Pendin frowned at him another moment. “For that, you’ve got the first two rounds,” he grumbled.
6
The sound of muffled voices came through the stout door.
Endric stood just outside Urik’s office with his hand raised to knock, but paused. If the en’raen had the door closed, he likely didn’t want to be disturbed, yet patience was never a trait Endric had mastered. Always too eager and impulsive.
It had been an ongoing problem for him. His first lessons with the sword had come at his father’s hand and had stopped because of that. The lessons were clear in his mind, even now. He had not known then that they would be the happiest memories he had of his father.
Endric had strength, but none of the other traits Dendril felt necessary to use that strength wisely. He was notoriously quick to anger and far too impulsive. That had led to more than a few incidents; his most recent jailing was but the latest. His father had tried to work with him but had given up. Andril had tried to teach him by example. Endric had been stubborn and ignored the lesson until it was too late. Now his brother was unwilling to teach him as well.
But he remembered what his father had tried to teach as his hand paused in front of Urik’s door. Patience. Think about the long-term plan. It was something he had never mastered, unable—or unwilling—to look beyond the short term.
As the thoughts rolled through his head, one of the voices became clearer. He recognized the deep tenor as Urik, and there was a sense of irritation to his tone. The words were still muffled and unintelligible, but Endric knew something was off. A feeling at the pit of his stomach warned him that he didn’t want to be there when the conversation ended.
Endric slipped carefully down the hall, keeping one eye toward the door, his curiosity aroused. Urik’s rooms were near the end of a hall, and he turned down one of the intersecting corridors, intending to slip away completely. Yet he paused. He didn’t know what it was that made him pause, and later wouldn’t know whether to be thankful or to curse.
Peering around the corner, he saw the door open. The hall was dimly lit with a single sconce, and only a little light spilled out from the open door. A cloaked man emerged, carrying a small box. Something reflected strangely from its surface, almost writhing in the shadowed light. Endric blinked, uncertain what he was seeing, but the image passed. The man carrying it was short and lean, and his dark hair was kept long. He quickly slipped the box under his cloak, and it disappeared completely.
The man made his way down the hall, away from Endric. His eyes darted from doorway to doorway as he slipped soundlessly away, nearly fading into the shadows between the sconces. Endric watched him, and the man looked over suddenly and stared into Endric’s eyes, quickly appraising and dismissing him.
The experience was unsettling. Rarely had Endric been so summarily discounted as a threat. He stood frowning as the man disappeared around a corner in the corridor and was startled by a firm hand upon his shoulder.
“Endric.”
He turned, his head clearing from the lapse. This was becoming a problematic trend for him. “Who is that?” he asked without preamble.
Urik grunted in a clearing of his throat. “That is for the council to discuss.”
Endric opened his mouth to reply but reconsidered and closed it. He already feared upsetting Urik and didn’t want to start the conversation on the wrong foot. The questions about the box he kept to himself.
The irritation he’d heard in Urik’s voice through the door was plain upon his face. His forehead was lined. His eyes, usually flat and dull, blazed with another emotion Endric was unaccustomed to seeing in Urik—anger. Again, he wondered who the visitor had been.
“Sorry Urik,” Endric said, trying to sound contrite. He wasn’t sure he succeeded.
Urik’s face softened and his mouth turned in a half smile. The irritation lining his forehead faded and he snorted as he shook his head. “What do you want?” Urik asked as the en’raen put his hand under Endric’s elbow and guided him down the hall back toward his office.
Once inside, Endric’s strange unease began to fade. It was as if the closing of the door closed the emotion Urik’s visitor had evoked. Until it was gone, he had not been aware of what he had felt. Now it was like an irritant suddenly relieved, an itch that had been scratched. Endric looked at the door as if he could see through it, wondering what about the man had left him feeling as he did.
“Endric?” Urik said.
“I was to have found you after three days,” he answered.
Urik narrowed his eyes briefly. “It has been five.”
Endric nodded, forcing himself to keep his attention on Urik.
“What did you do the last two?”
“Patrol,” he answered, hoping to keep the annoyance he felt from his tone. Urik arched an eyebrow and Endric shrugged. “I couldn’t find you, so figured I would continue with my assignment until I did.”
Urik nodded slowly. “Uneventful, I hope.”
“For the most part,” he answered. He had not decided how much to tell Urik of what he had seen, fearing that he would get additional patrol assignment for abandoning patrol for his own curiosity.
“Only most?”
Endric blinked slowly, cursing himself. “We patrolled Stahline,” he said carefully.
A strange flicker of emotion crossed Urik’s eyes. “What happened?”
Endric inhaled deeply, deciding to keep to the truth. At least part of it. For now, he would leave out the fact that he had followed someone he thought Denraen. “We saw one of the Magi while patrolling in Stahline.”
Urik grunted and turned away, taking his seat behind his desk. “The Magi do live in the city, Endric.” There was a hint of annoyance to his tone.
“I was surprised that I would find one of the Magi in that part of the city. At night,” he finished.
Urik paused from shuffling through some of his papers and stared at one for a moment. “We do not keep tabs on the Magi,” he said without looking up. “Is that all?”
The en’raen continued his deliberate sorting of papers, and Endric worried that he’d caught the man at the wrong time. More patrol, then. Pendin wouldn’t be pleased.
“It appeared as if he was meeting with someone,” he continued.
Urik looked up slowly and frowned. “The Magi may meet with whomever they please, Endric. Careful that you do not offend them.”
Endric shook his head. This was not going well at all. “I wouldn’t do that,” he started. At least not intentionally. “I know the Denraen serve the Magi.”
“Serve the Magi?” Urik asked, setting aside his papers and fixing Endric with his full attention. “Is that what you think?”
Endric shrugged nervously. All he cared about now was getting his next assignment. Somehow, he had already upset Urik, and each comment only made it worse.
Urik leaned forward. “The Denraen do not serve the Magi. We serve the same ideals.” A hint of annoyance edged his hard tone. “There are many things we share with the Magi. According to tradition, the council must even approve the selection of general, though there has never been a dispute. But we do not serve them. It’s a shame you of all people feel that way, though I am unsurprised.” He paused a moment, considering. “Let me phrase it in a way you might appreciate. We are like two soldiers advancing in different regiments. Same objective. Different trajectory.”
Endric felt a moment of surprise. If they didn’t serve the Magi, then nothing was done to change that perception. Perhaps there was another reason for that. He hesitated to say anything more but knew Urik wouldn’t accept silence. “What objective, then?”
Urik grunted, then glanced down as he spoke, thumbing through his papers absently. He settled back in his chair and rubbed his temple, scrubbing at his close-cropped hair for a moment before putting his hand over his mouth while he thought, as if debating how much to say. “The answer to that question requires that you remember the origins of the Magi.”
“Th
e Magi settled in the city nearly one thousand years ago,” Endric answered. “The thirteen founders were the first priests of the Urmahne.”
Urik nodded slightly. “Spoken like someone raised within the city walls.”
Endric sensed a hidden insult but was uncertain what it meant.
“You speak the old tongue?” Urik asked.
Endric nodded carefully.
“Then you know the meaning of the word Urmahne.” He said the word with a strange inflection.
“Most take it to mean peace,” Endric answered.
“Most?”
Endric shrugged, feeling uncertain. “The old tongue is complex. A single word can mean many things,” he said. “I only know one translation for Urmahne though.”
Urik tilted his head. “As far as most know, there is but one translation.”
Endric spoke without thinking. “Is there another meaning?”
Urik smiled then, barely a flash of teeth. “The true meaning has been lost with time. Most assume Urmahne translates like other, similar words, but there are those who wonder if its original definition wasn’t something different.” His eyes were bright as he spoke. They reflected the light from the brightly burning lamp sitting upon his desk, but there was something more as well. An intensity that surprised Endric. “None can say with certainty, though there are scholars who still debate this.”
“Who but the Magi study the ancient language?”
Urik narrowed his eyes as a flicker of darkness crossed through them. “The Magi are not the only scholars, Endric. Pursuing knowledge is man’s obligation, our duty, to the gods. Know that there are many seekers of knowledge, and not all are as benevolent as the Magi or the guild.”
He shook his head, fearing upsetting Urik but not following. “The guild?”
“The Guild of Historians.”
“Most historians I’ve met use their studies as an excuse for free passage,” he said. A few had even been smart enough to hide that fact. “None seemed particularly interested in study.”
Urik blinked. “Too many claim membership to the guild where none has been granted. That has weakened what was once a powerful alliance of scholars.”
His words seemed to come out with a little more venom than he had intended. Urik leaned back and inhaled deeply. “Once, the historians were respected, wise. Kings sought the council of the greatest historians. Some historians even traveled here.” Endric frowned. “Yes, to this city. The historians and the Magi scholars often worked together, poring over some of the oldest texts. The Magi trusted the historians with some of their greatest works, and the reverse was often true as well.”
Urik hesitated, a distant expression clouding his face. “That was the respect the guild wielded. There has not been a historian in the city since before you were born.” He shook his head. “When I was young, we used to look forward to their visits, knowing we would be regaled with their stories. The historians were travelers and saw and heard much. For that, they stayed for free. And I never once saw one pay for his food. So that much of their reputation is earned. But so too are other aspects.”
Endric waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.
“But we were speaking of the Magi, not the historians. That is a different story, though in some respects no less interesting.”
“Why?” he asked, wondering suddenly about Urik’s life before the Denraen.
“The Guild of Historians has nearly as interesting a history as the Magi. And nearly as much mystery. Few are granted access to the guild or its resources. Many have tried and failed. Now most simply claim membership where none has been granted.” He narrowed his eyes again, a hint of anger edging his tone. “They are little more than simple thieves, taking shelter and food from those who don’t know better.”
“If those posing as guild members have weakened the guild, why do they not take action? Have some sort of marker of membership?”
Urik sighed. “That is not their way. The guild is comprised of scholars. Historians. Seekers of knowledge. Any sort of action is viewed as unnecessary and beneath them.”
“Does this not cause them to lose respect? Since I have never seen a historian in the city, it implies the Magi feel the same.”
“There are other reasons the historians haven’t traveled to the city that have little to do with the respect the Magi have for them.”
He didn’t elaborate and Endric didn’t press. “How do you know so much about them?” he asked, fearing it sounded like an accusation.
Urik considered the question for a moment before answering. “I lived for many years in Voiga. During that time, historians traveled through those lands.”
“Why?”
“For many reasons, though there was only one primary purpose.”
When Urik said nothing more, Endric pressed. “What was that?”
“The same reason your father sent Andril south,” Urik said. He had been looking down at his desk as he spoke, but looked up with the words, his eyes suddenly hard. He studied Endric’s face, watching his expression, before glancing back down.
Endric knew little of why his brother had been sent south. Olin had mentioned some kind of warrior priests, but he saw little reason historians would be interested in that. Cults cropped up periodically, and a few gathered significant followers. None had ever threatened the Urmahne. And certainly none had ever threatened the Denraen.
“Andril didn’t mention any reason for his mission,” Endric said.
“Why should he?”
That the comment was true made it sting no less.
Urik looked up again, closing his eyes a moment. “We were speaking of the Magi, the first of which were the founders. All that we know of the Magi today comes from them. Creators of the Urmahne. Gifted with abilities that no man could claim. A claim to the ability to speak with the gods.” He glanced at one of the sculptures on his shelf before continuing. “This lends authority to the Urmahne tenets they taught, that are said to be handed down from the gods themselves.”
Urik turned, staring at the wall behind him, as if he could see through it and all the way to the palace. “The Magi taught man about the Urmahne, and the Council of the Magi has always led them, serving as a guidepost for the rest of the Magi. They are among the most powerful and influential Magi, and chosen for this reason.”
“How are they chosen?”
Urik shook his head. “Few outside the Magi could answer that, and I am not among them.” He shrugged. “Most among the council have lived their entire lives within the city walls. Few venture out and see the world the rest of us live in, preferring to hear secondhand reports.”
“Most?”
A small smile threatened Urik’s lips. “There is one on the council now who once lived in Voiga. Even served as the teacher in the city.” From his tone, it was clear that Urik found it both odd and impressive. “He is known now as Tresten.”
“What was he known as?” he asked, finding Urik’s phrasing odd.
Urik met his eyes. “He has gone by many names during his time. I have known him as Tresten for as long as I can remember.”
“Do you know him well?” Endric asked, wondering if it had been Urik meeting with Tresten that he and Pendin had come across. “You said you once lived in Voiga.”
Urik shook his head. “Few can make that claim. He is old, nearly the eldest. Once, he was among the few Magi who traveled. Now he stays within the palace.” He paused to look down to the parchment he had grabbed before setting it aside. “Though I have lived in Voiga, we were not there at the same time.”
“What brought you to the Denraen?” Something at the back of Endric’s mind warned him to be careful. Instinct. Though he didn’t understand why he should feel the warning, he trusted it.
Urik looked up and frowned. “I saw injustice. In my previous position, there was little I could do. Serving the Denraen changed that. The Denraen serve the greater good, foster the same peace the Urmahne teach. That is what we share with the Magi
. That is why I joined.”
“You weren’t a soldier before you joined?” he asked, struggling to keep the surprise out of his voice.
Urik nodded. “I had been a soldier. Once. I had served my nation for the required term but left.” He frowned. “When I was young, I thought differently than I do now, thought there were other avenues than violence. I understand now that sometimes the threat of force is the best deterrent.”
Endric stared for a moment, taken aback. He had known Urik had been chosen years ago and had worked his way up through the Denraen ranks quickly, but had assumed he had been a lifelong soldier. How else to explain such a rapid ascent?
“What did you do before joining the Denraen? How were you chosen?”
Urik shrugged and remained silent for a dozen heartbeats, leaving Endric wondering if he would answer at all. Finally he did, answering only the second question.
“There was a choosing. They are not closed to outsiders—that, too, is tradition. I had not really expected to be chosen, yet Tordal saw something and now…” He shrugged again. “Now here I am. Nearly fifteen years later.” His expression turned distant again. “Not where I thought I would be when I was your age.”
Endric glanced around the office again and noticed a small bowl in the far corner. He didn’t need to inspect it to see that it was made of unadorned stone. A simple wall carving was nearly obscured by a bulging shelf, and he suspected it depicted one of the huge trefoil leaves found at the heart of the Great Forest. The vague painting of clouds over mountaintops that hung on the inside of his office door took on new meaning.
What did it mean that Urik was a devout Urmahne?
He caught Endric looking and stood slowly. “I think I have said enough for today.” He started toward his office door, pushing Endric in front of him. “And it seems from your question about the Magi that we still must work on the ideals of the Denraen.”
At the door, Endric paused, waiting for his next assignment, feeling dread building.
“It seems patrol has served you well,” Urik continued, “forcing you to ask some of the most basic questions one of the Denraen should ask.” A hint of a smile darkened his face. “Find Calnin. He will be expecting you for patrol this evening.”
Soldier Son (The Teralin Sword Book 1) Page 5
