Urik’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Interesting? Is that what you would call it?”
Endric shrugged. “You’ve been a member of the historian guild, a member of the Denraen, and you have managed to gain access to the Urmahne priests. You wouldn’t call that interesting?”
Urik smiled. When he did, his face changed, going from neutral to something darker. “And yet, none of that would have happened were it not for the Deshmahne.”
“Do you give them credit or the blame?”
“Both.”
“What happened?”
“It no longer matters,” Urik said.
“I think it does. What happened has influenced countless others. What you’ve been through—what you lost—has caused you to harm many others. How again would that not matter?”
Urik stared at him, holding his gaze for a long moment before shaking his head. “Is this your way of questioning me?”
Endric leaned back, remaining seated on the bed. “Does it have to be an interrogation?”
“Your father sent you to question me, didn’t he?”
“My father sent me to keep tabs on you. Nothing more than that.”
Urik shook his head. “Do you think he trusts you so little to lead?”
“Is that what you believe?” Endric asked.
Urik shrugged. “We’re more alike than you realize.”
“And how is that?”
“We’ve both betrayed the Denraen.”
“I haven’t betrayed the Denraen.”
Urik smiled again. This time, there was an unmistakable hint of malice. “You may not call it a betrayal, but abandoning the Denraen for your own needs is no different than what I did. You broke your oaths.”
Endric stared at him until Urik smiled and lifted his book up again, turning his attention to the pages. Endric continued to watch him, not knowing what to say—if there was anything to say.
Could he have betrayed the Denraen the same way that Urik had? Was he now an oathbreaker?
He hadn’t considered it a betrayal, but then again, maybe Urik hadn’t considered what he had done a betrayal either. Urik did what he thought was necessary so that he could force the Denraen to confront the Deshmahne.
What had been Endric’s reason for heading north?
He had wanted to know about himself. Was that reason enough for him to have abandoned his post, to have given up his commission—even if temporarily—so that he could find himself?
Dendril had allowed him to go as a sort of reward for stopping Urik, but maybe that wasn’t the point. Maybe the point was that Endric should not have needed to go.
Had he not, the understanding of the groeliin that he’d gained, the knowledge of teralin and the groeliin’s connection to it, would never have been discovered.
Was that not valuable as well?
“What happened with you?” Endric asked softly.
Urik glanced up a moment before returning his attention to his book. “We’ve already gone through this.”
“You were a good Denraen soldier.”
Urik set the book down again and looked up. “The Denraen served ideals that I believed in.”
“Then why the betrayal?” He raised his hand as Urik started to open his mouth. “I understand what you’re going to say about me heading north to understand the Antrilii, and I agree that they’re similar.” Saying that was difficult, especially to Urik, but he needed Urik to confide in him. “But you had a different kind of betrayal. Yours was one of concealment.”
Urik clasped his hands together on top of his lap. His face wore a flat expression, unreadable, as plain as the man who wore it. “Had your father listened to my counsel, the betrayal would not have been necessary.”
“You attempted to convince him of the need to attack the Deshmahne?”
“From the moment I was chosen, my first days within the Deshmahne, I tried to convince those above me of the danger in ignoring their presence. None wanted to listen. When I gained my commission, when I reached a level of rank where I could actually influence others, I thought that would make a difference. It was the reason I pushed so hard, why I trained as hard as I did.”
Endric could imagine the difficulty that Urik would have faced. If he really believed that what he did had been justified, then he might have tried to progress through the proper Denraen channels. And Endric couldn’t deny that Urik had risen through the ranks through his skill. No Denraen was promoted unless they were worthy.
Until him.
“What was your experience with the Deshmahne?”
Urik stared at his hands. “I had a family once.”
“I know.”
“As the Deshmahne gained strength in the south, they paid little mind to those they hurt. They had their demonstrations of power. They used that to help with conversions. My son… He was a casualty of one such demonstration.” Urik fell silent, still staring at his hands.
Endric felt a moment of guilt at forcing Urik to speak of what had happened. It would be no different than forcing his father to speak about what had happened with Andril. Endric wouldn’t ever imagine doing that to his father, not wanting to have him relive the experience of seeing his dead son’s head sitting in a canvas sack on his desk. Endric didn’t want to relive it. What had happened was horrible, the kind of devastation that some people never recovered from.
It was the kind of devastation that could motivate a man to betray those he cared about.
“Were you a historian before your son passed?”
“I had studied with the guild, but had not been apprenticed.”
“Does that matter?”
Urik looked up. “You know nothing about the guild, do you?” It was a question, rather than an accusation. There was none of the heat or malice to the words, not as there had been before.
“I don’t. Novan doesn’t speak of the guild.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Novan serves in a different capacity. He is unique among historians.”
Endric snorted. That seemed an understatement. Novan was unique, and Endric thought that he had only barely begun to understand how—and why. It had something to do with the Conclave, though he suspected there was more to it than that. Novan had a role that Endric didn’t fully understand.
“How did you join the guild?”
Urik sighed. “After I lost everything, the guild granted me an apprenticeship. It was offered out of pity, but I was determined to make the most of it.”
“How long were you with the historian guild?”
“Until I joined the Denraen.”
“Have there ever been other historians who became soldiers?” Endric didn’t know of any, but if anyone would, it would be one of the historians.
“Typically, the reverse is true. Soldiers decide they’ve seen enough and choose a life less violent. Few have come this way.”
There was a mournful tone to the way that Urik spoke that was almost enough to make Endric feel bad for the man. Almost.
It was difficult to let go of what Urik had done, and all the people he had betrayed as he had pursued his vengeance. There might have been a good reason when he had started; then he might have actually been hurt, possibly even enough to have an understandable reason to act the way that he did, but he had taken it to a place where it should not have gone.
Endric stood, but when he reached the door, Urik stopped him.
“That’s it?”
Endric looked over his shoulder. “That’s what?”
“I thought you would push harder. I expected that your father had asked you to pressure me to share more with you.”
Endric shook his head. “My father didn’t pressure me to do anything. He gave me an assignment, and that was it.”
Urik grunted. “Knowing Dendril as I do, I suspect there was more to it than that.”
Endric didn’t say anything. He knew his father as well, and there was something more to it, even if he wasn’t entirely
sure what it was. He was to have somehow gotten more information out of Urik, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was expected to get from the man. Was it only about discovering more of his history? Was there more to it?
“He’s glad you’re back,” Urik said.
“Who?”
“Your father. He may not say it, but he’s pleased that you returned.”
Urik turned his attention back to the book he’d been reading and left Endric staring after him for a moment. Could he actually have been attempting to console him?
That seemed too much credit to give to Urik, especially after everything he’d done. Endric expected there was some ulterior motive, though he was at a loss to come up with what it might be.
He stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him, trying not to let Urik’s comments get to him. He knew that was what the man wanted, and he couldn’t allow it to bother him.
It was difficult. He had a hard time shaking the questions in his mind as he left Urik in his room, sitting alone, studying his books. Endric had a hard time feeling as if there were a significant difference between himself and Urik. Both had acted in their best interests, wanting only to find information that would bring them a sense of personal peace rather than focusing on the needs of the Denraen.
He pushed those thoughts away as he hurried along the hall.
7
The gate leading into the university remained closed. Two men stood stationed on either side of it, both wearing the dark brown robes that signified university scholars. Endric wore his own Denraen dress, the crisp, gray uniform with the crest signaling his rank. His sword was sheathed at his side, though he didn’t expect to need it here.
“Why do you think we should allow you passage?” one of the men asked. He had a long face and a hooked nose. His eyes were sunken, but there was a brightness to them and he shone with intelligence. The man might seem unassuming, but Endric knew better than to believe there wasn’t more to him.
“I am Endric Verilan, en’raen of the Denraen.”
The man met his gaze unblinkingly. “The Denraen don’t have jurisdiction on university grounds.”
Endric nodded. Tradition had long held that the university patrolled itself and that the Denraen did not—and would not—interfere. There were times when that tradition was superseded by the needs of the city. During the miner rebellion, when the Deshmahne had attacked, the Denraen had assumed control of the entire city. Their patrols had increased, and even the university had not been off-limits.
“Not jurisdiction. We aren’t claiming the need… at this time.”
He hesitated, leaving the words hanging in the air. It was enough that it should raise a question. These men weren’t in a position to challenge him. They were simply guards, men assigned to prevent unauthorized access to the university. How would they know whether there was anything more taking place in Vasha?
“What is it that you need?” the man asked.
“I need to see one of the scholars.” This was the way he should have approached from the beginning, rather than thinking to sneak in, but coming directly like this would create more questions—especially from his father—but not nearly as many as attempting to wander through the teralin mines in the dark.
“Which scholar would you request?”
Answering it the wrong way would raise suspicion. His presence would arouse a certain level of suspicion, especially as word got out that one of the Denraen came to the university. Not only one of the Denraen, but a ranking member. It wouldn’t take long for a connection to be made between Endric and Dendril, and he doubted that much time would be wasted connecting the two, making his father aware of the fact that he’d come.
He wanted information before that occurred. He wanted to be in—and then out—before his father discovered that he’d come here.
“Elizabeth Greln.”
The man’s eyes narrowed a moment but then he nodded. “I can send word to her that you seek her for questions.”
“Sending word isn’t good enough. I need to see her.”
“I can’t guarantee that she is even available. Master Greln often keeps herself busy.”
“I am quite certain that she will see me. If she does not, you can tell her that I threatened you.”
The man started to smile when Endric unsheathed his sword.
“Don’t make me threaten you.”
“The Denraen don’t have—”
Endric stepped toward the man and grabbed him near the neck. He twisted, preventing the other gate guard from intervening. “Don’t we? The Denraen have jurisdiction everywhere. That is our purpose. Do you think the university is somehow excluded? I don’t intend to ask again. Now. Take me to her.”
He released the man’s robes and pushed him back. The scholar stumbled toward the gate and cast a hateful glance at the other man. It could just as easily have been him, had he been the one to speak. Endric didn’t care which of the two he threatened. He had no intention of harming anyone, but he did have every intention of passing through the gate and reaching Elizabeth. It was time for him to have answers. Time for him to know what had taken place in the city while he’d been gone.
Something had occurred.
His father had trusted Urik when he should not have. That told Endric that there had been enough of a danger to the teralin for him to need about to seek help from a man who had betrayed them. Endric wasn’t even certain that Urik had done as needed. Perhaps he should discover what exactly Urik had charged and double check whether he had somehow influenced things in the wrong fashion.
The scholar motioned for Endric to follow, and they passed through the gate.
The inside of the university had less activity than outside. The streets outside the university were bustling with travelers, people who came to Vasha seeking the knowledge and wisdom of the Magi. Some came to Vasha seeking the temple here, thinking that the priests who served within Vasha somehow rivaled those who served in Thealon. Endric didn’t know whether that was true or not but doubted that a proximity to the gods mattered, just as he doubted that having a temple sitting atop the mountain made a difference in reaching the gods.
Some came to Vasha simply to see it. It was something of a rite of passage, a journey many made as they sought to understand where they fit into the world. It made the city increasingly busy, far busier than it should be considering how difficult it was to reach.
Inside the university grounds, they were surrounded by scholars. Almost everyone wore the solid brown robes, and most hurried from place to place, not staring up toward the third terrace as they did outside the university.
The man guided him through the streets, leading him away from the central complex of buildings. Endric scanned the buildings, searching for something that would stand out, but there was nothing. He hadn’t expected to see anything. When he’d come with Pendin, he hadn’t noticed anything then, either, and that time he had come during a choosing, a time when the university selected new scholars. If they were to see anything, that would have been the opportunity.
They meandered down a few side streets, heading toward the wall that rose up to the second terrace, before the scholar stopped. He rapped on a heavy wooden door and waited.
Was this the same place Endric had come before? Was this the strange gallery to which Pendin’s father had brought them as they had made their way through the city?
When the door opened, an unfamiliar face greeted him. It was an older woman who had dark gray hair and steely gray eyes. Her gaze swept up from the scholar to Endric before turning back to the scholar. “Why have you brought him here?”
“The Denraen seek Master Greln’s counsel.”
The woman tsked. “You take him at his word? Anyone could come to the university and claim they were Denraen and demand access to one of the Masters.”
“He wears the crest of en’raen.”
Endric resisted the urge to glance at his uniform. He hadn’t expected the scholar to recognize t
he marking of his office. He should have. The university scholars were nothing if not incredibly gifted. It was the reason so few were granted access each year. They were even more selective than the university in Thealon.
“Anyone could re-create that crest.”
Endric realized that the woman’s objections were not meant for him but for the younger scholar.
“He claimed himself to be the son of Dendril.”
Had he? Endric didn’t recall announcing himself as Dendril’s son, though he had given his last name. Perhaps that was enough to reveal himself.
“Any man could claim himself to be Dendril’s son.” The fight in the old woman had faded, and Endric had the sense that she argued now simply to see what reaction she might get from this man.
“And he carries a teralin sword.”
This time, Endric did unsheathe his sword slightly. How had they known that he carried a teralin sword? He had unsheathed briefly, for the barest amount of time, but certainly not long enough for the man to have recognized a teralin blade—hadn’t he?
Maybe he had. Many of the scholars were related to miners. He wouldn’t have put it past Pendin to have recognized the teralin blade. It was a unique sword, one that he’d found within Urik’s quarters long after the man was gone. He didn’t know the significance of the sword, or whether he was meant to find it, but he had carried it—and used it—in the time since then. It had become as much his sword as any that he’d ever used.
The blade was simple, but finely made. The hilt fit his hand nicely, and there was a weighting to it that felt right. He had often wondered at its making, wondering who would have forged such a weapon. Perhaps Urik, or perhaps Urik had discovered it somewhere within the teralin mines. That was equally possible, Endric realized.
“Many carry a teralin sword.”
The man shook his head. “Few carry a teralin sword. Doing so affects the bearer.”
Endric glanced at the man, who seemed to pointedly avoid his gaze.
“Indeed. Perhaps you are right to bring him to her. She would have words with him.”
She waved a crooked hand and the man nodded before disappearing along the street, heading back toward the gate. How much trouble would he be in for allowing Endric access to the university? Had he satisfied this old woman by answering her questions? Would there be other questions asked of him? Not that it mattered to Endric—at least, not too much. He had questions, and he would find answers.
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