell him I sent you. Take the others.”
The Denraen nodded and turned, pulling the others with him. Pendin gave Endric a searching glance before following.
When the Denraen left, the Antrilii and the merahl came to greet Novan. Graime and Hontin remained. Brohmin stood back, teralin-forged blade clutched in his hand. Dark shadows swirled around him.
“Dentoun?” Dendril asked.
Graime shook his head. “He dines with the gods now.” The Antrilii smiled. “We delayed these Deshmahne as well as we could but were nearly overwhelmed. We withdrew and followed, harrying them along the way, trying to slow them.”
Dendril reached out a hand and whistled softly, the sound so similar to what Dentoun had made. The merahl stalked over to him and sniffed his hand, then with wags of their long tails, sat so that he could scratch them. When he looked up, there was a tear in his eyes. “And then followed the Deshmahne into the tunnels, attacking when outnumbered.” The young Antrilii shrugged. “Your father would be proud of how you fought today,” he told Graime.
Graime nodded and smiled. The dark paintings upon his face were smeared and stretched. “Thank you, Uncle.”
Endric looked over to his father suddenly. “Uncle?”
Dendril nodded once. “Dentoun was my brother.”
“You’re Antrilii?” Endric sputtered.
Novan laughed. Graime and Hontin nodded solemnly.
“You didn’t leave me to die on the plains,” Endric realized.
Dendril frowned. “You thought me capable of that? You were to learn from Dentoun.” He shook his head. “And it seems you learned more than I intended.”
Novan snorted.
Endric was at a loss for words.
“Now. There remains one question,” Dendril said.
Endric shook his head. “What?”
“Are you ready to return to the Denraen?”
Endric closed his eyes, surprised by the warmth in his father’s voice. Always that tone had been reserved for Andril. Now his father offered to take him back. After the years Endric had spent pushing against him, he knew he would need to earn his trust. But his father had been right. He had known little. Like a child. Now he knew more but realized there was a great deal more that remained unknown.
More than
anything, he knew the Deshmahne had not been stopped. He would be a part of whatever the Denraen did to counter the growing threat.
“If you will have me.”
“You’re different.”
Endric sat next to Senda. Much had happened since he returned from the tunnels. His skin itched, still warm. He had sheathed the teralin rod like a sword. Somehow, it felt right. If he found Novan, he would ask about the risks of carrying the rod, but for now, he kept it with him.
“I grew up when I nearly died.”
Senda snorted and laughed, softly touching his leg with her hand. “It suits you,” she said, catching his eye.
He stared into her dark eyes and smiled.
“Andril would be proud.”
Endric closed his eyes. She knew him well. “Thank you.”
“You have finally stopped fighting.”
“I have fought enough for the day.”
Senda laughed, soft and sweet. After thinking he would never see her again, he had not wanted her out of his sight since his return. She had happily complied.
“That is not what I meant.”
Endric sniffed. “I know.”
“The office suits you as well.”
Endric looked around. Andril’s office had been unchanged since his death. Sparsely decorated and tidy. So typical of his brother. Books stacked neatly along the walls. The desk uncluttered. “I didn’t expect this.”
Senda laughed. “He did, I think.”
He looked up at her, furrowing his brow. Perhaps she was right and his father had expected his return. The promotion was still surprising, especially in light of their history. Endric had not fought this time, accepting the leadership his father offered.
A knock on the door interrupted. Senda stood and leaned forward, kissing him on his forehead. The sensation was warm and it tingled.
“I need to check on Listain,” she said. “With Olin gone, he will need me.”
Endric smiled. His distrust for Listain was gone. The man had been tortured by Urik, trapped in the teralin throne for a purpose they still had not determined. Urik had wanted Listain out of the way because he’d discovered what Urik planned and how he had allowed the Deshmahne into the city to force the Denraen to act, but there had to be more to it, some reason that he’d involved the throne. “I do too.”
Senda walked to the door and opened it, pausing and turning back. “I know,” she said before leaving.
The open door revealed Novan. The historian was cleansed and healed. He carried his staff in hand again. No evidence of darkness or shadows surrounded him.
“I came to tell you that I am leaving.”
“So soon?”
Novan smiled. “I will return. The Magi will hate it, but your father granted permission.”
Endric frowned but Novan didn’t elaborate. “Is Brohmin—”
Novan smiled. “Healed. As am I.”
“What of me?”
Novan shook his head. “I don’t know how, but you were able to charge the neutral teralin.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The teralin-forged swords were negatively charged. You managed to charge the rod with a positive polarity, and differently than any way that I know.” He shook his head. “Be thankful for it. Otherwise, we would all have died.”
“We haven’t found Urik,” Endric said.
Novan smiled, and a flash of the darkness returned, disappearing quickly. “That is my task now.”
“He was Denraen.”
Novan shook his head, his mouth a tight line. “He was of the guild first. That betrayal is the deepest.”
“Why?”
“He lost a son, his family, to the Deshmahne, but his grief does not forgive his actions.”
Endric didn’t argue. He would discuss Urik with his father later. There were other questions he had for Dendril as well. The most pressing were those about his Antrilii heritage. Dentoun had been his uncle! Now that he knew, the resemblance became clearer. That made Nahrsin and Graime his cousins. He had gone from no other family to an exotic one in moments. And still had not adjusted.
“The chair?” he asked, turning his attention back to Novan. He couldn’t quite call it a throne as the historian had, and still wondered at its purpose.
“Tresten and your father have it secured.”
“What is it?”
Novan shook his head, tapping his staff on the stone floor. “Ask him to explain. The answer is long and complex. If he refuses, seek Tresten for answers. They will come, but you must earn them. Remain vigilant, Endric. Learn as much as you can. About yourself, the teralin, the Magi. Only through knowledge will we persevere.” He paused, his face drawn and dark. He seemed to consider his next words carefully, weighing them before speaking. “What is stored in this city, the teralin in these caves, is incredibly valuable.”
Novan paused again, and the weight of the next words made Endric shiver. He knew they were true, but hearing Novan speak them made the threat even more real.
“The Deshmahne were not defeated. Only slowed. And they will return.”
Look for Book 2 of The Teralin Sword out June 7.
As Endric continues his search for the traitor Urik, a new threat emerges, one that demands the attention of the Denraen. Now an officer, Endric should be a part of the planning, but the general—his father—seems determined to keep him from it. Endric searches for information that might help him understand, and as he finally thinks he’s getting close to discovering word on Urik, he’s sent from the city on what appears nothing more than a pointless mission.
When an asset he cares for goes missing, Endric betrays the Denraen to go after them, and doing so brings him into contact with the new threat. Endric might be the only one able to respond, but doing so means he must lead, something he’s struggled with since his commission, and means he’s drawn into a game of Urik’s choosing, one where the stakes are his life and the leadership of the Denraen.
About the Author
DK Holmberg currently lives in rural Minnesota where the winter cold and the summer mosquitoes keep him inside and writing. He has two active children who inspire him to keep telling new stories.
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Also by D.K. Holmberg
The Teralin Sword
Soldier Son
Soldier Sword
The Lost Prophecy
The Threat of Madness
The Warrior Mage
Tower of the Gods
The Cloud Warrior Saga
Chased by Fire
Bound by Fire
Changed by Fire
Fortress of Fire
Forged in Fire
Serpent of Fire
Servant of Fire
Born of Fire
Broken of Fire
Light of Fire
Cycle of Fire
The Endless War
Journey of Fire and Night
Darkness Rising
Endless Night
Summoner’s Bond
Seal of Light
The Shadow Accords
Shadow Blessed
Shadow Cursed
Shadow Born
The Dark Ability
The Dark Ability
The Heartstone Blade
The Tower of Venass
Blood of the Watcher
The Shadowsteel Forge
The Guild Secret
Rise of the Elder
The Sighted Assassin
The Binders Game
The Forgotten
> Assassin’s End
The Lost Garden
Keeper of the Forest
The Desolate Bond
Keeper of Light
The Painter Mage
Shifted Agony
Arcane Mark
Painter For Hire
Stolen Compass
Stone Dragon
Soldier Son (The Teralin Sword Book 1) Page 32