Soldier Saved

by D. K. Holmberg

  They stopped along the shores of a river, letting the horses drink. The water tumbled over the rocks with a violent energy before eventually spilling out into the sea.

  “He still hasn’t told us where we are headed,” Endric said. Something had happened that prompted Tresten to send word to Endric, but what was it? When would he share?

  Urik glanced over. “I don’t think Tresten will tell us.”

  “But you suspect.” Endric had begun to realize that Urik knew more about where they were traveling than he let on. Did it have something to do with the Conclave? Tresten had claimed they would learn about the Conclave but the Mage had so far said nothing else about it, keeping Endric in the dark.

  “I’ve known about the Conclave since I was a part of the historian guild. They try to keep it secretive, but there are rumors of another guild of scholars, and…”

  “You wanted to know about it,” Endric said.

  Urik nodded, standing and running his damp hands through his hair. “If there was another sect of scholars, I wanted to know. It was the only way that I would find what I wanted.”

  “What did you discover?”

  Urik grunted. “Nothing. I knew of the Conclave’s existence, but that was it. I was unable to determine who even sat upon the Conclave, other than a suspicion that historians were among them.”

  “And now?”

  Urik looked over with a hint of a smile. “Now? Now I know of several members, but it brings me no closer to understanding their purpose.”

  “And you think their purpose is knowledge.”

  “What other purpose would there be? They seek to obtain long forgotten knowledge and prevent access to the rest of the world. They protect it.”

  That hadn’t been Endric’s experience with the Conclave, though admittedly, he wasn’t a part of it. He had traveled with Brohmin and had spent time with Novan and Tresten, but knew very little about what the Conclave did and what intent they had. It seemed that Tresten intended to change that, though Endric wasn’t sure that he was ready to learn more about the Conclave. He wasn’t certain he was the right person, especially if there was some higher purpose to it.

  “It’s been my experience that the Conclave is about more than simply knowledge.”

  “You think the Conclave takes action?”

  Endric shrugged. Hadn’t they? They had taken action when Urik had brought the Deshmahne to Vasha, acting so that they prevented an attack on the city. Novan had been involved in the Ravers, as had both Brohmin and Tresten. It seemed the Conclave did act.

  Whatever else they were, they took action when it was necessary. That seemed different than the historian guild to him.

  “I’ve been a part of the historian guild, and I know how little scholars take action. They sit back, observe, and record, and yet let the world press on them if it means they can record it.”

  That wasn’t Endric’s understanding of what he’d seen from Novan. Novan had been involved, guiding him through the mountains to reach Vasha. Novan had helped fight off the Ravers.

  “Maybe you don’t know enough about the Conclave.”

  “I know enough. Scholars are the same the world over. They seek knowledge but never an application of it.”

  Endric could only smile. What would happen if Urik saw how much Novan had been involved? What would he do if he knew anything about Brohmin?

  “Was that what you were after by seeking Tresten? Did you want to know what you could find of the Conclave?”

  Urik looked away and Endric realized that he had gotten to the heart of it.

  “You could have asked my father.”

  Urik’s breath caught. He didn’t look over at Endric, but Endric could sense the tension in his back. “Dendril is a part of the Conclave?”

  “He is.”

  “How many others do you know?”

  Endric shook his head. “Not so many that I can reveal all the Conclave secrets, if that’s what you’re thinking. I know my father, Novan, and Tresten. A few others.” Endric was convinced that Elizabeth was a part of the Conclave, though she had not said anything about it.

  “If you know as much as you do, I’m surprised they haven’t asked you to join.”

  “There hasn’t been the opportunity, Urik.”

  Urik looked up. Tresten stood off to the side, watching them. An amused expression lingered on his face. His hands were clasped behind his back and his posture was rigid, the way that it had been in the days since they departed Thealon. Lines around the corners of his eyes were deeper than when Endric had last seen him and his brow was more heavily wrinkled. He was aged, and it had seemed as if it accelerated. In spite of that, there was a power that hung around him, an aura that surrounded him, that gave him a sense of authority.

  “I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn,” Urik said.

  Endric almost started to smile, but he realized that Urik was being honest. He was apologetic. What was there between Urik and Tresten that prompted Urik to be so compliant and practically subservient? What did Urik know about Tresten? It had to be something more than the fact that Tresten was a Mage, but Endric didn’t know what it was.

  “Not out of turn, Urik. Endric has gained a greater understanding of the workings of the Conclave—at least, a part of the Conclave—than many others. He has not been asked to join, but in my mind, that is an oversight more than anything else.”

  Tresten glanced at Endric but said nothing.

  If asked, would Endric serve the Conclave?

  Would it pull him even more from the Denraen?

  Maybe that would be better. How could he return with what he knew? His father might serve the Conclave, but Endric had the sense that he did not do so nearly as well as the Conclave would prefer. Perhaps having Endric out of the Denraen would allow him to serve better.

  “Is that what this is about?” Endric asked.

  “I told you from the beginning where we were headed,” Tresten said.

  “The Conclave?”

  Tresten nodded. “You who have seen more than I think your father expected have been needed once more to help the Conclave. You were summoned.”

  “Summoned for what?” Endric asked. But then he already knew. Tresten was the reason he had returned to Vasha. That summons was why he had left the Antrilii when he had.

  “Summoned because events that are happening are accelerating. You have seen only the beginning of it, but it is a signal of something greater. The Deshmahne attack on Vasha is but a part of it. As is the uncertainty that was spread across the north. And now I suspect there is division within the Conclave.”

  “Division? How can the Conclave be divided?”

  “There are some who would act and others who would not. The Conclave has existed for hundreds of years for a singular purpose, but we have not always agreed on how to achieve that purpose. I intend to reunite them in that purpose.”

  “Then why summon me? Why draw me to Thealon rather than telling me that you needed me there?”

  “I tried, but it was not safe.”

  “Not safe? For who?”

  “For me.”

  Endric blinked. “How could it not be safe for you?”

  “You—and your father, were he to have answered the summons—were to be my escort. Dendril did not come. I am thankful that you did.”

  “Why do you need an escort? The Deshmahne aren’t a threat here any longer. The Denraen have gained control of the north,” Endric said.

  “Have they? From what I see, there remains a level of uncertainty that even the Denraen are unable to settle. It might be more than can be accomplished without a greater intervention, which is why the Conclave must be united.”

  “What kind of intervention?”

  “The kind of intervention that has been too long from the world,” Tresten said. He glanced from Urik to Endric and then nodded. “Now, it’s time for us to wade across the stream and wait for the help that I suspect we’ll find.” He turned away, leaving Endric and Urik watch
ing him.

  Urik stared after Tresten, a hint of eagerness in his eyes. Was it from his desire to know the Conclave or was there something else to it?

  And why was Tresten in danger?

  They continued to walk rather than ride the horses. At first, Endric thought Tresten wanted to save them for a need, preparing them for the possibility that they would need to ride hard, but he decided that wasn’t likely. Whatever they might encounter could be countered by riding hard and avoiding the threat Tresten expected to find.

  There was some other reason for them to be walking.

  He watched Tresten, thinking that he might find an answer, but none came. It wasn’t that Tresten made any effort to track as they went, not as Endric did, watching the ground for other prints and signs of soldiers or others who might have come through here. And Endric didn’t sense that Tresten used his Mage abilities either. There was no sense of him demonstrating his talents, though Endric wasn’t sure that he would have known if he had.

  He and Urik followed from a distance, giving him space. It allowed them to notice when Tresten slowed, preparing for the possibility that he might stop suddenly and stare off at the sea, which happened more often than Endric would like.

  “You won’t figure out what he’s doing,” Urik said.

  Endric glanced over. A sheen of sweat coated Urik’s face and he licked his lips, the corners of his mouth twitching.

  “What makes you think I’m trying to figure out what he’s doing?”

  Urik grunted. “Because it’s the same thing I’m trying to do. He’s up to something, but what? And how does it have to do with the Conclave?” Urik cast a side-eyed glance at Endric. “Those are the questions you have to be asking, if you aren’t already. You have to think through what you’ve seen and try to determine what you might not be understanding.”

  “What makes you think I’m not understanding anything?”

  Urik grinned. “I see the way you’re watching him. There’s a way you watch a man that gives away your thinking.”

  “You’re telling me I’m not good at masking my emotions?”

  Urik shrugged. “There aren’t many men who are. It’s a skill, the same as any other.”

  Endric looked away. He had never thought that he showed his emotion that plainly, but maybe he did. Before Andril had died, he had less control of himself, but he’d thought his time with the Antrilii had changed it.

  “How would you propose I mask them?” Endric asked.

  He glanced over at Urik, uncertain whether he would share anything. What would the point sharing be? Urik had abducted Endric. Why would he offer any help now?

  “Practice, the same as you do when working with your sword. There’s value in preventing others from knowing your thoughts. If they see you having the same emotion regardless of joy or fear, you can gain the upper hand.”

  “I don’t recall you having such control when I faced you outside of Thealon.”

  Urik shook his head. “Teralin has many effects, not the least of which is how it prevents rational thought. I don’t know if the positively charged teralin has the same characteristics”—he glanced at Endric, waiting for some response that Endric never offered—“but when you hold the dark teralin, there’s something quite persuasive about it. It demands a price.”

  “A price?”

  Urik nodded. “There’s a price to power, Endric. It’s the same with all things. The question you must ask is whether you’re willing to pay it.”

  Endric grinned, unable to help himself. “Now you’re the one playing the philosopher.”

  “I suppose that I am.”

  “What price does teralin require?”

  Urik stared ahead for long moments before he answered. “Your mind.”

  They fell into a silence as they guided the horses, saying nothing as they went. What more was there to say? Urik suggested that he practice maintaining control of his emotions, but he wasn’t sure how.

  “What’s the key to it for you?” he asked Urik.

  “The key?”

  “To concealing yourself. How you feel. What you’re thinking. What’s the key for you?”

  Urik looked over at him. “I find that I have to focus on a memory at all times. I use that memory and let it guide how I’m feeling rather than what I’m reacting to.”

  “What kind of memory?”

  “Whatever works for you. It needs to be one where you have some strong reaction to it so it can override the others, but you get to decide what you use.”

  “And you? What memory do you use to conceal how you’re thinking?”

  Urik shook his head. “That’s not something I share.”

  “Why?”

  He sniffed. “Knowing what memory I use would allow you to know how to control how I’m feeling.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Trust me. The memory has to be something only you know, and it can’t be anything that you share with anyone else. Keep it to yourself. Keep everything to yourself.”

  Endric wondered what he might use that would help him control his reactions better. He could see the value in concealing how he felt so that others didn’t know whether they were getting to him. Even when facing Urik, it would be valuable to prevent him from knowing whether there was anything that he said that troubled him.

  What memory would he choose?

  If it had to be a powerful memory, he thought of learning that Andril had died. That had been a particularly painful moment, and it was a recollection that would overpower almost any other. There were others—such as realizing that he wouldn’t defeat his father when he’d challenged him—but it was the memory of Andril that stung the most.

  Was that what Urik had done? Did he cling to the memory of his children and their loss as his way of maintaining his neutrality?

  That would be an awful way to live if true.

  He couldn’t hold onto the thought and memory of losing Andril constantly. If he did, it would numb him and might leave him resenting his brother rather than cherishing the memory.

  Maybe he could use a different kind of memory, one where he could cling to it… and be happy that he had.

  What memory would that be?

  While he had many happy memories, none of them were so strong that they would elicit enough of a powerful response to overwhelm all other sentiments.

  It was possible that Urik’s way of keeping himself even-keeled was not something Endric could replicate. And that was fine with him.

  That didn’t mean he couldn’t serve as a soldier. It might mean he couldn’t lead, at least not effectively, but then he had begun to question whether leading was what he wanted. It might be what his father intended for him, and it might have been something that he would have been able to do had he remained in Vasha following the Raver attack, but Endric wasn’t certain what he wanted. He wanted to help the Denraen, but he wanted to be able to help the Antrilii if it came to it, as well. His father hadn’t managed to do both, though Endric thought that he would like to.

  Tresten raised his hand, calling them to a stop. They were near a sharp rise in the landscape that looked over the sea. Waves crashed over jagged rocks far beneath them. Spray splashed up at them, enough that the taste of salt filled Endric’s mouth.

  “We will stop here and wait.”

  “For what?” Urik asked.

  “For the next part of our journey.”

  “How will we know what that is?” Endric asked.

  Tresten turned his attention to the sea, staring into the distance. He clasped his hands behind his back and his posture was rigid. His eyes took on the faraway expression that they had so often as he stared. “We will know soon enough.”

  26

  Endric wiped the sweat off his brow as he held the long stick of kindling. His breathing was ragged, a stitch in his side forced him to favor it, and his arm ached where he’d been smacked with a stick similar to his. All in all, it had been a good spar, one of the better ones that he’d had
in quite a while.

  Urik leaned forward, resting his head on his arms. Sweat dripped off his forehead as well, and there was a smile on his face as he looked over at Endric. “I nearly got you there.”

  “You struck me twice. I’d say you did get me.”

  It was more than anyone else had done lately. Endric hadn’t sparred with Dendril following his return to Vasha. There was a part of him that feared doing so. If he did—and if he won—there would be expectations. It didn’t have to be a formal challenge for those expectations to be placed upon him but the moment he managed to defeat his father, there would be others in the Denraen who would expect him to offer the challenge.

  “The last few nights, I hadn’t managed even to get close.” Urik stood and ran his arm across his forehead, smearing his sweat. “I warned you that practicing with you would allow me to see what you know.”

  Endric nodded. That was a consequence of sparring. Both sides would improve. And Urik had definitely improved. Endric wasn’t surprised by that. Urik had a sharp mind and had picked up on the catahs Endric used very quickly, noting the attacks Endric preferred and identifying the defense. It had forced Endric to be creative, mixing catahs together, often pulling from different patterns—some that were meant for the staff and some that had been from his father—in order to keep Urik off-balance. Even that had almost not been enough.

  Urik was surprisingly creative. It was a useful skill for a swordsman, but outside of sparring, creativity could be deadly. If used at the wrong time, it could be used against the swordsman. Any off-balance attack might be enough to create an opening that he could exploit. With Urik, there hadn’t been any real off-balance attacks, not enough that allowed Endric to defeat him easily.

  The creativity challenged Endric in ways that his father did not.

  Dendril was technically skilled, one of the most technically sound swordsmen Endric knew. He knew more catahs than any man alive—save for Brohmin. Brohmin might know even more, but Endric suspected there was something else about Brohmin that he didn’t fully understand. The Hunter… he was skilled in ways that only the Deshmahne were skilled. Endric had managed to threaten Brohmin the last time they’d sparred, but he doubted he would beat him.