Urik started to stir and Endric punched him on the back of the neck again, using a technique Listain had taught him, silencing him.
He glanced around the room. It was sparsely decorated. A massive bed took up the majority of the space, with neatly pressed sheets pulled up on it. Worry that there might not be a place to secure Urik was alleviated when Endric noticed two hooks set into the wall above the bed.
Endric chuckled. Those would be perfect for tying Urik into place. They weren’t the intended purpose, but they would do well enough for him.
He sighed and began securing Urik. The longer he was here, the more that he wanted to get this over with, see what he could find of Tresten, and return to Vasha as quickly as he could.
20
The street was awash with activity. Endric paused, looking around, searching for evidence of the Ur soldiers, but saw no sign. They would have to be here. In Thealon, the Ur were nearly as prevalent as the Denraen and Vasha.
It was late fall, yet a floral fragrance hung on the air. Was that from the flowers he knew to be planted around the tower? When he’d been in Thealon before, he’d seen the way the priests decorated the grounds around the tower, with dozens of species of flowering plants and countless trees dotting the grounds, creating an impressive decoration. It would be surprising for those scents to reach him this far out on the periphery of the city, practically near the wall that surrounded the entirety of it, but he detected something.
He needed to move quickly. If he didn’t, Urik would awaken. The cloth he’d shoved into Urik’s mouth to gag him might keep him silent for a time, but Endric didn’t know how long that would last. If he made too much noise, would one of the other tavern workers come to check on him, or would they think him bound and gagged as some part of whatever games were common within the tavern?
It was a risk Endric wasn’t willing to take.
Which meant he had to find information quickly. Then he had to find Tresten.
If he still lived.
Finding him would be difficult. Tresten could remain hidden with the priests or he could have gone anywhere else within the city. Endric assumed that he remained with the priests—especially as that had been his intent when they had been here the last time, but Tresten had proven somewhat difficult to anticipate.
If Endric could find one of the Ur, he thought he might be able to use them to bring him to the priests and see if Tresten was in fact still within the city. All signs Endric could find indicated that he was.
He weaved through the crowd, navigating between merchants pushing carts and clusters of individuals who made their way along the street. Judging by the way some were dressed—a formality to their clothing that Endric rarely saw in Vasha—he suspected they were heading toward the temple, choosing to worship. In Thealon, he suspected such worship would be common. The proximity to the Tower would draw people from all over.
Endric heard commotion along the street and veered toward it, his Denraen training taking over. As he did, he noted a cluster of people pushing their way forward. Most were men, most were dressed in tattered clothing, and none of them were armed. A few were larger than the others, muscular and brutish, though for the most part, they were scrawny and younger.
He lingered along the edge of the street and watched.
They continued to force their way forward and he realized they were making their way toward the center of the city—and the Tower.
Endric trailed after them. The two men—the larger of them—pushed their way through the crowd, forcing others to stagger off to the side. After a while, shouts gave enough warning so that others simply moved out of the way, avoiding the throng of dirty men.
They carried nothing with them.
Were they from Thealon? The leader had dark hair, and as they scanned the crowds, Endric noticed eyes so dark, they were nearly black. The men had light complexions, though with the dirt along their skin, it was difficult to tell.
These were not locals.
Most from the city had a hint of a tan and lighter hair and lighter-colored eyes. Many in the city felt that made them godlier, imagining that the gods had pale hair and bright eyes, though none would know for certain, as the gods had not been seen in countless generations.
As Endric followed, he paused at the street corner. A merchant pulled his cart to a hard stop and glared after the crowd making their way toward the tower. The man muttered softly. “Stupid miners,” he said.
“Miners?” Endric asked without meaning to. He hadn’t realized there were any active mines near Thealon. There was teralin here, but it was not mined, not as it had been in Vasha. Even that was no longer actively mined.
The merchant glanced over. He had a dark complexion and hazel eyes. From the cut of his cloak along with the embroidery along it, it seemed as if the man was fairly well off. His cart was covered and he led three horses with him. “Yes. Miners. They come out of the north, seeking the gods’ approval. Most have never been out of their small mining towns, so that when they come to places like Thealon, they make a spectacle.”
Endric had traveled through a few of the mining towns on his way back to Vasha after leaving Farsea. He didn’t recall seeing men quite like that, though he hadn’t stayed long. His visits had been brief, long enough to get a good night’s rest and often a hot meal before continuing on his way. In many of those villages, men who were old enough to work went off into the iron mines, though some searched for silver and gold. Such valuable ore was rarely found in the north.
“Why do they come to Thealon?” Endric asked.
“The same as most men. The same as you, I suspect,” the merchant said, eying up Endric, taking in his clothes before lingering on his sword.
Endric grunted. “The same as me? I doubt it.”
“You don’t think to join the Ur and gain the favor of the priests—and through them, the gods?”
Endric frowned. “Do you see many men come to Thealon seeking to join the Ur?” He hadn’t realized that was how they recruited. The Denraen had it easier. Most soldiers wanted to be chosen by the Denraen. Choosing from each land enabled them to claim each nation equally, so that they would not be said to favor one place over another. In most places, being chosen for the Denraen was the highest honor a soldier could have.
“Men from the outer villages think they have some talent with the sword and they make their way to Thealon.” The merchant shrugged. “Some of them probably do have a bit of skill. You grow up outside of the city, you get accustomed to dealing with bandits, and more than a few think that by joining the Ur, they will be able to direct the soldiers toward their home, finding a way to offer protection the Ur didn’t otherwise grant.”
“I take it you don’t think that happens.”
“I’m no soldier. I don’t make any claims that I am. I’m a simple textile merchant.”
That, at least, explained the quality of his clothing. “It sounds as if you have experience in what takes place in the lands around Thealon.”
“You travel enough, and you see enough, you begin to make generalities.” The merchant turned to him and considered him for a moment. “Take you, for example. You have a solid build and you’re tall—I’ll give you that. I suspect you grew up working a farm. Most men who have experience working on a farm are solid. Were you a little larger, I would have wondered whether you spent time as a blacksmith, but you don’t have quite that build.”
Endric smiled to himself. “Seems that miners have a similar build,” he said, watching the men as they made their way along the street. They had slowed as they entered a busier section of the city, no longer forcing their way quite as aggressively through the crowd.
“Some do, though they’re usually the ones who stole from others in their village to feed themselves.”
Endric chuckled. What would Pendin have said were he to hear the merchant commenting on something like this? Pendin was not nearly as tall as Endric, but he was incredibly muscular, a build that came from his family�
��s ties to the mine. Such strength would have been valuable when teralin was mined, but it was also valuable in serving the Denraen.
“And if I told you I didn’t grow up on a farm?” Endric asked.
The man’s gaze drifted back to his sword. “No farm? You don’t have the dress of the Ur, so you’re not a soldier already, and your accent would tell me that you aren’t from the city itself. Maybe you are a blacksmith.”
The men turned a corner, disappearing from view. Endric was drawn to follow, curious where they would go, and what they would do. He started into the street but the merchant grabbed his sleeve.
Endric turned and caught the merchant’s eye. “I’m no blacksmith, either.”
“What then?”
Endric turned away and started down the street. “I’m just a man looking for a priest, no different than those men.”
He started to pull away but the merchant hung onto his sleeve. “Those men aren’t going to reach any of the priests,” he said.
“Why not?” Endric asked.
The merchant chuckled. “The priests don’t visit with just anyone. You can find them in the temple, and anyone is allowed to worship, but to spend any time with the priests? That simply doesn’t happen.”
If that were the case, then Endric would have a harder time finding information about Tresten—or Tresten himself—than he thought. He had imagined finding the Ur, and convincing a higher-level soldier to help them reach the priests, but maybe that was unlikely. Without any of the Magi, simply serving as one of the Denraen would give him no pull to reach the priests.
“What if I have a message for a particular priest?” Why was he asking the merchant? It wasn’t that the man had particular knowledge that Endric could utilize. He wasn’t even connected to the city. He had already admitted that he was a traveling merchant and spent much of his time outside of the city.
“I suppose you could go to the temple, attend one of the worship ceremonies, and see if you were able to speak with the priests afterward. It would be unlikely to work, but…” The merchant shrugged.
Endric pulled his arm free and stared along the street. How long could he leave Urik bound in the room? If he left him too long, he risked the man somehow getting free. If that happened, it would be hard to recapture him. How much destruction could Urik cause if he managed to get free?
He would have to balance his needs with what he could realistically accomplish. He wanted to find what he could about Tresten—and he was convinced that he would find something here in the city—but he also needed to not risk Urik escaping.
As he started away, the merchant shouted after him, “You never told me what you did.”
Endric paused and turned back to him, shaking his head. “I didn’t.”
The merchant left his wagon and hurried forward. His gaze lingered on Endric’s sword once again. “You carry a sword and you have the build for a soldier, but you’re not dressed like one of the Ur.”
“I’m not one of the Ur.”
The man smiled. “But you’re a soldier.”
Endric nodded. “I’m a soldier.” That fit him better than any other title. His father had wanted him to serve in a leadership role and Endric had done all that he could to do so, but it remained an unnatural fit, despite how much he tried. He would serve, and he would lead if needed, but none of that would change the fact that Endric remained a soldier first.
“If you’re a soldier, where do you serve? You’ve already told me you’re not of the Ur, and I’d be surprised if Gom Aaldia sent men into the city… unless you were scouting. Is that it? Does the High King intend to attack Thealon again?”
“Not that I know,” Endric answered.
“Then you are Gom Aaldian. I should have known it from your accent.”
Endric chuckled. “I’m not Gom Aaldian, either.”
“Then what are you? Where are you from?”
Endric flashed a grin. “Vasha.”
“If you’re from Vasha, that means…”
“That means,” Endric agreed.
The merchant gasped. “Denraen in Thealon?” he whispered.
He glanced around, as if thinking to find other Denraen hiding along the street. Endric let him look, not wanting to disappoint him by letting him know that he was the only one here. Let the merchant believe there were dozens of Denraen in the city. And it was possible there were some. Patrols often passed through Thealon, and many would take time to stop and remain in the city. Thealon was safer than other places, and none would be blamed for wanting a warm bed and a hot meal.
“This one is.”
Endric left the merchant and disappeared into the crowd, heading after the miners. When he reached the end of the street, he found that they were nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t expected them to be, and now that he understood who they were—and what they likely were after—there wasn’t any real urgency.
Had the chance meeting with the merchant given him some information? He understood that it would be unlikely to reach the priests on his own, which meant he had to find another way to get their attention. Perhaps if he had come with a regiment of Denraen, he might have had an easier time. Instead, he would have to find another way in.
Before he did that, he decided he had best check on Urik.
He hurried back toward the tavern until he saw the sign for the Shallow Scabbard, the oddly named tavern that he’d made his home while in Thealon. He hurried through the common room and up the stairs in the back to the quarters he been given—ransomed, really. He paused outside the door to the room, listening. He heard no movement, but with Urik, he didn’t want to take it for granted that he wasn’t attempting to deceive.
Endric grabbed the hilt of his sword and unlocked the door.
Hesitating again, he waited until he was certain that there was no movement.
There was nothing.
Endric stepped in and found the room exactly as he’d left it. Urik remained bound to the bed, his wrists held overhead and his legs strapped to the end of the bed. The gag Endric had forced into his mouth and tied into place still prevented him from making too much noise.
But Urik was awake.
He looked at Endric, anger flaring in his eyes, staring at him with an intensity that would make many step back. Endric only smiled.
“Good. You’re awake.”
Urik tried to say something, but Endric ignored it. If Urik was awake and had remained tied, unable to escape, the bindings would hold. Endric wouldn’t rely upon them—not completely—but it was reassuring to know that he could be gone for stretches at a time and return to find Urik still here.
He made his way to the bed and unsheathed his sword. Urik eyed the blade as he did, and his eyes went wide when Endric brought it up before slamming it into the side of his head once more, knocking him out.
It might be that Urik couldn’t escape, but he would have more time if he could rely upon Urik be no threat. He checked the knots, making sure that they remained well tied, before stepping back into the hall, pulling the door closed and locking it.
A slender woman in the hall, her cheeks painted a pale red, watched him, her gaze drifting past him and seeming to see through the door before she shifted her attention back to his face. He suspected many of the women had questions about why he had paid what he had and had no interest in any of the women. That question was in her eyes, but she didn’t ask it.
Endric raised a finger to his lips and winked.
21
Endric sat at a table near the back of the tavern, listening to the music as it filled the air, a mug of ale resting on the table in front of him. There had been a time not all that long ago when he would have quickly drunk the ale, but so much had changed in that time. He had changed.
The tavern stunk. There was the familiar odor of ale, one he found pleasant, but there were other smells in the air, that of sweat and a foulness that he thought was particular to this tavern. He tried not to think about the source of the odor, preferring to
ignore where it might come from, and struggled. Even the trays of food scattered around the tavern did nothing to overpower that stench.
He watched as women made their way from table to table, some taking men by the hand and leading them off and upstairs. Often times, they returned shortly after to the cheers of their companions. Some were away for longer, and there were more than a few who returned by themselves, without the woman. Endric always wondered about that, worried what it meant for those who chose to sell themselves in such ways.
He told himself that it wasn’t his concern. It couldn’t be. He had other things he needed to do, especially if he intended to find anything he could about what had happened to Tresten.
Except… Tresten himself had wanted Endric to search for him.
Darla came over and took a seat in front of him. She had a round face and deep brown eyes that he once would have found appealing. She sat across from him and leaned forward, resting her head on her hands as she watched him.
“You’re an odd one, aren’t you?”
Endric smiled. “Am I?” he asked.
“You come to a place like this and you pay for days, but that’s not what you want at all.”
Endric gripped the mug of ale and pulled it toward him. “What do you know about what I want?”
Darla smiled. “I can see that you’re barely touching your ale. You have it here to make it look like you’re drinking it, but me and the other servers can see that you aren’t. What is it? What are you after in Thealon?”
“Answers,” he said.
She smiled. “Most who come to Thealon seek answers.”
Endric shook his head. “Those aren’t the kind of answers that I’m after.”
“I never said what kind I was talking about.”
Endric nodded toward a table near the front of the tavern. A man sitting there wore the heavy robes of the priests of the Urmahne and had a shaven head. “I’m not here for answers from the gods,” Endric said. “I seek a man I once knew.”
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