Soldier Son (The Teralin Sword Book 1)

by D. K. Holmberg

  There was little doubt that he had stopped something. Even Tresten appeared worried about the Deshviili. There was another worry Endric had noted. The Mage had seemed surprised the Deshmahne had been able to enter the palace grounds, almost angry. Was there something that kept the dark priests away from the palace? If so, what had changed?

  A growing sense of nausea began burning in his stomach. This was the mystery he needed to help solve. It might even be the key to steering his father toward attacking the Deshmahne. Now that he had seen them, he had a better understanding of how his brother had been killed. With the power the priests obviously wielded, the unimaginable dark art, any doubt he had harbored that they had been behind the attack on Andril and his regiment vanished.

  More than ever, he knew they must be stopped. Not for vengeance, though he couldn’t deny such desire remained. Rather, after witnessing how helpless he had felt, the tide of hopelessness radiating from them, he truly understood the danger of the Deshmahne.

  The challenge would be convincing his father.

  The massive council table was empty. It didn’t make him any more comfortable sitting there, knowing his brother had once sat along the same table, only for different reasons. Endric sat there for questioning. Andril had sat there for council.

  Dendril stood behind him. Pacing. Occasionally he would grunt.

  As he’d promised, Endric had reported to his father. The general was not pleased to learn they had violated tradition and entered the palace lawn. He wondered what sort of interrogation Senda faced. There was little doubt in his mind that she had reported to Listain. He hoped she stuck with the planned story.

  “You do not understand the consequences of your action,” Dendril said.

  Endric sat quietly. He understood them well enough but feared more the consequences of inaction.

  Dendril took the silence for guilt. “Maybe you do understand. That doesn’t explain what you were thinking. Do you want me to expel you from the Denraen?” He shook his head. “I had thought that Urik could help—”

  “You have not let me explain.”

  “Then tell me, Endric. Convince me why you continue to defy me.” His father came to sit at the head of the table and rested his large arms atop it. His face was weary and his shoulders sagged. His eyes were clearer than when he had last seen him, but more troubled.

  Endric glanced around. Again his gaze settled on the huge sword hanging on the wall. Trill had been given to his father long before he joined the Denraen. Endric didn’t know anything of his father then, and Dendril never spoke of it. At least not to him.

  The sword was an amazing piece, from the carvings along the hilt to the detail on the bladeguard. The blade itself was a work of art, the steel folded in such a way to make it nigh unbreakable. Trill was created by bladesmiths more skilled than any still alive. And his father hung it in his office. A sword like that begged to be carried, to be used.

  “Endric!” Dendril said his name with a snarl, grabbing his attention. “Is there anything you wish to say? Do you even care to remain Denraen?”

  “Father, I—”

  He was interrupted as the door to his father’s office opened and a familiar figure entered. He had to duck underneath the doorframe, leading with his balding head and close-cropped hair, though his stooped posture likely made that easier. His cloak was darker than Endric remembered, blacker than night, and the embroidery worked upon the front and sleeves had a nearly recognizable pattern.

  Mage Tresten swung the door closed behind him.

  As he crossed the distance from the door to the table, he drew himself up. The stoop to his back disappeared completely. Years melted from his face. He flexed fingers no longer deformed by arthritis. Still old, he no longer appeared frail. Quite the contrary: He suddenly appeared a powerful Mage in his prime.

  “Your son served the Denraen well this evening, Dendril,” he said without preamble. Even his voice was stronger. Less reedy and deeper. “You should praise, not punish. They seek access, and perhaps something more, though I would not know how they have discovered that.”

  Dendril stood and nodded slightly to Tresten as he entered. A question pulled his mouth into a frown. “Tresten.” He turned to Endric and narrowed his eyes. “Explain.”

  Endric was surprised to hear Dendril commanding one of the Magi, let alone a councilor, but Tresten was unfazed. “Deshmahne have entered the city. By accounts,” he said, nodding to Endric, “three attempted a Deshviili. They were unsuccessful.”

  “Deshviili?”

  “A summoning of sorts. Perhaps more, though I do not know with certainty.”

  “What would they summon?”

  Tresten’s gaze shifted to Endric, and his father nodded as if that were answer enough.

  “How?” Dendril asked.

  “I believe your son interrupted the ceremony.”

  Dendril turned to Endric, a mask of darkness plastered to his face. “You saw this?”

  Endric nodded.

  “This is why you entered the grounds?”

  He nodded again.

  “Did you see where the Deshmahne entered?”

  “No, I—”

  “How did you see the Deshmahne on the grounds?”

  Endric closed his eyes. Would his father even allow him to explain? Now that he knew about the Deshmahne, his anger over Endric’s breaking the rules and entering the palace grounds had disappeared. Only now it would be replaced by anger over abandoning his patrol. “I was in the Lashiin ruins,” he answered. Nothing other than the truth would explain how he had seen the Deshmahne near the palace.

  Dendril considered the comment for a moment, then grunted. “Senda was with you?”

  “No.” His father’s implication was clear. He wouldn’t sully her reputation with rumors of that sort. “She followed me to the ruins.”

  His father grunted again. Tresten watched them with a bemused expression and let the conversation play out. It wasn’t until they were finished that the Mage decided to speak.

  “If I may?” he said, looking at Dendril. “Whatever reason he had for being among the ruins”—he glanced at Endric, and a sly smile crossed his thin lips—“his presence served a purpose. The Deshmahne are gone, but there remains a concern.”

  “I will learn where they entered.”

  “Where is not as interesting as how.”

  Dendril nodded. “I don’t know, Tresten. Gods! I don’t know how they crossed the barrier. They should not have been able to do so. They will not have access again.”

  Tresten snorted softly at Dendril’s choice of words. Some among the Urmahne frowned at such comments. Tresten didn’t seem the type. “This is not their first show of strength.” The implication was heavy. “Nor the first barrier they managed to breach. Many felt to be impenetrable have fallen before their art.” He hesitated, lowering his eyes, dropping his voice as he did. “There was great power at work tonight, Dendril. If they had succeeded…”

  The general nodded slowly. “I know. Much would have been lost.” Dendril pursed his lips, scratching at his beard for a moment. “And their target?”

  Tresten shook his head. “The Deshvilii was near the north tower,” he said. “I assume they intended to claim its contents. Perhaps they did not know I moved them long ago.”

  Dendril’s eyes widened momentarily. “They have details of the palace.”

  “They must.”

  “How?”

  Tresten shook his head and shrugged. “The palace is over one thousand years old. How is no longer important. It was good that I made preparations, else tonight might have been worse. Regardless, it cannot happen again.”

  Dendril sighed and his shoulders sagged again. Endric saw a strange expression flit across his face and then it was gone. He suspected the thought that lingered, though. His father wished Andril still lived.

  “What preparations?” Dendril asked.

  “The gates have been neutralized. As much of the city as I could find as we
ll. The items of power within the palace moved to a safer location. It was all I could do. I no longer have the strength I once had at such things.”

  Dendril nodded carefully. “It should have been done long ago.”

  Tresten fixed him with a dark expression, his eyes suddenly hard. Dendril met his gaze for only a moment. “You know that such a thing has consequences.”

  Dendril nodded again. “I only meant—”

  “I know what you meant. And what you also have neglected. There are few enough within the conclave that we cannot lose even one.”

  “I continue to serve,” Dendril protested.

  “Do you? Then why must I remain within the city?”

  Dendril shook his head but had no answer. Endric looked from his father to the Mage, completely lost in their conversation. The look upon Tresten’s face said more than his words ever could. The words had seemed harsh, but his face wrinkled with concern and he leaned forward, as if wanting to reassure Dendril, before catching himself.

  Finally, his father looked up. “I will do what must be done, Tresten.”

  Tresten blinked. “I know that you will. Know that I will do what I must.” The words seemed laced with a threat. “Tonight was very nearly a disaster. You must work with the conclave to ensure the Deshmahne do not acquire what they seek. The throne would allow them to steal from even me.”

  Endric felt lost by the conversation, but Dendril obviously followed. “They could not do that—”

  “How do you think they’ve gained the power they have?”

  “Not that way.”

  “I think we will find he has perfected the arts he long has sought.”

  “Who?” Endric asked.

  They both turned to him, as if acknowledging his presence for the first time. They stared for a long moment before Dendril shook his head. “There is much we still do not know of their abilities. Andril was evidence of that,” he said to Tresten, his voice catching as he spoke Andril’s name. “Now is not the time to attack.”

  Tresten tilted his head. “Perhaps not directly, though there are those that oppose them even now. But if you do not plan an attack, then at least ensure our defenses are capable.”

  “It will be done,” his father repeated.

  Tresten considered his father a moment and then nodded. Before he turned to the door, he hesitated and placed a firm hand upon Endric’s shoulder. A wave of cold seeped into his skin as he squeezed, then as quickly was gone. Tresten smiled solemnly, then nodded again, saying nothing more as he glided across the floor. His posture slowly resumed his stoop as he neared the door, and by the time he had it open, he was the image of the frail elder Mage once more.

  When the door closed behind Tresten, Endric swiveled in his seat to face his father. Dendril was standing and leaning with one hand on the table and looking toward the door to his office. His eyes were distant and unfocused. His mouth was drawn tight. Slowly he inhaled, then blinked, shifting his focus to Endric.

  “What was your assignment tonight?”

  Endric blinked, considering his response before answering. “I was assigned patrol,” he said, swallowing as he did.

  Dendril cocked his head. “Were you assigned to patrol the ruins?”

  “No.”

  “Then why were you there?”

  “I like the view,” he answered simply.

  Dendril grunted. “Or you were hoping to romp with your friend.”

  “Senda?” Endric frowned, feeling a surge of anger in his belly. “She followed me. Yes. She is a friend. No, not one I have bedded.” He shook his head again and leaned forward. “She is concerned about me.” The accusation in his tone hung in the air for a long moment.

  “And you think I am not?”

  Endric closed his eyes and looked away from his father. “Not like Andril.”

  “I know you grieve your brother. I do as well. But we must move on. Surely you see that. You are Denraen. You can’t continue to defy your responsibilities.”

  Endric nodded slowly. His father was right. Now was the time for him to move beyond his grief. Andril would want that for him. “I will follow my orders.”

  “That is not what I mean, and you know it.”

  “After everything, you still want me to lead?”

  Dendril leaned back and sighed. “No. I do not.”

  The comment should not have surprised him, yet it did. “You think I can’t lead?”

  “I think you can lead. That is the problem.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t understand consequences. Simply action. I have no doubt that men would follow you. Your skill alone would endear you to many. Your name would to others. Yet you are not prepared to lead.”

  “You’re disappointed I am not like Andril.”

  “Is that what you think?” Dendril asked. “Andril was a fine soldier and an excellent commander. Skilled, intelligent, and levelheaded.” He grunted. “You are skilled. And intelligent. Levelheaded you are not. When you can master your emotions, you will not only be a better soldier, you will be a better man.” Dendril’s eyes narrowed. “Then you may be ready to lead.”

  Endric opened his mouth but hesitated, knowing his father was right. Emotion often got the best of him. That was the reason he had been assigned to Urik in the first place. From a young age, Andril had mastered his emotions, able to control his anger and push it aside to the point that Endric once thought his brother never got angry.

  “What will you do about the Deshmahne?” Endric asked. After seeing them tonight, he understood the danger they posed.

  Dendril frowned at him and leaned back. Then he shook his head. “Tresten is right. You served well tonight. Stopping the Deshviili…” As his father’s words trailed off, Endric absorbed the rare praise. “I do not know what would have happened had they been successful.”

  “Why attack the palace?”

  Dendril shook his head. “The palace holds something the Deshmahne consider extremely valuable. With it, they would gain great power.”

  “What is it?”

  The general shook his head. His mouth tightened into a serious frown. “The fewer that know, the safer we are.”

  “But you know.” Dendril nodded and Endric didn’t press for more. “You still have not said what you will do about the Deshmahne.”

  “No. I have not. You will get your orders.”

  Though he didn’t say it, Endric heard the unspoken words. Like the rest of the Denraen. Dendril wouldn’t make an exception for him.

  “May I be dismissed?”

  Dendril nodded. He opened his mouth to say something more, but Endric had already turned and started toward the door. He did, however, risk a glance back. His father sat at the table, leaning on his heavy arms, and stared at him. Strangely, it was not a look of disappointment on his face. Rather, it was a curious expression, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of him.

  16

  Endric found Pendin in the great hall. It was late and mostly empty, but a few men lingered. Food was always available—they had to feed hungry soldiers—but late at night, the selection was poor. Usually cold, too.

  Pendin sat at a table near the door. A small leather-bound book lay open on the table and he fingered the pages but didn’t turn one in the few moments Endric watched. The corners of his mouth wrinkled, and he would occasionally scrub his hand over his head. He was worried.

  He looked up as Endric approached. The worry on his face turned to something different, almost relief. “Where have you been? I know you weren’t on patrol tonight,” he said quietly.

  “I didn’t realize I had to report to you as well. I thought Urik alone was enough.” He closed his eyes, frustrated at letting his annoyance with his father creep into his conversation with Pendin.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Pendin said. As he stared at Endric’s face a moment, he hesitated. “What happened?”

  Endric sank onto the bench. The great hall was lined with tables and benches, and countless
soldiers sitting down to eat had long ago worn the wood smooth. There was a certain comfort to the room, a coziness belied by its size. His friend knew him well and recognized the signs. “I know the name of the Mage you followed from Stahline.”

  He pitched his words so they wouldn’t carry. Others in the Denraen wouldn’t understand their following one of the Magi. It might get reported and lead to questions he didn’t want to answer. Especially not if his father was asking.

  Pendin widened his eyes. “How?”

  “I met him.” When Pendin frowned, he went on. “I followed three figures I later learned were Deshmahne onto the palace grounds. After chasing them away, two Magi came from the palace. One was the Mage we followed. Name of Tresten.”

  He didn’t know whether to laugh or press on as he spoke. Pendin’s face was a mixture of shock and disbelief. Had Endric not lived through it, he would have felt the same.

  “You did what?” Pendin finally sputtered a little too loudly. The few others in the room glanced their way. Lowering his voice, he asked, “You went onto the grounds uninvited? And were seen by Magi?”

  He nodded. “There was also a Mage named Alriyn. Do you recognize their names?”

  Pendin blinked. “Yes. They’re on the council. They’re both Elders.”

  Endric frowned. The Mage seemed youthful compared to Tresten. “The other is the eldest? Tresten?”

  Pendin shook his head. “No. Tresten only returned to the city in the past ten years. From what I can gather, he has declined the high seat on the council.”

  “What would one of the elders be doing in Stahline? That’s even stranger than we thought.”

  “There’s something else you should know.”

  “What?”

  “The miners chose tonight to begin their strike.”