Soldier Sword (The Teralin Sword Book 2)

by D. K. Holmberg

  “I don't think it's as simple as that,” Endric said. “Everything we've learned about Urik tells me that he’s a planner. This is a man who could plan years into the future. This is a man who joined the historians to gain the knowledge he sought. This was a man who was patient enough to work his way up through the Denraen, reaching a rank where he could finally enact part of his plan. I think if anything, I have underestimated him.”

  “What are you getting at?” Senda asked.

  Endric stopped pacing and met Senda's eyes. “The Denraen. What if he intends to unify the Denraen with the Ur and the Ravers? What if he intends to use everything that he can against the Deshmahne?”

  “In order to do that… Oh. You can't think that he might—”

  “He doesn't have to defeat all of the Denraen.” It was the same plan Endric had, though he suspected Urik would be better prepared than Endric to challenge Dendril.

  Had Endric given Urik the idea?

  The thought bothered him.

  “You can't think he’ll attempt a challenge?”

  Endric nodded. “I think we need to reach Dendril before Urik does.”

  35

  They reached the Denraen almost too late.

  It was late in the second day after leaving Thealon. As they approached, the caravan of two hundred soldiers from the Ur, along with the Denraen traveling with Endric, slowed.

  “What is it?” Pendin asked.

  “Look,” Endric said.

  In the distance, the Denraen marched, their disciplined movements hurrying over the ground. The dust kicked up behind them clouded the sky. From his vantage, he could see another approaching caravan, one that had similarly efficient movements.

  “You were right,” Senda said.

  “We won't know that I'm right until they attack. By then, it might be too late.”

  Brohmin glanced over. “You need to stop this before it reaches that point. There can't be a battle between two forces that are both engaged in maintaining peace. If that happens, we all lose.”

  “That won’t happen.” When Brohmin frowned, Endric pointed to the Denraen. “I don't think Urik’s after that battle. You’re the one who helped me connect it together. All of this was a ploy to draw my father out of the city. He had to find a way to force Dendril to engage so he could challenge him.”

  “Dendril would be too smart for that,” Brohmin said.

  “If he thinks it will end this fight?” Endric asked. “I think that Dendril would very much agree to it.”

  “It would be a danger to underestimate Urik at this point,” Brohmin said. “If this man has done everything that you claim, then he has likely prepared for whatever your father might be able to do.”

  Endric nodded. Dendril might be the most skilled swordsman, but it didn't mean he couldn't be defeated. Endric had seen the Deshmahne fighting and seen how the dark teralin granted them power. What would happen with somebody with real skill like Urik?

  Endric had barely beaten him last time, and that had been more luck than anything else. This time, he doubted he would be quite as lucky.

  As they watched, the Denraen caravan angled north, toward the caravan of the Ur.

  “It's beginning,” Senda said.

  Endric motioned the caravan toward the Denraen. If nothing else, he needed to reach his father, both to help him and to alert Dendril of what he suspected—and prevent his father from making a mistake in attacking the Ur.

  As they rode, it became clear that they wouldn't reach them in time.

  Endric turned to Brohmin. “You need to get down there. You could stop Urik before he does something that will destroy the Denraen.”

  Brohmin shook his head. “It must be one of the Denraen. I can't guide the Denraen, not if the challenge is offered and accepted. It has to be you.”

  “I don't know that it can be me. I barely survived the last time, and he’s had a year to prepare.”

  “So have you,” Senda said.

  Endric prayed that it wouldn't be necessary, that his father wouldn't accept the challenge, that his father would be enough to withstand the challenge. But… would he? Dendril was incredibly skilled, but Endric didn't know whether he was capable of stopping Urik when he was powered by dark teralin.

  “We will do what we can to keep him from destroying the Denraen,” Brohmin said. “You will need to do what you can to counter him.”

  Endric nodded mostly to himself and then raced forward.

  The horse sped along, seeming to feel his anxiety, seeming to know his tension.

  Denraen soldiers gradually noticed him and turned their attention to Endric. Men whose name he knew flashed through his mind, and he urged his horse through the line, racing forward. He needed to prevent this battle before war broke out. He needed to serve the purpose of the Denraen.

  Then he saw his father. As he did, he saw Urik.

  The man looked different than he had the last time Endric had seen him.

  Urik had always been nondescript, nothing about him that had been remarkable. Now, much like the priest, Urik had a shaved head. His features were harder, his eyes darker, and he held a teralin sword, one that seemed the match for his father's greatsword Trill. He stood defiantly.

  “I challenge you, Dendril Verilan. Let us prevent warfare.”

  “Father!” Endric yelled, but he was too late. He was too far away. Even racing forward, he couldn’t reach them in time.

  “I accept your challenge,” Dendril said.

  Dendril surged forward, lunging toward Urik. His sword was a blur, but Urik met him, matching him blow for blow. The darkness of the teralin blade swirled around Urik, and he moved faster than Endric could follow.

  How could his father withstand that type of attack? How could Dendril survive?

  Endric pulled up along the edge of the line of troops, observing the battle.

  It was strange watching Dendril fight. Was this what others had felt when watching him challenge his father? He suspected Urik managed much better than he had.

  Unlike when Endric had battled Dendril and ended with countless injuries, Urik, on the other hand, battled with just as much ferocity as Dendril. His father might not survive this.

  Endric felt powerless, much like he felt when he’d faced his father. There was almost something inevitable about the attack, a sense that regardless of what he felt should happen, Urik was superiorly powered.

  Was that the teralin influence?

  He tried to push it back but struggled.

  The man had been skilled before while in the Denraen, but in the time away, something had changed. He had the same sort of supernatural ability Endric had seen from the Deshmahne. How was such a thing possible? How was it possible that he could be this talented?

  And what would happen if his father failed?

  Endric knew what would happen. That was what Urik counted on. The man planned for Dendril to lose, and he would take that opportunity to gain control of the Denraen. Once he did, he would force the Denraen into more fighting. They would head south and take on the Deshmahne and would place the world into war.

  That seemed the biggest betrayal of all.

  And for what? For the loss of his son? Dendril had lost his son and hadn't forced the Denraen into war. It had to end.

  Urik blurred forward, his attack impressively fast, and caught Dendril across the chest. Endric jumped from his horse before he had time to think about what he was doing.

  Uric stood over Dendril, his sword poised to slash down.

  The moment slowed.

  Endric saw it as if he could anticipate the movement, as if he could see beyond the present and into the future.

  Endric unsheathed in a smooth motion and brought his sword out and caught Uric’s. His arms quivered from the force Urik used against him.

  What he was thinking?

  If Urik could take down Dendril, what chance did Endric have to stop him? Endric wasn’t even Dendril's equal. How could he compete with Urik?


  Urik smiled. “We’ve seen how this has gone before, haven't we?”

  Endric snarled, throwing Urik back. The other man might be a skilled swordsman, but Endric was larger. Stronger.

  “The last time I faced you, you were the one who left bloodied,” Endric said.

  Urik slashed forward, swinging his sword twice in rapid succession, each time pushing Endric back, forcing him into a defensive posture.

  Dendril remained prone, not moving.

  How hurt was he?

  “I’ve learned much in the last year. It will not end the same as the last time,” Urik said.

  Urik lunged forward, his attack a flurry of movements, each one almost too much for Endric to counter. It was only the constant training that Endric had gone through that allowed him to withstand the attack. He was able to react but little more than that.

  Endric held onto the teralin sword, clinging to the one thing that was keeping him alive. He didn't think the teralin was giving him any strength or speed, not the way it seemed to aid Urik. Somehow, he had to come up with a way of stopping him. Somehow, he had to overwhelm him.

  As Urik attacked, it became increasingly clear that Endric was overmatched. This was no longer a fight that he could win. Urik had the speed, which Endric was barely able to keep up with, and was skilled, his swordsmanship rivaling what Dendril possessed.

  Words flashed in his mind, a memory of what Tresten had told him. It was a reminder that he needed to stop doubting himself and his ability.

  Confidence had never been his problem. Growing up, he had been a skilled swordsman and had known it. It wasn't until his exile that he began to question his ability. It wasn't until he began to face those with skills that exceeded his own, those with what seemed impossible abilities that he truly began to question.

  How could Endric win? All he could do was react. Each attack from Urik was precise, perfect. The man flowed from position to position, his sword a part of him.

  Endric couldn’t keep up. He would lose. The Denraen would fall. Senda would suffer.

  He recognized those feelings.

  Those were not his own. Those came from the dark teralin.

  But he recognized the dark teralin fed off him. Those were his doubts. He did have those questions. But just because he had them didn't mean that he would give up.

  He would fight—because he had no other choice. He would buy time for his father. He would buy time for the Denraen. He would fight for peace. And if it were required, Endric would die for it as well.

  He’d almost died so many times over last few weeks. Each time when he had survived, he had wondered if the next would be the last. This time, Endric suspected that it might be. Urik was too fast, his swordwork too skilled, especially with the teralin blade that seemed to augment him.

  Could Endric do anything to counter that? Could he somehow change the teralin?

  For Endric to change the polarity, he needed to touch the blade.

  That meant a sacrifice. Was he ready for such a sacrifice?

  Did he have any other choice?

  He stepped back and allowed Urik to approach.

  “You see that you’re defeated,” Urik said, smiling. “I'm glad you recognize this. I’m sorry it has come to this. I like you—I truly did—but this is about more than you. It’s about more than Dendril, and is about more than Andril, and this is about more than the Denraen.”

  “This was about your revenge,” Endric said. “Don't make this about anything more than it is.”

  Urik shook his head. “You think you know me?” He hacked at Endric.

  Endric barely managed to counter, surviving through luck as much as anything else. “I think I know you better than you realize.”

  He lunged forward, dropping his sword as he did, and reached for Urik.

  Urik tried jumping away and swinging down, but Endric caught his hands. He reached up and managed to grab the bladeguard of Urik’s massive sword. Like the rest of the sword, the bladeguard was made of teralin.

  Endric pressed through it.

  There was resistance.

  He felt the dark pressure of the teralin, felt an overwhelming urge to step away, an urge that called on him to abandon his fight. And he wanted to. Despite himself, he wanted to.

  Endric recognized the sense for what it was.

  He fought against it, ignoring it, and pushed.

  Much like when he was facing the priest, pushing was like a physical presence. He felt pain and wondered if he'd been struck. He felt a weight upon him and struggled against it.

  Endric pushed.

  Nothing happened.

  Urik started to pull away.

  If he managed to succeed, Endric doubted he would get another chance. Whatever happened, it had to be now.

  Endric heaved against the teralin polarity again.

  This time, he felt trembling.

  It started slowly, but the trembling built. Endric could feel the pressure, but all it needed was another push.

  He shoved.

  It was a strange thing, one that he didn't understand, one that he couldn't explain, but he pushed with everything he had.

  The trembling became a violent shaking. The sword vibrated in Urik's hands.

  Terror flashed across Urik's face. The man knew what was happening. And had no way of countering.

  Endric continued to press, harder and with more strength, and this time, he knew that his strength, his leverage, was more than what Urik could withstand.

  With one more shove, Endric changed the polarity of the teralin.

  It happened in a flash.

  The sword went from black to silver before quickly turning a brilliant white.

  The sword glowed so brightly that Urik was forced to turn away. He released his grip and Endric grabbed it, shifting his hands to the hilt as the sword continued to shake.

  Endric stood over Urik, the sword glowing.

  Urik didn't move. “How? Who taught you how to do that? Only the gods can change the polarity of charged teralin!”

  Endric shook his head. He nodded to the Denraen who had been watching nearby. They grabbed Urik. “I thought you were a scholar,” Endric said as he struggled to catch his breath. “I am no god, and I changed the polarity.”

  The Denraen started dragging him away. Endric hoped they used more than rope to hold him. Chains might be better.

  “Urik,” Endric said. The Denraen carrying him paused so that Urik could look to Endric. “Once more, you were right.”

  Urik frowned. “What do you mean I was right?”

  Endric smiled. “This did end differently than the last time. This time, you were captured.”

  Urik glared as he was carried away.

  36

  The early morning sun greeted Endric. He held the reins of his horse, a nervous excitement flowing through him. After everything that had happened, this wasn't the outcome he had expected, but he thought this was the outcome that needed to happen.

  Brohmin stood next to him. He had a dangerous, almost casual violence about him, one that made Endric think that perhaps the effect of the dark teralin had not been completely removed. He had convinced the remaining Ur not to attack. And now, they were separate armies once more, but both serving the same ideals. Both wanted peace.

  Endric looked at his father. He struggled with words, not knowing what to say. What words would be enough?

  “You don't have to do this. You could return to Vasha. Serve as my Raen. You have earned that right. With Listain’s death, I will have need of strong leadership.”

  Endric shook his head, thinking back to the conversation he’d had with Tresten. It made sense to him now. He needed to understand himself so that he could serve the Denraen the way they needed. There was only one way he would be able to do that.

  “I haven't earned anything. Yet. But I intend to. I intend to earn the right to serve the Denraen. I need to have truly earned it and not have it given to me.”

  “Is that what you think? Y
ou believe that it was given to you?”

  “I believe that I have a chance to earn it. I also believe that I have not yet. In time, I intend to be the en’raen the Denraen deserve. I am not yet that man.”

  Dendril smiled. It was the most emotion that Endric had seen from him. “You are closer than you realize. Without you, the Denraen would have lost to Urik. Again.”

  Endric glanced over at a chained Urik. Five Denraen guarded him. “We lost so much, all so he could draw you out of the city.”

  “And still it almost worked. He planned on my willingness to engage the challenge.”

  Endric glanced at the ground. “That’s my fault.”

  Dendril grunted. “Yours? Did you force me to agree? The Denraen are lucky you serve as you do, Endric.”

  “And I will serve. After. This is something I must do.”

  “I understand better than you realize.”

  Endric tapped the hilt of the massive teralin sword he’d taken from Urik. Now that it was positively charged, it felt right for him to carry it. “Will they accept me?”

  “Accept is a difficult concept. Nahrsin might, but the Antrilii will not welcome you as you expect.” Dendril took a deep breath. “Regardless, you will be welcomed back to the Denraen upon your return.”

  Dendril turned from him, motioning to the Denraen, who began their steady march west, back to Vasha. There were multiple regiments, and though some would remain on patrol, for the most part, the Denraen would return, would train, and would mourn the loss of Listain and Fennah.

  Senda rode up to Endric. She climbed from her saddle, nodded to Brohmin, and wrapped her arms around Endric. “Why are you doing this? Is it because you don't want to take the position your father wants for you?”

  Endric shook his head and touched her cheeks. “It's because I want that position.”

  She watched him, studying him as if trying to comprehend, before shaking her head. “I don't understand.”

  “Tresten has suggested that I understand myself better. That I need to know who I am, to know where I came from, to know who I can be. I think it’s time I understand my Antrilii background.”