“The same night as the Deshmahne attack?” he asked. “That can’t be coincidence.”
Pendin shrugged. “I don’t know why it would be anything else.”
Endric closed his eyes and thought. The miners were striking. The Deshmahne attack. The Magi—Tresten—were concerned about how the Deshmahne were even able to enter the city. This was not coincidence. There was some sort of connection.
It hit him hard, like a punch in the stomach. “The mines,” he whispered.
“What?”
“The Magi said the Deshmahne should not be able to enter the city. Tresten didn’t know how it was possible. If the miners were striking tonight, the mines were empty. The Deshmahne came into the city through the mines.”
“That’s not possible. Only an urmiiln—a senior miner—would be able to navigate the mines.”
“Who organized the strike?”
“Not sure,” Pendin said with a shake of his head. “Though Giyoln is rumored to lead the rebellion.”
“Do you know him?”
“Of him. I think few know him. As urmiiln, he no longer serves as an active miner.”
“Then one of the urmiiln could have helped the Deshmahne.”
“Not Giyoln. He was seen among the striking miners. Even if he didn’t lead them, he was there. Is there.”
Endric leaned back, the sudden flutter in his chest leaving a knot in his throat. The connection was there. He knew it—but he would need proof. Especially if there were miners involved. The Urmahne priests had taken on the role of protector to the miners. Not surprising, since the miners served the priests. Now those workers were nearly untouchable for fear of raising an alarm. Even with the miners striking, the Urmahne priests would need more than the circumstantial evidence he had to allow the Denraen to investigate. There had been too many conflicts between the miners and the Denraen over the years. More often than not, the miners had instigated something the Denraen felt compelled to squelch before it got out of hand.
The miners had the ear of the priests. The priests had the ear of the Magi. The Magi should listen to the Denraen, yet they didn’t. At least, it seemed that way to Endric. They would need evidence—and someone willing to listen—if he intended to take on the miners. He suspected they had one among the Magi who would listen: Tresten. But they still needed proof.
“We need to get into the mines.”
Pendin snorted. He met Endric’s eyes and then laughed. “You’re kidding?”
“The miners are striking.”
“Doesn’t mean the mines are empty.”
Endric frowned. “Why not?”
“Teralin is difficult to mine. Does strange things. You shouldn’t leave an active mine unsupervised or there will be problems. Caves collapse. Some simply get too hot. No one knows why; men who have mined other ores say it is unlike anything else. Almost as if it moves.”
Endric sniffed and narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “You sound like you believe what the priests say about the ore.”
Pendin shrugged. “I’ve worked in the mines, Endric. Hard to explain to those who haven’t. There is something… different about teralin.” He smiled, then shrugged again. “I don’t know if it is all the priests claim—I’ve never spoken to the gods—but teralin is unusual.”
“How many will be in the mines?”
“Probably a few senior miners, though it is hard to know. There might be more. The miners have never rebelled like this.” Pendin studied him. “Why bother with the mines? What do you think you’ll find?”
He shook his head. He wasn’t sure. He needed proof. But did he expect to catch the Deshmahne in the mines? Not after what he had seen near the palace. Even if the dark priests had been weakened by the Deshviili, was there was anything he could do if he came across them? The answer was easy.
“Nothing,” he said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “Only I’m sure they used the mines. Tresten said they should not have been able to get into the city. As if it were warded. The mines are the only way. We need to be able to prove it, close the mines to the Deshmahne.”
“That may not be possible. The mines are extensive and twist deep into the mountain’s core. I suspect there are few who know exactly how extensive. Maps are useless; there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of mines that have been abandoned as the teralin is mined. For every active and known abandoned mine, there are likely dozens that would be left unaccounted.”
“Do the Denraen know this?” he asked. This was the first he had heard how extensive the mines were. He found it hard to believe the Denraen would leave the city so unprotected.
Pendin shrugged. “Probably not the full extent.”
Endric sniffed and shook his head, closing his eyes. “I need to find Urik,” he decided. “Maybe he can help. If Andril were here, he’d know what to do. This is beyond me.”
Pendin shot him a hard glare. “You always compare yourself to Andril so negatively. If you saw what the rest of us see, you would know that you didn’t always come out so far behind. Ahead in many ways.”
Endric smiled at his friend. “That is nice of you to say. Untrue. But still nice.”
Pendin sighed. “Endric—”
Whatever he was going to say was cut off as the ground beneath them rumbled. It was as if the room shuddered. The rumbling lasted nearly a dozen heartbeats, a heavy shaking that lifted dust and mortar out of the cracks in the wall and even toppled a few benches. Then it slowed to a stop.
Around them, dust hung in the air. He coughed and tasted the chalky particles. Pendin stared at him nervously, then looked around. The others in the great hall had jumped to their feet, and more than one ran toward the door.
“We should get outside,” Pendin said.
Endric frowned. “What was that?”
Pendin shook his head. “I don’t know. Felt like a rockslide. Or a cave collapse. Whatever it was had enough energy to shake the barracks.” He looked above him at the huge beams framing the ceiling. “I don’t want to be here if this collapses.”
“The barracks?” As far as Endric knew, the barracks had been in place for several hundred years. Modifications had been made over time and additions had been added, but the main structure—the great hall included—had stood for centuries. Some areas, especially some of the older parts, were crafted much like the palace. As if cut from the stone of the mountain. They could even be as old as the palace. The senior officers occupied those spaces. His father. Urik. Andril’s old office.
“Come on!” Pendin urged, pulling on Endric’s arm.
He stood reluctantly. The hall had emptied and the ground had not moved again, but he decided to trust Pendin in this. The man was descended from miners. They hurried through the barracks, following a stream of like-minded soldiers out into the open night air. The cool air triggered another cough.
It was dark. Heavy clouds covered the moon, hanging fat and low, like inky smears on the night. The lighted windows within the barracks provided barely enough illumination to see their way. He still coughed, and his breath puffed out in a mist.
Endric inhaled deeply, clearing the dust from his lungs. As usual, the air smelled of coming rain. Pendin steered him into the grassy practice area and then stopped just as the rain began. Around them were dozens of other Denraen. Most were dressed, though few enough had the sense to grab their weapon. Endric was thankful for the presence of his sword on his hip.
“Pendin. I need to find Urik.”
“What can he do?”
“What if that was the Deshmahne’s doing?”
Pendin shook his head. “You think these priests could make the entire city shake?”
Endric shrugged, his thoughts turning back to the enormous power he had sensed as they readied the Deshviili. Then he nodded, shaking with the memory. “I do.”
As he spoke, the ground heaved again. A few of the men around him screamed. Some stumbled and Endric braced himself, grabbing Pendin. His muscular friend stood steadfast, rolling with
the shaking like a seasoned sailor on the open ocean. Stone creaked and groaned somewhere nearby; in the dark, it was hard to tell. There came a loud crack, like a tree branch falling. Only, this level of the city had no trees.
“The walls,” Pendin shouted. He need not have though. The deep rumbling suddenly stopped. The suddenness was unnerving. Though it was now quiet, a few men moaned as if injured. Pendin’s voice rang out loudly but was muted in the heavy air. “That crack came from the walls,” he said, his voice now hushed.
“How do you know?”
“The direction, the feel, the way it echoed.” He shrugged. “I just do.”
“This is no cave collapse.”
“Endric—I know you saw something from the Deshmahne tonight, but what you suggest is impossible. For these dark priests to be able to do this…” He looked around. “They would have to be as powerful as the Magi once were. Maybe more so.” He shook his head and turned back to Endric. “That isn’t possible.”
Endric blinked slowly. He knew what he had felt earlier. And Mage Tresten had been fearful of what the Deshmahne could have accomplished with a successful Deshviili. He didn’t know what magics the Magi were capable of doing; few anymore saw a demonstration of their abilities. Those stories that came out were likely as much exaggeration as truth. But he knew what he had felt from the Deshmahne.
“What else then, Pendin? What could have caused this? Why did it stop so suddenly this time?”
As if in answer, he heard a quiet murmuring behind him. It began softly, building to a clear call.
“Look!” someone shouted. “The palace!”
Endric turned. A pale blue light shone from the windows of the tallest tower. It glowed steadily, unnaturally. There was no doubt in his mind what he was seeing or what generated the light. And why the heaving ground had suddenly stopped.
Somewhere in the palace, the Magi used their abilities.
17
He led Pendin through the barracks yard, stepping around or over men lying on the ground, injured or simply stunned. He recognized none. A few stared up at the third terrace and toward the palace high overhead—and the pale blue light emanating from the upper windows of the tower—and barely blinked, as if transfixed.
Endric started toward the barracks again, intending to head back in and find Urik, but Pendin grabbed his arm. “Not yet. Wait until the engineers have been by.”
“You said it was the wall that cracked.”
Pendin shook his head once. “Probably the wall. But don’t take any chances.”
Endric grunted in frustration, then turned and circled the barracks. More and more lanterns appeared as they neared the main street. Someone had even bothered to relight the normally darkened streetlights. Wind gusted around him, biting cold through his shirt. The shadows that flickered down the street reminded him of his experience in the barracks. He shivered but quickly suppressed it as he grabbed the hilt of his sword and squeezed.
Then he saw his father. Urik stood nearby and they conversed quietly. Urik moved his hands as he spoke, obviously animated, while Dendril merely listened and nodded. Listain was nowhere to be seen.
Endric nodded to Pendin. His friend frowned but followed with a certain reluctance. Though never implicated by his actions, Endric knew his friend didn’t relish the possibility of being near Dendril during a reprimand.
“We must speak to the Magi, Dendril,” Urik said as they neared. “Perhaps you could—”
Dendril interrupted him with a single shake of his head. “No, Urik. The Magi have this well in hand. I won’t question them on this.”
“But after tonight—”
“I have made my decision in this.”
Urik hesitated only a moment. “You could ask Tresten.”
Dendril narrowed his eyes. “There will be no further discussion. Not on this.” He turned as Endric neared, and his eyes were hard. They didn’t soften as they would have for Andril. “Do you have something to report?” he asked, his voice gruff.
Endric tilted his head at the question. “No,” he said, drawing out the answer. “Just want to know what is going on.”
The corners of Dendril’s mouth curled. “You know what is happening.”
Urik turned from Dendril to Endric. “What does he know?”
“He interrupted the Deshviili tonight.”
Urik frowned. “You didn’t say it was Endric.”
“That wasn’t important.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes. I am. Do not test me, Urik.”
Endric was no longer sure what was happening. There was tension between his father and the en’raen, and he didn’t understand the source. What was Urik asking of Dendril, and why did his father not want to do it? Was it about the Deshmahne again?
“This was Deshmahne then?” Endric asked.
Dendril shook his head. “That’s not certain.”
“But the Magi are doing something to stop it.”
Urik tilted his head at Endric and gave him a tight smile. “The boy sees it too.” At Dendril’s hard glare, he raised his hands. “I only intend to protect—”
“No.” Dendril said the word quietly, and it knifed through the air. There would be no further challenge to his authority.
“They use the tunnels,” Endric offered. If this was Deshmahne, he would find a way to motivate a Denraen response.
Dendril frowned. “They wouldn’t be able to navigate the tunnels.”
“Not without a guide.” Endric turned and motioned toward Pendin. The sick expression on his face said enough. He didn’t want to be involved. Not in this, not where his allegiance to his family could be questioned. Endric understood that. But he knew what the Deshmahne had done. He’d seen his own brother’s head. In a bag. And there was no telling what they intended to do at the palace.
“The miners began their strike tonight,” Dendril said. It was a question, and he looked to Urik for answer. The en’raen nodded slowly. The general pursed his lips, and his eyes were drawn.
Endric recognized the frustrated expression; he had caused it often enough. Why had Urik not told him? Endric suddenly felt uneasy and a bit on edge. The familiar warning nausea rolled in the pit of his stomach. There was something he was missing.
Dendril closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. “Can’t be a coincidence.” He paused, looking around. “Where is Listain?”
Endric stared at his father a moment. The Deshmahne had attacked the city and were now somehow causing the ground to tremble. The miners were revolting. And now Listain was missing. His heart started fluttering in his chest. Was that the connection? Had the spymaster somehow organized all this?
He didn’t get a chance to ask the question. A runner approached, panting and dirtied. His chest bore the three stripes of his rank, the fabric of his uniform ripped near his rank. A dried stream of blood came from a gash on his cheek. The man would prize the scar later. Endric didn’t recognize him.
“General,” the man said.
Dendril nodded. “What is it?”
“One of the outer buildings has collapsed.”
His father narrowed his eyes. “Where?” The man gestured over his shoulder and Dendril’s eyes widened slightly. “Was anyone hurt?”
“You need to come.”
“What is it?” Endric demanded, interrupting.
The man turned and glanced briefly at Endric. “It’s Listain, sir,” he answered as if Endric were an officer. He wasn’t sure what it would mean if Listain was injured or why the spymaster had been away from his office and the barracks in the middle of the night.
Endric looked over at his father. Had Senda been with Listain? She had planned on finding the Raen after they separated earlier. “Was there anyone else with him?” he asked the runner.
The man shook his head. “Unknown. Significant structural damage. We know the Raen is there, but trapped. We are unable to move the rock to reach him.” He turned to Dendril. “Engineers fear there isn’t enough
air for long.”
Dendril had his eyes closed again. When he opened them, he looked at Endric. “I need you to summon Tresten.”
“The Mage? You’re asking me to go onto the grounds. Again,” he asked, incredulous. Did his father really expect him to summon one of the Magi? He should be helping with the rescue—even if it was Listain. Senda could be there. The thought of losing another person close to him caused his throat to swell, and he couldn’t say anything more.
He didn’t have to. Dendril only nodded curtly. Urik looked at Endric and frowned. His eyes narrowed, and Endric could tell the man was trying to work through what he had dealt with that evening. He knew not even Urik could imagine what he had seen.
“You’ve already violated the tradition once today.” He shook his head, biting off another comment. “But this time, you will go on my authority. Find Tresten. Bring him to the south guard station.” When Endric hesitated, he said, “Go. Now.”
Endric turned away and motioned to Pendin, who followed. They jogged along the street, weaving around the men standing. Some were silent; others spoke quietly. Everything remained fairly organized. As the Denraen should.
It wasn’t until they were several hundred feet from the barracks that Pendin spoke. “Why are we summoning a Mage? And why was there tension between Urik and the general?”
Endric shook his head. Pendin had sensed it as well. Of course he would. For all his physical strength, Pendin was intuitive. That was another part of the reason they had become such fast friends. “I think there is more to my father’s relationship with this Mage than they let on.” He paused a moment, debating whether to share his fear for Senda with Pendin. She was his friend too. “Senda may be with Listain. She was going to report to him when I saw her last.”
Pendin took a deep breath and nodded once. His steps increased in speed, and Endric hurried to keep up. They followed the road to the main palace gate. Neither said anything more. Endric hoped Tresten would provide more answers. The Mage had been fairly forthcoming with him so far, so much so that he was beginning to feel deluged by everything. If he was this easily overwhelmed, how had he even considered anyone else replacing his father? Though he didn’t always agree with him, the man led the Denraen well.
Soldier Son (The Teralin Sword Book 1) Page 12
