What was the damn laca waiting for?
Different sounds broke the night silence. Insects chirped a rhythmic song, steady though with cycling intensity. He heard the hoot of an owl, the sound quiet and somehow reassuring. The distant howl of wolves reached him this far in the plains, its plaintive sound familiar. A few answering calls followed, even farther away. Too bad they weren’t nearer. Then his end would be quick. They went for the throat, killing quickly. Not like the laca. The wind whistled over all of it.
Through the wind came another sound. At first, he thought it just the distant cry of wolves, but the tone was different. Harsher, deeper. Almost a braying. The laca nearby whined again, louder this time. When the sound drifted closer, the laca suddenly stood, ears upright and hackles raised. He stared at Endric with dark eyes that reflected the moonlight. The braying repeated, nearer, and the laca darted off, quickly disappearing into the grasses.
Endric breathed deeply, relaxing. Tension flooded from him. It was a brief respite.
The braying sound came closer, and a nauseating realization hit him: he might be the prey.
Endric closed his eyes and let the wind whisper around him, washing over him with cold fingers. Was he ready to die?
Inhaling deeply of the crisp air, his body still thrumming with pain, he pressed the visions of his fallen brother and friends now lost to him out of his mind. Instead, he offered a silent prayer once more, surprising himself at how easily it formed in his mind. He didn’t pray for his life; rather, he asked the gods to grant his father the help he needed to stop the Deshmahne.
Endric still didn’t have the strength to do more than lie still. He could move his arms and legs, but there was no power there. He wouldn’t even have been able sit up were it not for the coughing fit. The wind gusted again, carrying the sound of the braying closer. The sound was purer as it neared, not as harsh, almost as if the message the creature announced with its call had changed. Long moments passed. His heart thumped quickly, and as he listened to the braying, he was able to ignore the pain throughout his body. He lifted his head—barely more than fist high off the ground—and peered into the night. Nothing moved.
The creatures were closer, now near enough that he counted at least three distinct voices, each with a different call. Always, they stayed out of view. His heart hammered wildly and a cold sweat had pimpled his skin. Distantly, he was surprised his body still had the moisture to sweat. Still, they didn’t attack. Endric began to wonder why, feeling a faint hope that maybe they were afraid. Or worse: They toyed with him.
He felt the next sound before he heard it as a distant rumbling. Like the thunder so common in the city, but instead as a deep pounding of the earth. The sound started faintly, growing more prominent until he heard it atop the call of the creatures. The sound was easily recognizable, and he felt a different fear slide through him. Galloping horses.
With a dawning terror, he realized the braying beasts belonged to whomever was coming on horseback. No man kept such creatures. And he knew the gods had denied him as he had once denied them, leaving him to a fate worse than death.
22
The horses continued toward him, their hooves thudding a steady drumbeat that pounded through his body. The braying creatures remained out of view though he heard them clearly. Hints of shadow were all he saw. Even that was more likely imagined. The strange calls, so like voices, changed and moved as they circled him. There was no doubting they had found him. And were waiting.
Then the horses neared. He felt it as much as heard it. They, too, stayed out of sight. A soft whistle pierced the night, undulating gently and barely more than the sound of the wind. The braying ceased suddenly. In the sudden stillness, only the faint sound of creaking leather interrupted the night.
Another soft whistle—two soft beats—disturbed the silence, and suddenly the animals stalked into view. Three of them, as he had heard. They were tall, taller than any dog or wolf he had ever seen, yet moved with a catlike grace. They advanced toward him, sharp teeth evident in the moonlight, before stopping and sitting in a circle.
Endric had never seen their like. He stared at them, and a deep intelligence stared intently back at him.
His heart still hammered and he almost didn’t notice the riders’ approach. When he did, he blinked in sudden shock. Six tall stallions carried riders dressed strangely in painted leathers. The horses didn’t seem afraid of the creatures that now rested around him, stepping comfortably next to them before halting. One of the riders dismounted, a leisurely jump from the saddle, and came toward him. He was wide—at least as wide as Dendril—and nearly as tall. As the man neared, Endric realized his face was painted in reds and blacks to match his leathers. A long, curved sword hung from his waist.
Antrilii warriors.
He knew little of the Antrilii. Few did, save for their reputation as fierce warriors. None had marched against them in centuries and survived. Few now tried. Even the Denraen left them alone. They roamed an area in the far northwest that was unpopulated except for their people. Yet here they were. Surrounding him.
“Can you move?” The man’s voice was thick with an accent, and his face was deeply scarred beneath the painting. Long dark hair was tied back into a tail and braided below the knot.
Despite his training as a Denraen, Endric felt a shiver race down his spine. He could barely shake his head. Sweat ran down the side of his face and mixed with the drying blood. Again, he was surprised he still had the moisture to make sweat. The Antrilii pulled out a long knife, its tip curved wickedly and the blade shining dully in the moonlight. Endric steeled himself, almost thankful the end was near. A curse to the gods formed on his lips, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak it.
He managed a nod and was surprised when the Antrilii laughed. “I will not kill you.” Dark eyes met his for a moment before he continued. “I cannot say what the gods might choose.” Strange how the words reflected his thoughts. The curse disappeared from his mind.
The man cut the remnants of Endric’s shirt and pulled it away. The movement was agony and he cried out, the first sound he had made in a long time. One of the other riders neared him with a waterskin, and the two men began to wash his wounds. There came a pungent odor, one of spice and herbs, and Endric knew another pain as a medicated poultice began to settle into his flesh. He didn’t cry out again.
They held him as they washed, cleansing his chest. The wound was the worst of his injuries, and he wondered how it looked. The Denraen in him would prize the scar.
The leg wounds came next. Pain shot through him, nauseating him in waves. When the Antrilii finished washing the cuts, Endric knew what they next intended but was not sure he would have the stomach for it.
They gave him little choice as they began to stitch the wounds. There were few tortures like the one he had already endured, but this brought another edge to it. Each stab of the needle was another insult, and he could feel the coarse thread as it was pulled through him. Gritting his teeth, he willed himself to numbness, fixating on anesthesia. He was only partially successful.
As they finished suturing, the Antrilii ran their hands over his arms, legs, and head. Other injuries were found and cleansed with the same sharp pain, but there were no others to stitch. Endric knew the damage he had sustained, could remember each blow vividly. The entire battle was etched in his mind, forcing him to relive it as the memories flooded over him. The first, and most minor, had come when he thought he had a chance against his father. The more serious injuries were sustained as he learned the fallacy of that belief.
Water was dribbled into his mouth, and he coughed again before swallowing it. Parched mouth and lips rejoiced at the water. Cool and with an unusual mineral tang, it tasted sweet. He tried drinking more, but the waterskin was pulled away. Endric left his eyes closed. He felt helpless. Barely able to move, and now he had been found and stitched by Antrilii warriors. The stories of the Antrilii were infrequent, and he feared the men’s intent. Their fiercel
y painted faces and their dark leathers didn’t give him hope for a benevolent purpose, but the fact that they’d helped him did.
Then there were the creatures with them. He didn’t know what to make of them but realized they hunted with the Antrilii. That meant domestication. Who could tame animals like that? How had others not heard of them?
They sat him up and the world spun, taking away all thoughts and questions.
He struggled to keep his head up while at the same time trying not to vomit, managing only the first of his goals. Ragged heaves racked him, sending new pains throughout, pulling at the stitching on his chest. Long moments passed before the retching eased. The waterskin was placed back in his mouth and more drops of the pleasantly tinged water dripped down his throat, barely what he needed. At least the nausea didn’t return.
Endric sat supported for long moments. One of the creatures whined briefly before being hushed by another of the riders. Endric attempted to open his eyes. The spinning had stopped, though dizziness remained. A small victory.
He cast a curious glance at the animal; a cat that behaved like a trained dog. Each of the creatures had tall ears that twitched in the night air, obviously hearing imperceptible sounds, and their dark eyes blinked quickly as glances were cast about the clearing, resting often on him. They seemed to be weighing him. He pulled his gaze away from their intelligent eyes.
“They are merahl,” the nearest Antrilii said, anticipating his question. “They are the descendants of a greater race.”
Endric managed to humph in response, surprising himself again that he was able to make any sound at all. He peeled his eyes from the merahl and looked up at the strangely dressed Antrilii. The red paint smeared across his wide face looked like blood, and the maroon upon his leather matched, making the Antrilii appear as if he just came from a slaughter. A braided beard adorned his chin and his eyes wore an intensity that reminded Endric of his father.
He looked away to watch the other Antrilii. He knelt nearby, watching him. His face was striped black with paint, making him appear feral. His leathers were a deep black and would blend into the darkest night. The other Antrilii remained mounted. Endric couldn’t see them, though the occasional whinny of horses told him they were still out there.
“We will ask later what happened,” the nearest Antrilii announced. “For now, you will come with us.”
Endric shook his head. Patched, he felt no different than he had hours before; he would prefer to be left to die.
The Antrilii laughed. It was harsh and mirthless. “It was not a question.”
With that, he heaved Endric easily to his feet. The man lifted him into a saddle and deft hands tied him to it. He was to be their prisoner.
Endric suppressed a laugh. They were sorely mistaken if they thought he would bring some sort of reward. Still, though he was tied to the saddle, the Antrilii had kept him comfortable. Knots had been pulled tight but didn’t chafe. They were practiced at this sort of thing.
Endric quickly realized there was little he could do to fight, so he weakly gripped the pommel to give himself the semblance of freedom. The Antrilii grabbed the harness and began to lead them south out of the clearing.
A whistle was followed by, “Merahl, groeli!”
With it, the merahl stood and trotted from the clearing; a low growl sounded in each animal’s throat as the cats passed the horses and continued away from them, blending quickly into the night. The sound was directed at the horses, more like a call of sorts, almost like they were speaking to them. Endric found the idea that these merahl communicated with the horses to be nearly impossible to fathom.
“They hunt for us,” the Antrilii explained.
Endric managed a nod. What else was there to say? The Antrilii seemed to take the merahl as nothing out of the ordinary. Their sheer size was exceptional. The way they had watched him was barely short of unsettling. And nearly tame, like a family dog.
He was a prisoner to the Antrilii—tied to a saddle, injured near to the point of death, and being led away from the only home he had ever known. He should feel more fear than he did but couldn’t muster the energy for it. Too much had happened and too much was still at risk, yet he need not care any longer. It was not his responsibility to understand what he had observed over the past month. Not that it ever was. Nor was it his responsibility to worry about the Deshmahne. He would be glad to leave that to his father.
Except Dendril did nothing.
Endric closed his eyes as helplessness washed over him. He suppressed a sigh and focused on the slow trotting of the horse, wondering where the Antrilii led him. Gradually, he felt his strength beginning to return and realized he was using his legs somewhat to keep him atop the horse. His arms remained weak, though there was a growing strength to them as well. Licking his cracking lips, trying to moisten them, all he tasted was his dried blood. His jaw ached as he worked it, and he wondered why he hadn’t felt it before.
“What?” he finally croaked.
The Antrilii leading him looked over at him and frowned. His shadowed face was like a nightmare. But not his eyes. There was a passing moment of compassion.
“Why heal?” he asked. The words were stiff and harsh as they passed through his raw throat, yet there was no denying that was what they had done. He didn’t know what medicines they used, only that they were unlike anything the Denraen had for injuries.
The Antrilii grunted. “Why let you suffer?” he asked. They went a few more steps before he spoke again. “I said that later you would tell me what happened.”
The man’s accented words were hard to understand and Endric found he was leaning forward as he strained to comprehend. He nodded as he realized what the Antrilii had said.
The man smiled with a flash of teeth. “Good. Then tell me.”
The threat was barely veiled, and Endric felt a shiver run up his spine at the command. So similar to his father, with the same expectation of an order being followed. Still, he hesitated. What would the Antrilii do if he explained? He was their prisoner. It would help him for them to know that he was Denraen, only giving more fodder for demands that he was certain would go unmet.
“A mistake. One that I will not make again.”
The Antrilii turned to him and stared. “Seems like you angered someone. That cannot be simply a mistake.”
Endric closed his eyes and coughed. “Angering him was not the mistake.”
The Antrilii surprised him then and laughed. It was a hearty sound and rumbled into the night. “I see now.”
He opened his eyes and looked at the Antrilii. “Do you?” Could the man know he was Denraen? Would it matter?
“You underestimated someone.” He laughed a moment longer before it died off. “That is a mistake that can only be made once. You were lucky to live through it.”
“I didn’t think my father would actually try to kill me.”
The huge Antrilii narrowed his eyes at him. “Were you willing to kill him?”
The question cut to the heart of the matter quickly. Endric had gone into the challenge knowing what the possible outcome might be but had not really thought his father could best him. He had figured the man too old, too slow, leaving Endric able to carefully end the fight without harming him seriously. Deep down, he hadn’t thought he could lose. That had been his real mistake. He remembered distinctly the time in the fight when he’d realized how wrong he was.
“Not at first.”
The Antrilii raised an eyebrow.
“I lost control of the fight.”
The Antrilii snorted and nodded. A knowing look crossed his face and he turned away, saying nothing more. They went a while longer in silence. The merahl called occasionally, each voice distinct, howling across the plain. It was as if they spoke to each other while they hunted.
“What do they hunt?” For what creature would the Antrilii feel motivated to leave their northern home to hunt so far to the south? The distance was not insignificant. Endric had traveled much of
the southern part of the continent as part of the Denraen but rarely even reached Rondalin, let alone the mountain ranges of the north that the Antrilii called home. Still, he knew how far they had traveled to reach this far into the plains. Strange that the Denraen had not heard of their travels.
The Antrilii looked back at him. “They hunt groeliin.” He watched Endric for a moment before turning away and said nothing more.
Endric wasn’t certain he even heard the man right. The thick accent made his words sound almost like he spoke through a mouthful of mud. Groeliin? Endric had never heard of the creature, though in truth he had never heard of a merahl before tonight. What other creatures did the Antrilii know about that Endric had no knowledge of? Yet if they hunted these creatures on the plains, then he should have known something about them. The Denraen routinely patrolled the area.
He shook his head. The answer was likely much simpler. Either he’d misunderstood the Antrilii or the word was from the Antrilii native tongue. He wondered which it was and decided to ask later.
They traveled south for what must have been hours. The night grew cooler and a light fog settled across the plains, dampening the long blades of grass they traveled through. The Antrilii leading his horse didn’t seem to mind the cool air or the wetness, holding casually to the reins. Endric had tried to steer the horse with his knees, but the animal ignored him, trusting the Antrilii leading it. Even the horses were well trained.
Endric didn’t know what time it was when they stopped. The moon had shifted in the sky and hid behind a bank of clouds. Only thin light filtered through, and he had trouble seeing clearly. The Antrilii seemed to have no such trouble, navigating confidently. The constant calling from the merahl led them south and a little east. After crossing a small stream, the Antrilii leading his horse whistled again, a low, haunting sound. It was answered by a quick bark from the merahl.
Soldier Son (The Teralin Sword Book 1) Page 19
