Soldier Son (The Teralin Sword Book 1)

by D. K. Holmberg

  “Better than you have lately. First Andril. Then Brohstin. Now the Deshmahne attack. Still you hesitate to lead.” He grunted and shook his head. “Action must be taken. If not by you, then someone who will.”

  “Wait to challenge me until you have become a man.”

  “You fear that I will win?”

  Dendril shook his head. There was a hint of sadness in his face that nearly froze Endric. It passed, and Dendril’s face became unreadable. “I fear that you will lose.”

  Endric stared and said nothing.

  Dendril slowly nodded once. “Is this a challenge then?”

  Endric’s heart was hammering. Could he go through with it? Was he ready to lead if he succeeded? Was he ready to die? That was what he risked if he failed.

  He flicked his gaze to Pendin. His friend was shaking his head, fearful of what would happen. He looked over at Urik. The en’raen was worried, his eyes darting from Dendril to Endric. The other Denraen had respectfully stepped out of earshot. Then Senda moaned and stirred in his arms, as if struggling to wake, before finally settling into silence. He looked at her—the sharp jaw, the defined chin, lean nose—and knew he couldn’t let her be hurt further. Too many had been hurt already.

  His father’s inaction had led to this. Now there was no other choice.

  “Father, I—”

  His father shook his head once. His eyes were dark. Angry.

  There was no choice.

  Endric took a deep breath. “I challenge you, Dendril, General of the Denraen, for command of the Denraen.”

  19

  “Why are you doing this?”

  Endric looked at Pendin across Senda’s sleeping body. She had barely woken since she was brought to the healers, though whether that was her injury or some concoction she had been given was unclear to him. The narrow cot was one of many in the small room. Walls pressed in oppressively and every time he moved, it felt as though the ceiling hovered barely overhead. He couldn’t help but think the healers needed more space.

  Others lay on cots like the one Senda slept upon: men who had been hurt in the earthquakes or by falling debris. Some had been hurt in the cleanup. None of the men in the lower barracks hall had survived. The two healers now on duty wandered between beds, checking on their patients, applying compresses or foul-smelling salves. Occasionally they eyed him with stern, disapproving expressions, yet he had stayed with Senda as much as possible.

  Endric looked down at her, ignoring Pendin’s question for now, as well as the annoyed healers. Asleep like this, she seemed smaller and Endric felt a strangely protective urge. The feelings surprised him and were why he had stayed by her so much. He had always cared for Senda, but fearing for her safety and then seeing her hurt had cast a different light on his true feelings. If only she would awaken so he could tell her what he had done.

  “Action needs to be taken.” He spoke without looking up. Pendin had tried to talk him out of this already and nearly succeeded.

  “It will be. You don’t give him enough time.”

  Endric closed his eyes and suddenly couldn’t get the image of his brother’s head out of his mind. He no longer felt the overwhelming urge for vengeance. It was still there, only now it was mixed with the need to stop the Deshmahne before they gained more strength. Then they might be impossible to stop, and too many others would get hurt. Now it was only Denraen, but others were not as able to defend themselves.

  “There has been more than enough time, Pendin.” He shook his head, rubbing a hand through his close-cropped hair. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see the Deshmahne attacking the palace. The Denraen can’t allow them to continue their attacks.”

  “We don’t even know that there have been other attacks!”

  “Brohstin was one of them.”

  Pendin sighed. “This is not you,” he said, changing tack.

  “I know you fear for me, but you don’t need to worry. My father won’t kill me.”

  “And you?”

  He shrugged. “What else is there?” he asked. “Persuade me! I can think of nothing to do differently. My father’s council fears to challenge him, and Listain is still missing. Andril would have been able to force my father onto the right path, but he doesn’t listen to me like that. And I have no one to blame but myself.”

  The last was somehow the most painful.

  Had he not antagonized his father all these years, pushing him away, he might be in a different position. It seemed so long ago that he had been offered a commission. A last attempt. And he had refused again.

  “What happened with the miners?” he asked. He knew Pendin would have investigated. Endric still wasn’t sure how much family Pendin still had in the mines, but knew his father at least still worked them.

  “They have locked down the mines.”

  Endric frowned. “How?”

  “The entrance to the active mines has been barricaded. None may enter or leave.”

  “How long can they sustain that?”

  Pendin shrugged. “No one knows how many supplies they have. Or if there are other ways of obtaining more.”

  “The Deshmahne are behind this.”

  “Those who aren’t in the mines aren’t speaking. No one can confirm anything.”

  Endric closed his eyes. How could all this have happened so quickly? Why couldn’t Andril be here to help? His brother was much better suited for what was needed. He felt tears well up with the thought; it was not the first time.

  “Why must this be you, Endric?” Pendin asked softly.

  “No one else will,” he said, opening his eyes.

  “Does that make it the right course of action?”

  He had asked himself the same question and still hadn’t come up with an answer. Urik had told him that others on the council argued for action his father refused to take. The men of the Denraen grew restless, waiting for clear leadership, answers, and nothing had been given to them. Now they could wait no longer.

  “Not right,” he finally said. “Just less wrong.”

  “Senda wouldn’t want you to do this.”

  “She already knows.”

  “And she approves?” Pendin asked.

  “No. But I think she understands.” She always understood, or at least tried to.

  “If you lose—”

  “I won’t,” he said, thinking of his father. Trill hadn’t been taken off the wall in over a decade. There was no rust on the sword, but that didn’t mean there would be none on Dendril. Endric never even saw him practicing anymore. Once, he had been a fixture in the yard, training the men, demonstrating his skill. There was leadership in simply doing that. Men saw and respected the demonstrations. Most were bettered by the experience. Now he left those demonstrations to others. Andril had been one of those others.

  Endric could only sigh. The thought of beating his father didn’t make him happy, but he knew of little else to do. He had a real chance. Though he had never faced his father in practice, those who had compared his skill to his father’s. Andril had been better still.

  “If you lose,” Pendin repeated, breaking into his reverie, “you’ll either be dead or expelled from the Denraen.”

  “I know.” That was the risk he took, and he was slowly resigning himself to that fate. “But if I win…”

  “Endric—I love you like a brother, but even I don’t think you are ready for that.”

  Endric snorted but said nothing. Pendin was probably right, but that didn’t change what he had to do. What he would do. He looked over at his friend, his gaze pausing as it crossed over Senda’s still form, and met his eyes.

  Pendin softened his expression immediately. “If I can’t change your mind, what can I do?”

  He smiled and felt the first moment of relief he had felt in days. “I don’t know. I know that I may not win. Maybe that’s not the point. Facing Dendril may convince others to push forward with what they feel is necessary. I know Urik at least feels we should attack. There are others on the coun
cil who feel the same.”

  “Endric—”

  “The idea of actually winning is frightening. I’ve never even led a division, let alone the entirety of the Denraen. And now I think to do this?”

  “Endric!”

  He looked over at Pendin, flashing annoyance. His friend glared at him and pointed to Senda. Her eyes had fluttered open and she stared up at him, fixing on his face. He hadn’t realized he was holding her hand, but he was suddenly aware of her squeezing him back, holding tightly.

  “Senda?”

  “Endric.” She spoke his name as a whisper.

  He grabbed one of the nearby stools and lowered himself onto it, pulling himself up even with her face and staring into her pale blue eyes. They stared at each other for long moments, neither speaking. Finally a tear streamed from the corner of her eye, streaking down toward the blanket. Endric softly wiped it away.

  “Glad to see you awake, Senda,” Pendin said. “Now talk some sense into him.” He patted her shoulder and turned to leave, but not before winking at Endric.

  They both watched him leave, then turned to look at each other again. “How much do you remember?” His hand had lingered on her cheek, and she nestled into it.

  “We were in Listain’s office when the first quake hit. Olin and I weren’t sure what was happening, but Listain was terrified. We wanted to get up to the street, but he led us down toward the…” She trailed off, a hesitant look on her face.

  “I know about the tunnels, Senda. That’s how I found you.”

  She closed her eyes and slowly nodded. “Of course. We went toward the tunnels, taking the barracks route. There was something he needed.” She paused, the effort of speaking so much making her chest heave with each breath, taxing her. She looked up at him and smiled. After a few slow breaths, she continued, “I don’t know what it was. We were underground when another quake came. By then, we were nearly to the barracks. That’s when we were attacked.”

  She closed her eyes again and her breathing slowed. Endric wondered if she was drifting back to sleep.

  He wasn’t sure he could let her; there were still questions he had. “Senda, where were you attacked?”

  Opening her eyes slowly, she hesitated as if trying to remember it clearly. “So much is a blur for me. I remember the attack coming at us. Listain holding them off, then Olin.” She paused suddenly and tried to sit up, her eyes wide. “Olin?”

  Endric helped to lay her back down, unsure how much stress she could take. “He’s gone,” he said softly. “Why was he even there?”

  “He saved me. It was my fault he was there. I recruited him for Listain.”

  “A spy?” Endric asked, his voice louder than he had intended. One of the nearby healers looked over at him and placed a pudgy finger to his lips. Endric ignored him. Olin had been a spy. How had he not known? Yet it made sense. The man was quiet and bright. Little escaped his observing eyes. He would have made an excellent spy.

  “Yes. For nearly a year. He was giving a report when the quake hit. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been there.” She sighed deeply. “What of Listain?”

  “You don’t know?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t remember. Bits and pieces are clear. I remember fighting with something. Olin too. Listain doing something to help us get past the attack, toward the barracks.” She paused, narrowing her eyes, then smiled. “Then you. You brought me out.”

  “I did. When I thought you were dead…”

  She fixed him with a serious gaze. “You worried?”

  He snorted. “More than I expected to. Senda, I—”

  She brought her free hand up and shushed him. “Don’t say anything now. Let’s talk more when I wake.” With that, she leaned back and drifted off to sleep. Her rest was brief, then her eyes snapped open again. “Why am I to talk sense into you?”

  He swallowed hard. Sitting so close to her, feeling the skin of her cheek on his hand, he wasn’t sure what he was doing anymore. Yet what he did was bigger than him. Than Senda. “I challenged my father.”

  She said nothing for a dozen long heartbeats. “Oh, Endric.”

  They sat quietly for long moments until she drifted back to sleep. Endric watched her until he was content that she was fully out, and then he slowly and regrettably pulled his hand away.

  He looked back at her as he left the room. His throat felt tight as he watched her lying there, looking tiny on the narrow cot, breaths coming slow and regular, each with a soft rise of her chest. He had to force himself to turn away.

  Endric wanted to be alone, but the halls were full of men. Some wanted to stop and talk to him, many offering support. Others simply wanted to steer clear of him, like he carried some sort of disease. He understood that; he had long worried his friends suffered from their association with him. Soon that would change, regardless of the outcome of the challenge.

  It was the men offering their support that bolstered him the most. There was something reassuring about knowing he wasn’t the only one who felt Dendril’s approach with the Deshmahne was wrong. Most were simple soldiers, frontline men. None of the officers said anything to him. Not that he expected them to. The risk was too great. They would support Dendril publicly until such time that he was no longer general. Occasionally, he caught a wayward glance, an approving nod, but he wasn’t sure how much to read into such expressions.

  Senda remained in his thoughts. Dangerous, he knew. He needed focus now, not the distractions of a woman. Still, he couldn’t shake his concern for her. She had said little when he told her of what he had done. Likely she would have figured it out anyway. Senda was nearly Listain’s match in plotting and, as far as Endric was concerned, her intelligence exceeded Listain’s. It was not those thoughts that weighed on him. Rather, it was the image of her small form lying on the cot. Helpless.

  If he lost, would she suffer? Would Pendin?

  He worried about the impact his actions would have on his friends. Always before, they had been shielded, as had he. Now they would be exposed. Loyalty might be questioned. There needed to be a way to protect them from repercussions.

  He found himself in the officer’s wing and heading toward Urik’s office. That had not been his intent, but fear for his friends had directed his feet. The halls here were darker, the stone walls different. This part of the barracks was old. Even the air smelled of it. Whereas in other parts of the barracks there was evidence of the earthquake in lanterns broken or wall hangings damaged, if not in outright cracking of the walls, this section had been completely unharmed.

  Not for the first time, he wondered when this building was constructed. And why. Few buildings in the city were built like this, but enough had been that he wondered at their original intent. Surely this had not always been the barracks. Or the smithy nearby, built in the same manner, had not always been intended for its purpose. Now it was little more than rubble. Could it be that the tunnels he only recently learned about connected all the ancient buildings?

  Questions for another time. Urik’s door was cracked open and he knocked briskly. The door swung open. The en’raen stood with his back to Endric, near one of his shelves. His body blocked whatever it was he was working on. He turned and nodded at Endric before turning back to what he was doing and hurriedly finishing. When he stepped away from the shelf, Endric saw only stacks of books.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here; figured that you would be preparing for your challenge. What is it that you need, Endric?”

  Endric shook away the questions turning over in his head to look at Urik. The man was crisply dressed in his uniform though, as was his custom, he didn’t wear his sword. Most of the officers kept their swords strapped to their hip at all times. Many of the enlisted men as well. His head was bare, exposing his close-cropped gray hair. His usually neutral face held a hint of worry, carrying it as mostly a tightening of his eyes.

  “Have I made the right decision?” he asked, surprising himself with the question.

  Urik mo
tioned him in and Endric stepped across the threshold, closing the door behind him before taking a seat at Urik’s desk. The en’raen sat on the opposite side and leaned forward on his elbows, fixing him with a steady gaze.

  “I don’t know,” he answered slowly before sighing. “Nearly a third of the city has taken some damage. The third terrace has none, a few shattered windows. The second terrace suffered more, with the guard station you saw and the attack on the barracks, but it was the first terrace with more significant damage. It will take years to rebuild. The people are scared, uncertain why or how this could happen. There are even rumblings from the Magi that more needs to be done.”

  He turned and looked toward the back of his office, as if looking through an unseen window. Endric followed the direction of his gaze and saw that Urik stared at a painting hung in the recess between bookshelves at the back of his office. The painting was of two streams merging into one. On the shores of the streams were small green shrubs with distinctive leaves. He didn’t need to look closely to know what type they were. In the distance, as if on the horizon, was a dark shape with a shadow that loomed over the entire painting. Within the shadow were hazy faces, indistinct, but there if you looked at it the right way. It depicted the Urmahne faith, though he had never seen a painting quite like it.

  “And now you have challenged the general. You and I spoke briefly about the challenge, and now that it has been made, I am uncertain how I feel about it.” He shook his head and then turned back to look at Endric. “We cannot let them grow stronger. To do so invites the possibility of more destruction. That I am certain of.” He hesitated a moment. “If they have Listain, there is much they could learn of our defenses, of the city.”

  Endric nodded. Listain’s absence put everything in a different perspective. He was still not clear what had happened. No one was until Senda shared what she remembered. As much as he hated Listain, he doubted the man was working with the Deshmahne. Such deception to the Denraen, and his father, wasn’t something he saw in Listain.