Soldier Sworn (The Teralin Sword Book 3)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Map
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Author’s Note
Also by D.K. Holmberg
Soldier Sworn
The Teralin Sword
D.K. Holmberg
ASH Publishing
Copyright © 2017 by D.K. Holmberg
Cover art by Damonza
All rights reserved.
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Contents
Map
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Author’s Note
Also by D.K. Holmberg
Map
1
Endric rode toward the northern mountain range, staring at peaks that seemed no closer than they had the day before. The sky held a hint of rain, something that it had so often as of late. There was another scent to it, one that held the vague memory of rot mixed with the fetid scent of decay, so that Endric continually thought he would find some carcass, but he never did.
“How much farther do you think we’ll have to ride?” he asked Brohmin.
The younger man, the one the Conclave referred to as the Hunter, shook his head. “The Antrilii wander. They’re found throughout most of the northern mountains, but there's nothing predictable about where we’ll find them. I suspect when we come across them, they'll have known about us far longer than we will about them.”
The longer they rode, the more Endric questioned himself. They had managed to stop Urik and his plan. He had managed to prevent war in the north, where Urik had intended to force the Denraen into opposition with the Ur and with the band of Ravers, soldiers for hire who wandered the north. Urik had intended to use teralin, thinking to use its strange influence when it was charged in a specific way, and Endric felt lucky that they had managed to prevent full-scale war. What more would have been lost if they hadn’t prevented it?
Still, they had lost much. Listain, the leader of the Denraen spy network, had been killed, brought down through Urik's machinations. Another of the en’raen had been lost while trying to reach Dendril. So much of the Denraen now had turned over, leaving Dendril as the one constant, and now Endric—new to his role—ventured north. Was seeking to understand where he came from, learning about his father’s past and the people he was descended from, worth so much that he should be willing to sacrifice the Denraen?
Endric wasn't certain. That was the reason for his hesitation and the reason he felt a growing reluctance despite the slight thrill that worked through him every time he thought about seeing his cousin once more.
“You knew Dentoun?” Endric asked. His uncle had died during the Deshmahne attack, destroyed when Endric had begun to finally accept his fate. His uncle had been a skilled swordsman, one with talent that was nothing like what Endric had ever faced. The Antrilii were the reason that the Deshmahne were halted during their attack, prevented from reaching their goal in Vasha. Perhaps his father could learn exactly what Urik had intended now that the other man was in the Denraen custody.
“I have traveled with the Antrilii many times. Each time, I learn something new,” Brohmin said. “Now that Dentoun has been lost, I doubt I will be as welcomed as I was.”
“Why would it matter?”
“I was young and foolish once.”
Endric glanced over. Brohmin had wisdom in his eyes that belied his age, raising the question of how old he actually was. There seemed to be knowledge that a man in his twenties should not possess, and yet it seemed Brohmin did. That, combined with the impressive sword work he had demonstrated, made Endric question whether he had him pegged correctly.
Maybe Brohmin was older than he appeared. He was a part of the Conclave. And from what Endric had been able to ascertain, Brohmin was a valued part of the Conclave.
“I would prefer to think that we’re both still young.”
Brohmin tipped his head, a motion that Endric had come to realize was his way of shrugging. “Some of us more than others.”
Endric smiled, waiting for Brohmin to say more, but there was nothing.
The mountains rose in the distance, growing ever more impressive the longer they rode. The northern mountain chain towered higher than those in the west, with peaks that would have towered over those around Vasha.
To the north, snowcapped peaks rose well into the clouds, disappearing so that Endric could no longer even see the tops. He imagined standing atop one of those distant mountains, staring at the world around him, and could practically envision himself as one of the gods of old before they had departed the earth. Ascended. That was what the Urmahne believed, and Endric thought the old gods really were found in places like that, places like the Lashiin ruins in Vasha, or dozens of other ruins they’d come across in his journeys.
“What do you hope to gain by visiting the Antrilii?” Endric asked.
Brohmin tipped his head once more, another shrug. “Perhaps nothing.”
“There's something you seek. Otherwise, I doubt you would come with me.”
Brohmin arched a brow. “Really? You think that you know me so well after only a few weeks riding with me?”
It was Endric's turn to shrug. They had been riding for several weeks, and it had passed uneventfully. Days were spent in the saddle, evenings spent making a quick hunt for something to eat, sitting by a fire, and often, Endric working with Brohmin to practice his sword work.
Before traveling with Brohmin, Endric had known the man was a skilled swordsman. That had been clear the first time that Endric had seen him. If he had not been, he woul
d not have been able to withstand the brutality of the Deshmahne attack. Not only withstand it, but he had been able to stop many of the dark warrior priests, while others struggled with even a single priest.
Endric had wondered how Brohmin’s skill would match up to his own. How would it compare to Endric’s father? Dendril had been the most impressive swordsman Endric had ever faced before, but Brohmin demonstrated forms and techniques that Endric had not learned that made him at least the equal to Dendril.
How could he be so skilled and so young?
That was the question that lingered in Endric's mind each time they sparred, the question Endric never managed to have an answer to. Perhaps he was not meant to have those answers.
“Maybe I don’t know you that well, but I know you’re searching for something.”
“There's a hunch I have that's troubled me since Urik appeared. With the Deshmahne growing stronger in the south, I fear something has changed.”
“I think the Denraen would agree with you.”
Brohmin shook his head. “Nothing quite so dramatic. But we have known peace for many years. Now, these warrior priests challenge that peace. If we’re not careful, it may lead to outright war.”
“So you come north, thinking to learn about what's happening in the south?”
Brohmin tapped the side of his head. “Exactly.”
They fell silent, riding toward the distant mountain range. The closer they came, the more Endric began to wonder whether they would be forced to cross the mountains before reaching the Antrilii but suspected that they would. Otherwise, wouldn't they have heard more about the Antrilii from the villages they’d passed?
They were mysterious, a people known to wander the north, segregated from the rest of the world. What little Endric knew of them told him that they believed they had some divine mission they were called to perform.
Could they have some mission assigned to them by the gods? He didn’t see how that was possible, but perhaps they had some way of speaking to them that was like the Magi.
Toward evening, Endric noted a small village in the distance. He tipped his head toward it and pointed, trying to draw Brohmin's attention. So far in their journey, Brohmin had them avoiding most other villages. They had worked with the supplies they had carried with them when they left the Denraen and had managed to hunt and collect what else they needed, but Brohmin seemed interested in avoiding the villages altogether.
Tonight was no different.
Endric frowned but said nothing. He wouldn't push, not wanting to create strain between himself and Brohmin, but it would be nice to sleep in a bed. He'd been on the road now for the better part of two months, first on a planned trip south and then facing the Ravers before finally going after Urik. He no longer knew what the comfort of a bed would feel like. His father would probably laugh at him for such thoughts and think him soft. Perhaps that did make Endric soft.
Worse, he suspected that when—and if—they found the Antrilii, there would be no comfort there either. He'd seen the Antrilii and how they traveled and slept under the open sky. What sort of comfort would men like that demand?
Perhaps he needed to be hardened in that way. Perhaps that was why his father had encouraged him to head north.
No, that wasn't quite right. Dendril hadn't encouraged him to travel north but had not denied him the freedom to leave. Dendril seemed to understand what Endric needed and seemed to understand that he couldn’t become the soldier he needed to be if he remained with the Denraen and didn't take the time to learn where he came from.
“Why don't you want to stop in a village?” Endric asked as they passed, continuing northward with the night beginning to grow thick and dark around them.
“If we stop in a village, we limit the chance that we might come across the Antrilii.”
“Are we far enough north that we should find them?”
A soft howl pierced the night, and Endric perked up, listening to see if it sounded like one of the merahl. If it were, should he be more nervous? They were creatures that had a specific ability to hunt groeliin, creatures Endric doubted he could see, let alone fight. Now that he knew he was descended from them, maybe he could.
“We near the edge of where we might begin to see signs of them,” Brohmin said. “When we do reach them, I think you need to be ready for the real possibility that they won't welcome you.”
“Even though I traveled with Nahrsin?”
“Nahrsin might have led after his father died, or another may have taken his place. I'm not exactly certain how the Antrilii determine who rules. All I know is that Dentoun had led for many years. The Antrilii would mourn his loss.”
Endric wondered whether the Antrilii would refuse him. He was effectively family, wasn’t he? They had returned to help in Vasha and had fought—and helped to eliminate—the threat of the Deshmahne. Those weren’t the actions of a people who would abandon him, were they?
But what did Endric know of them?
After a while, Brohmin motioned for them to stop. They had reached a narrow stream that would be a good place to camp. Endric paused and drank the cold water. Despite the days in the saddle, there was something invigorating about making his way north that felt exciting about searching for answers at the urging of one of the Magi—and another of the Conclave.
Mage Tresten was right. Endric did have to know where he had come from so that he could know what he could become. For now, he no longer knew what that was. With Listain’s death, would it mean that he would ultimately end up succeeding his father?
For so long, Endric had wanted only to be a soldier—to do nothing more than fight—and now that he had assumed a position of command, taking a role where he was expected to lead, he was no longer certain what he wanted. Fighting—especially now that he had been forced to fight and kill more than once—no longer had the same appeal. Now that he had lost those who were close to him, Endric thought he understood the desire for peace.
It was his turn to make a small cookfire while Brohmin wandered off on a hunt. Endric barely had the small fire blazing before Brohmin returned, a pair of small hares clutched in his hand. Endric found it impressive that the man could hunt rabbit with only sword and knife. It wasn't the first time that Brohmin had managed to snag such creatures, and he doubted that he would ever discover the Hunter’s secret.
While Endric tended the fire, Brohmin skinned the rabbits, spitted them, and began to roast the meat. Endric sat back, caught up in the moment.
Because of that, he somehow missed the sounds of movement around him.
Shadows suddenly appeared.
A large, catlike creature sat next to Brohmin, watching him with deeply intelligent eyes.
“The merahl found us,” Endric said.
Brohmin nodded. He seemed reluctant to move and simply sat there, watching the merahl and letting the creature watch him as well.
“What is it, Brohmin?” Endric asked.
“I think… I think this one is not too fond of me.”
The merahl blinked, almost as if acknowledging Brohmin's claim.
Endric found himself smiling. “Why would the merahl not like you?”
“The same reason the Antrilii didn't care for me at first.”
It was Endric's turn to arch his brow. “What aren't you telling me?”
The merahl lunged forward and slammed Brohmin back with one of his massive claws, settling on Brohmin's chest. The merahl flashed sharp fangs that glittered in the firelight.
Endric stood and started toward Brohmin, but the other man raised his hand.
Brohmin stared at the merahl, meeting the creature's gaze. If Endric didn't know better, he would almost believe that something passed between them, some sort of soundless communication, but then it was gone. The merahl sat, keeping two of its massive paws resting on Brohmin's chest, unwilling to move.
“What should we do?” Endric asked.
“We wait.”
“Wait for what? For the merahl to decid
e whether or not it wants to kill you?”
Without looking toward him, Brohmin answered, “Yes.”
2
It seemed as if moments stretched into hours. Endric stood, watching helplessly while Brohmin remained trapped beneath the merahl's massive paw. The creature refused to budge, and Brohmin seemed unwilling to even attempt to throw him off. Endric wondered whether Brohmin would even be able to, or if the creature was too massive. Maybe Brohmin couldn’t even move him.
“How long will we have to wait?” Endric asked.
Brohmin shook his head, keeping his gaze fixed on the merahl’s bright-eyed, intelligent stare. “Hopefully not much longer. He's heavy.” Brohmin's voice had taken on a breathy quality.
It seemed as if the merahl relaxed, easing some of the pressure off Brohmin, though he still didn't remove his paw from the other man's chest.
Had the merahl understood what Brohmin had said?
He knew the creatures to be intelligent, but that seemed to be attributing an uncomfortable amount of intelligence to them. What other explanation was there?
Endric thought for a moment and decided to try something, regardless of how foolish it might make him seem. The only one here to witness it would be Brohmin, and if Endric failed, then it wouldn't matter.
“I am Endric, son of Dendril, descendant of the Antrilii. My uncle was Dentoun, first of the Antrilii, and his son is Nahrsin, a hunter of the Antrilii,” Endric added. The last part seemed fitting, though he didn’t know how accurate it was.