“Other than sending Andril to die.”
Dendril clenched his jaw, the only marker of his frustration. “Even in that, I don’t know that Urik truly wanted Andril to die. He wanted the Denraen to recognize the threat of the Deshmahne. I think that you would agree with that need.”
“You’re defending him?”
“Not defending. There’s a reason I have Listain searching for him. Urik will not escape justice, Endric, but we cannot think that he acted with the same malicious intent that you seem determined to believe.” Dendril grabbed Endric’s shoulder and squeezed. There was something surprisingly fatherly about the gesture, a show of affection Dendril rarely displayed. “Patience. That is what I ask of you, and what you need to understand. We will find him, and he will be brought back to Vasha to face penance for his crimes, but you must not forget that he is a skilled soldier. Skilled enough to convince even Listain, saying nothing of myself. More than that, Urik has a skilled mind. You are not yet prepared for that.”
Endric stood fixed in place. He wouldn’t defy his father in this. That was how he’d gotten into trouble in the first place. But he would find out more about what they’d heard of Urik. Senda might know more.
“You haven’t told me where he’s been heard from,” Endric said.
“Thealon.”
“The city?”
Dendril nodded.
“Why would he go to Thealon? The priests would report him.”
“Would they?” Dendril asked. “I never had the feeling that Urik was nothing if not faithful to the Urmahne. If he went to Thealon, it’s possible that he went to serve the faith.”
“Surely Listain has ways of knowing,” Endric said.
“He has ways,” Dendril agreed.
Endric stared at his father, but Dendril’s face was unreadable. He took a deep breath to suppress his frustration. It wouldn’t serve to get mad at his father, not when Dendril shared with him for the purpose of preventing that anger.
“What do you intend?” Endric asked.
“Listain seeks more information. That is all we can do for now.”
Endric couldn’t help but think that it was much the same as the way that Dendril had approached the threat of the Deshmahne. He had watched, and they had grown strong, until it was nearly too late and the city was attacked.
Would the same happen with Urik?
Was there anything that he could do if he wanted?
Endric didn’t dare go against his father in this. He needed to do what his father asked of him, and he needed to find a way to have the patience his father wanted him to learn. Only, even now it was difficult, especially when it came to Urik.
Dendril watched him, likely knowing the emotions warring within.
“I will follow your command,” Endric said.
Dendril nodded. “That is all I ask.”
As he left him, Endric knew that wasn’t all that he asked. Dendril wanted him to have patience, but he wasn’t sure he could.
He needed to know more. He needed to find Senda, but would she share with him? And when would she return? It had been weeks since she’d left, and he hoped she would come back soon. Otherwise, he’d have to find other ways to discover what his father didn’t want to share with him.
2
Endric held the slip of paper, staring at it as he tried to understand what it might mean. Trouble, he suspected, but what kind of trouble? Word from Senda—and though he didn’t know how she had gotten it into his quarters, he knew there was something in it for him to understand, if only he could.
And why would she want him to find her? Was she in danger?
Worse, had she been the one to find word of Urik?
Why had Senda sent him word like this, and in a format that would require him to ask questions of the one person who would be unlikely to answer them? At least she sent word that she would be returning soon. He needed to see her.
He set the slip of paper down on his desk, resting his head on his hands as he stared at it, trying to make sense of the page. Senda had sent word to him in the past, but each time, it had been to reassure him that she was unharmed. After what he’d been through with the Deshmahne, and after what they had been through before they were finally willing to see the affection they shared for each other, neither of them wanted the other any harm. For the first few months after Endric took the title of en’raen, she had remained in Vasha, serving Listain in her secretive ways, giving them a chance to spend precious time together. As soldiers, that was something that they rarely were offered.
Then she had taken an assignment that sent her out of the city.
Endric understood the need. He’d been sent away from time to time as well, mostly as he continued to learn and discover what role he would play in the Denraen, but rarely for as long as Senda had been away.
He looked up, staring at the walls. The office of the en’raen was not one of excess; at least, Endric had not chosen to make it that way. He had approached it more like his brother had, preferring to keep his area sparsely decorated, shelves stocked with books that his father and others had recommended he study, most on various tactics and strategy that still felt mostly a slog to get through. His desk space consisted of stacks of papers from the Denraen command council, mostly detailing the movement of troops and describing the plans the Denraen had for them. Endric didn’t possess a command of his own yet—in that way, he was en’raen in name only—but his father was grooming him so that one day he could serve as Andril had served.
Endric stood and made his way out of his quarters.
He barely paused in the hall, his gaze sliding past the portraits hung along the walls, those of the previous Denraen generals. They were found in other places throughout the barracks as well; the Denraen were nothing if not interested in the pomp of their past.
Endric reached Listain’s room and paused before knocking. What would the man say to him? Would he dismiss him out of hand? Listain had aided in Endric’s training since his rescue, serving less grudgingly than he once would have but still hesitant with what he wanted to demonstrate. For the most part, Listain focused his time on hand-to-hand combat demonstrations, only occasionally dipping into other areas of study, the things that Endric thought he needed to know.
When the door opened and Listain poked his head out, Endric’s heart fluttered.
He hadn’t been certain whether the spymaster would even be here. There were times when he disappeared—presumably off reestablishing his hidden network beneath the city that had been destroyed in the previous attack, but Endric wasn’t certain whether that was the case or not. More often than not, Listain was simply absent.
“What is it, Endric?” Listain had a slender face, gaunter now since the attack when he’d been tormented in ways that he still hadn’t spoken about, and his eyes were even more hollowed than they once had been.
There was an uneasy acceptance between them now that had not been present before. Endric suspected Listain still didn’t know what to make of him, but he had proven himself, even if only to Dendril, and Listain was nothing if not faithful to the general.
Endric handed the sheet of paper to Listain, who took it and scanned its contents quickly. His eyes remained unreadable.
“When did you come by this?” Listain asked.
“Just now. It was delivered to my office.” He hadn’t seen the messenger, and that was probably the point. Senda had her own network, one that in time would rival what Listain had built. Endric suspected that was the intent, and that Listain encouraged it.
“Do you understand the message here?”
“I understand that she’s trying to tell me something. She’s in danger and—”
“The message was for me, not for you.” Listain stared at the page another moment before slipping it into his pocket.
“Listain—”
“I’m not certain why she thought to send this to you, other than that other conduits might have been ineffective. Now, if that is all?”
Only, each time he faced his father, it became increasingly clear that he was not his rival. Perhaps that was the point. Dendril proved to him every time they sparred that Endric wasn’t ready. Would there come a time when he was ready?
“Where is she?” he asked Listain. The message had been clear about one thing: Senda needed him. That much he knew with certainty, if not why.
“There are secrets kept for reasons.”
“But I’m en’raen.”
Listain’s eyes narrowed. “And I am Raen. That means my rank exceeds yours, Endric. Do not challenge this, because you will not succeed. Focus on your studies. You still have much to learn.”
Endric rubbed his side, a bruise from the last training session he’d had with Listain still bothering him. “I just want to know that she’s safe.”
Listain took a deep breath and nodded. There was a certain hesitancy to him now that hadn’t been there before, and Endric wondered how that affected him in other areas. Did his father worry about the commitment his Raen had to the Denraen? Was there anything to worry about, or was it simply that Listain had suffered—something that Endric understood.
“Your friend does not always choose the safest path, even when they are offered to her.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means… It means that I have suggested that she would be of more use in Vasha were she to remain here, but she recognizes the need to travel elsewhere. In that, she is not wrong, only foolish if she believes there are no others capable of making the same journey.”
“Why would you have suggested she remain in the city?”
Listain stared at him, unblinking. There was a time when Endric had found his presence intimidating, the shorter man somehow managing to make the height difference negligible, and to somehow make himself appear larger than he was, but that had changed after his rescue. Endric still didn’t know whether that had to do with the fact that Listain had changed—or whether it was Endric who had changed.
“There are benefits to her remaining in the city,” Listain said.
“What kind of benefits?”
The other man sniffed. “The kind you have been more than willing to participate in.”
Endric blinked. “You would keep her stationed in the city for me?”
Listain shrugged, the barest movement of his shoulder. “There are other benefits to her presence that do not have to do with you, Endric, but that would be one reason. The general has noted the positive effect that she’s had on you, and he would encourage that if it were possible.”
Positive effects? Was his father so diligent with how he approached Endric’s training that he would plan even for that?
Then again, Endric suspected that he would.
Did Dendril think to control him, or to guide him?
Endric had struggled since rejoining the Denraen. The decision to take on more responsibility had been easy at the time, but he was not simply given that responsibility. The men he trained with still saw him as the same person he had been before his exile from the city, the same man who had challenged his father for command—and lost.
Not only lost, but he’d been beaten, and badly.
That had been difficult to move past, and Endric wasn't certain that he would ever be able to shed that legacy. Whereas Andril had anticipated an eventual promotion from en’raen to the general, Endric had no such belief. Listain would assume command when his father was no longer willing to serve.
Why, then, would he think to control Endric this way?
“If the general wanted her to remain in the city, why did she leave?” Endric asked. A part of him hoped that he could coax Listain into revealing more than he intended about where Senda had gone, but the spymaster was clever—cleverer than Endric—and he doubted he would be swayed.
“Because she is valuable in other ways as well, Endric. I think that you can recognize that?”
“She is skilled,” he agreed.
Listain sniffed. “Skilled. Were it not for you, she would be in line to assume my role.”
“What do you mean ‘were it not for you?’ Why can’t Senda still take over your network?”
“She’s been exposed. It was not entirely your fault, but with the attack on the city, she has been exposed. The role of the Keeper is to maintain that anonymity. It is something that I lost years ago, which makes my role slightly more difficult. The next Keeper will be better equipped than I have been over the last few years.”
“The attack wasn’t my fault.”
“No. The response to the attack was your fault.”
Endric stared at Listain. He had thought they had moved past their previous difficulty, but that didn’t seem to be the case at all. Listain maintained a grudge, one that Endric had once shared—and maybe still did. “If not for me, you would still be strapped to that chair. Don’t forget that.”
Listain met his gaze and said nothing.
“Dendril said there was word on Urik,” Endric said. He intended to talk to Senda about it when she returned, but maybe this was a time for him to question Listain.
Listain watched him, and for a moment, Endric thought the man might share what he knew. Other than Endric and Dendril, of the Denraen, Listain had suffered the most through Urik’s attack. The spymaster—the Keeper of the Network—had been tortured, tormented for his secrets. Endric didn’t know if he had given them up. Only Dendril likely knew that.
Then Listain shook his head. Maybe Endric had pushed him too hard, and now he wouldn’t share anything. “There has been no actionable word on him.”
Endric frowned. Actionable. That meant nothing when Endric knew there had been something.
“What have you heard?”
Listain stared at him another moment before stepping back and grabbing the door as he prepared to close it. “Continue your studies, Endric. You will be needed to serve as a true en’raen soon enough.”
With that, he closed the door, leaving Endric staring at it, wondering what more Listain might have known and questioning whether he would ever truly feel deserving of his title and rank.
3
Waiting for Senda proved to be a challenge. From what she had shared with him—which wasn’t as much as what Endric would have liked her to share with him, but he’d grown accustomed to her silence in how she served Listain—most of the time, she left to collect information from various informants. She played the role of a relay person, one that was vital to the spymaster. It wasn’t as dangerous as some jobs within the Denraen, and for that, Endric was grateful that she didn’t risk herself as those on patrol might. Were she not working for Listain, he suspectedshe wold have taken on a different role, one that would have been every bit as important. Senda had a brilliant mind, and that was what Listain valued.
The more he thought about it, Endric wanted—no, he needed—to know more about what happened with Urik. His father letting him know that word about Urik had reached the Denraen had only made it more important.
Why had the traitor gone to Thealon? Why risk exposing himself in such a way? Endric had spent the last year hoping for word, listening carefully to everything that came through the Denraen council, looking for anything that might indicate where Urik might have gone—and what he might be up to. Endric held a special place of hatred for him, anger at what Urik had done to his family. It seemed that his father had not shared that same hatred.
How could he have patience?
&nb
sp; Dendril had lost as much as Endric. More. Not only had he lost a son, he’d lost the man who most assumed would be Dendril’s successor. Now it would be Listain. All the Denraen suffered because of that change.
Endric struggled to find the patience his father wanted of him. In that, he knew his father was right, but that didn’t mean that Endric was wrong with wanting to find Urik and bring him to the Denraen justice. After what that man had done, he deserved a blade across his throat, not the chance to remain hidden in Thealon, under the guise of the priests for protection.
Endric made his way through the barracks. It was late, and the sound of practice staves clattering against each other was loud, a steady and rhythmic sound, the music of death that carried throughout the yard. Endric found himself drawn toward it.
Men worked together, a pair facing off as they often did when assignments were completed, practicing different patterns. The Denraen referred to the patterns as catahs, and there were specific forms men had to master as they progressed through the Denraen ranks.
Endric had been a student of the sword since he was a child, learning mostly from Andril, but also from other soldiers of the Denraen. It had only been recently that his father spent any time with him. The attention would have been appreciated when he was younger and was still appreciated, perhaps more so now that he had the knowledge to understand the lessons that his father taught. Endric doubted that he would have been ready when he had been younger.
A few of the men glanced his way from time to time. As they did, he would get a respectable nod, but nothing more than that. Even with his promotion, he still struggled to gain the trust of the men he was supposed to lead. He was the son of Dendril, brother of Andril, but he was not yet fully the en’raen, regardless of the rank and title his father had bestowed on him. Leading was more than a title, but Endric hadn’t learned how to manage that. Perhaps that was the true lesson his father wanted to teach.
With a sigh, he turned away.
He wasn’t to spend his time with the men working at the sword. There were other ways—and, according to his father, better ways—for him to use his time. He had to understand the makeup of the Denraen better than anyone. He had to understand their history, essentially become a scholar. And, as Dendril shared with him recently, he had to understand tactics better than anyone.
Soldier Sword (The Teralin Sword Book 2) Page 2
