Soldier Sword (The Teralin Sword Book 2)
Table of Contents
Map
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
About the Author
Also by D.K. Holmberg
Soldier Sword
The Teralin Sword
D.K. Holmberg
ASH Publishing
Copyright © 2017 by D.K. Holmberg
Cover art by Damonza
All rights reserved.
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Contents
Map
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
About the Author
Also by D.K. Holmberg
Map
1
The sword arced toward Endric’s face and he ducked, swinging his blade around as he did. The movement happened almost faster than he could see, fast enough that he barely had time to react. His long blade reverberated with the sound as it crashed against the other, but the massive sword Trill pushed him back.
His father, general of the Denraen, protector of the Urmahne faith and the Magi, stepped back, sweeping his sword into position for another attack.
Crouched near the ground, Endric lunged forward, attempting to catch his father off guard.
Dendril swung the hilt down, colliding with Endric’s shoulder, knocking him back to the ground. Trill swept toward his neck, stopping just short of severing his head.
“You’re still too eager,” Dendril said, pulling his sword back and sheathing it. “Wait for the fight to slow.”
Endric rubbed his neck as he stood. The damned blade had come close enough to shave him. What was his father thinking, having him practice with steel? The rest of the troops used practice staves, the wood balanced in such a way that it was close enough to the right weight for combat. One wrong move, and he’d end up with another scar—or worse.
Then again, Dendril rarely made a wrong move.
Endric sheathed his sword, glancing around the practice yard in the middle of the barracks. A few Denraen who had been watching turned away, returning to whatever assignment they had. Seeing Endric beaten by his father was no longer unique—they trained like this nearly every day, and Endric lost every time—but there was still something about watching a swordmaster like Dendril demonstrating his skill. Had it not been him on the receiving end, Endric would have enjoyed watching as well.
“I think if I have to face the Deshmahne, the fight will speed, not slow.”
“Then you haven’t been paying attention. Like I said, you’re eager.”
“Eager to knock you back, at least,” Endric said, wiping sweat from his brow. The day wasn’t hot—this high up in the mountain, Vasha should not be hot—but the mixture of his exertion and the undercurrent of heat from the teralin mines left him sweating.
“Eagerness leads to defeat. It’s your willingness to attack that I exploit, Endric. When you see that, when you learn patience and planning, you’ll be difficult to defeat. For now, you are not.” Dendril nodded for Endric to follow, turning away from him and starting his morning survey of the barracks.
Endric stared after him. The comment was something of mixed praise, typical of his father. Had it been the same with Andril? Endric had never known how his father treated his brother when they sparred, knowing only that the two of them had been known to have epic duels, though they were typically closed to the rest of the Denraen. Endric suspected that had been Andril’s request rather than his father’s. Had Andril won, he would have the right to assume command of the Denraen. There was no chance that Endric would defeat Dendril anytime soon.
How had he ever thought that he could?
Probably through the same fault that his father commented upon now. He had been too eager, too willing to attack rather than to sit back and wait for more information. It had nearly ended him, and he had the scar across his chest—and the residual embarrassment from the ease with which his father had defeated him—to remind him of that mistake.
But then, had he not made the mistake and been sent from the city, he wouldn’t have been in a position to stop Urik and his plan to allow the dark priests access to the city. That was the reason he felt like Dendril rarely made mistakes. There had been one, though, and it had resulted in the loss of Andril.
Endric trailed his father as they made a circuit of the Denraen. Now that he’d assumed the title of en’raen, the position that had been vacated by the loss of his brother, Endric understood the reasoning behind the morning surveys. There were thousands of Denraen stationed in Vasha at any given time. Squads trained here before their deployment into the surrounding lands, tasked with maintaining peace, but they always returned to Vasha to train. It was this training that made them as formidable as they were. Few soldiers were their match.
His father watched a squadron of men marching in formation, his face neutral. The men were guided by a young sergeant, a dark-haired man from Coamdon City by the name of Thern. In the last year, Endric had come to know the names of most of the soldiers in the city. It was an expectation his father had of him.
“Do you see how he focuses on minutia?” Dendril asked, his voice pitched low.
Endric watched, noting the way that Thern measured the distance between the men as they marched, pausing them every so often to ensure they kept a precise distance. Other times, he would check to see how the men held their swords, or whether their shields had shifted on their arms. Each time, he found so
mething to correct, as well as something to praise.
“I see attention to detail.”
“Is that all you see?” Dendril asked.
The squad shifted, marching toward them for a dozen steps. None of the Denraen paid any mind to the fact that their general observed them during the march. They moved crisply, their boots ringing along the stone street, before turning once more at a command from Thern and marching up the street, away from Dendril and Endric.
“What did you want for me to see?” he asked.
Dendril glanced over. Even at his age—well into his forties—he had a chiseled face. Some gray peppered his hair, not much, but his weathered face bore the weight of his responsibility. Permanent wrinkles were etched at the corners of his eyes, and his forehead remained lined as well, a constant frown on his face. Unlike Thern, praise from Dendril was rare.
“I wanted you to see the patience he practices with the men. That is your lesson for today, son. In everything, you need to have patience. Those troops didn’t start off as coordinated as you saw. It took countless hours, a commitment to shaping them. Patience. And now that squad could join any other squad in the Denraen army, and they would fit in.”
Endric studied the squad as they marched. Every so often, Thern would halt the march and speak to the men before moving them onward again. They weren’t unique among the Denraen. Endric saw the same practice within the other squadrons daily. Soldiers marching in formation, troops gathered at the squad level, sometimes more, moving through the barracks. Most sergeants were much like Thern.
“I have patience with the men,” Endric said, following his father as they continued their patrol around the Denraen barracks.
They neared the back wall, the mountain rising above them. Vasha was situated on terraces, each cut into the mountain itself. The second terrace, that which housed the Denraen, was nearly as large as the first terrace, which comprised most of the city. There were hundreds of buildings on this level, all Denraen, and all surrounded by a massive wall. Endric spent most of his time on this level, not visiting the first terrace—or the taverns—quite as often as he once had. Responsibility had changed him, but he’d changed even before he’d agreed to serve as en’raen.
Above them, on the third terrace, rose the palace of the Magi, the reason many traveled to Vasha. The palace had a certain majesty to it, one that was only augmented by the fact that clouds seemed to swirl around each of the three massive towers. The stone was a pale white and completely smooth, appearing as if it had been carved from the mountain itself. The walls around the city matched, giving a splendor to Vasha, something that Endric had begun to forget before his exile. It was a privilege to remain in the city, and a privilege to serve the Denraen. That had been another lesson his father had wanted him to learn.
“Perhaps you do have patience,” Dendril said, turning them back toward the command section of the barracks.
Another squad passed, this led by a hard woman by the name of Martha, a slender blond from Rondalin. In another time, Endric might have found her attractive—well, he still did, but Senda would have his skin if he thought about acting on anything. Dendril remained silent as the squad passed, and Endric noted that Martha treated her soldiers much the same way that Thern had. Had his father walked him to this end of the barracks simply for that lesson?
It was difficult knowing what his father wanted him to learn. In the last year, he’d grown closer to his father than he’d ever been, serving at his side as Endric came to know the assignment he’d agreed to take, but there was still a distance between them that wasn’t completely removed by the fact that they spoke daily. In some ways, the distance was even greater, mostly because Dendril expected something different from Endric.
“What is it you’re trying to show me today?” he asked.
His father paused a moment, studying Endric with the same flat, unreadable expression that he wore while staring at the squads. It was the same way he studied everything as if he tried to puzzle out an answer to a question he hadn’t asked. The gaze made Endric uncomfortable, if only because his father had such a sharp mind. What did he find when he stared at his newest en’raen? Did he find him lacking in some quality that he expected? Endric would never be the same soldier that Andril had been, regardless of how much he tried. Did that offend his father?
“You’ve grown, Endric. You agree to lead. This pleases me.”
Endric blinked. That wasn’t what he’d expected. Leadership had been handed to him, but it still didn’t fit him. Maybe it would in time, but now it felt as if he still had so much to learn.
“You have taken on the challenge I asked of you, and you continue to learn. For now, that is what you must do.”
“For now?”
Dendril nodded. “There may come a time when you will lead the Denraen.”
It was to have been Andril, and he had trained for nearly a decade for that role. His brother had been more than only a better soldier than Endric ever could be, he had been a better son. Endric had stopped fighting the memory of his brother and had accepted the fact that he couldn’t replace him, but he could honor him.
“When you do, you will need to know how to balance between patience and assertiveness. You have shown assertiveness. When you face me, you do not hesitate to attack, much as you have never hesitated to attack, yet you fail to see the times when this poses a disadvantage. There are others with abilities in the world, and you have already seen how there are others who exceed your skill with the sword. You must be tactical and anticipate every move your opponent might make.”
Endric nodded. It was rare for his father to be so clear with his expectations. Most of the time, the lessons were more opaque, similar to how he had shown him the movements of the squad. But this seemed as if it came from someplace else, a different interest.
“You’ve received word of something, haven’t you? It’s Urik,” Endric said. That had to be the reason that his father chose a lesson on patience.
There were many reasons for him to ask Endric to remain patient, and the lesson with the soldiers was a good one for him to know, but there were few reasons that Endric would attack without waiting, and Dendril knew that finding Urik was one. The man had betrayed them. Because of Urik, Endric had lost his brother. Dendril had lost his son. And the Denraen had lost the next general.
“You have always had a sharp mind. It’s the reason I should have trusted you a year ago.” He studied Endric, scratching his chin as he did. “I have received word of Urik. I wanted you to hear it from me, along with a warning, before you heard it from Senda.”
Endric looked up, waiting to hear what his father would say about Senda. In the year since he’d returned from his exile, when the attempt on the city had been deterred, and Urik had disappeared, Dendril hadn’t commented on Endric’s growing relationship with her. There were few women among the Denraen, making the situation with Endric unique, though there were some. Many served as something other than common soldiers, trained much like Senda had been trained, to serve as informants. Spies.
Listain, the second in command of the Denraen, used his network of spies to provide necessary information for the Denraen. Since assuming his role as en’raen, Endric had begun to better understand just how much information Listain was able to acquire, and he marveled at how the man was able to pull it all together to make conclusions. He was rarely wrong.
Senda had been one of Endric’s oldest friends, but they had grown to be something more in the last year. Yet, she served beneath Listain, which meant she had access to the same information as Listain.
“Senda is careful to share only what I am permitted to know,” Endric said.
Dendril sniffed. “If that were true, then much would be different between you and I.” His father shook his head. “But in this case, I wanted you to have my analysis before you began your own. You would learn eventually. Serving as en’raen, you would have every right to know that word of Urik has cropped up. But you need to know that
I request we exercise caution in chasing after these rumors.”
Endric took a deep breath. His father was right. If there was one person who would compel him to act without thinking, it would be Urik. His betrayal had nearly destroyed the Denraen. Had Urik his way, not only Andril would have died, but Endric as well.
Did his father know that Senda had provided information to him over the last year about possible appearances?
Probably.
Listain would likely have known. The spymaster was even more skilled than Senda, and Endric knew how skilled she was at drawing out information and synthesizing it into something useful. And if Listain had known, then his father would as well.
Which was the reason for the warning.
“Where did Listain find him?”
They had nearly reached the command quarters, and Dendril paused. They stood out in the open, with the occasional sound of shouting troops mixing into the still mountain air. Distantly, Endric heard the steady clatter of men working with practice staves. Shouts mingled as well, as did the muted sounds from the first terrace.
Endric ignored them all, focusing instead on his father.
“You remain eager. I can see it in your face,” Dendril said.
Endric took a steadying breath, trying to slow his heart. “Urik betrayed us, sir. He knows enough about the Denraen to damage us, and we need—”
Dendril shook his head, cutting him off. “He has not done anything that would damage the Denraen.”