Soldier Sworn (The Teralin Sword Book 3) Read online

  As he prepared to tell Brohmin that he detected nothing, he realized there was something.

  It was a strange sense of foulness that pressed against him in a way that he could not completely explain. Endric squeezed the hilt of his sword. This was a teralin blade, one with a polarity he had changed, and there was something about the sword that augmented his ability, but not in the same way that the dark teralin swords had helped the Deshmahne. As he held the hilt, he felt a surge of power.

  Strangely enough, it pressed against him.

  It was a wave of foulness, something like the dark energy he detected from the Deshmahne. He heard a noise on the rocks above him.

  Endric looked up and, at first, he saw nothing.

  Then it seemed as if his eyes began to adjust and a dark shape began to appear.

  Not only a single dark shape, but several. They moved toward him and Brohmin.

  “Is that groeliin?” he whispered.

  Brohmin placed himself between the creatures and the horses. He shifted his stance, getting into a ready position. “It's good that you can see them. There are several, which may be more than I can handle on my own.”

  “I thought the Antrilii hunted them. I thought they would prevent them from moving too far south,” Endric said.

  Brohmin nodded. “They do. And they will. But the Antrilii haven't reached them yet. And we are here.”

  Endric slid around his horse, standing ready. He stared at the creatures as they made their way down the rock, noting that they had what appeared to be some sort of strange energy around them. It was a darkness that Endric could not completely explain.

  He couldn't see them clearly, though he'd never seen them alive. When he'd traveled with the Antrilii before, he had seen the groeliin, but only from a distance, and only when dead. He was under the understanding that he shouldn't be able to see them while alive. What did it mean that he did?

  Was this why Tresten had wanted him to travel north?

  The nearest creature reached Brohmin, and he darted into a quick attack, beheading the creature in one swift motion.

  As he did, their attack changed, and the groeliin swarmed off the rocks, heading toward them. There were nearly a dozen of the creatures. They carried clubs and attacked with claws and had an odor to them. They were like nothing he had ever faced.

  How was he to fight these things?

  “Now, Endric,” Brohmin urged more calmly than Endric would have managed.

  Endric focused on his patterns, trying to keep the catahs in his mind, staying as focused as he could. It was both easier and more difficult to attack these creatures than he had expected. Fighting the Deshmahne or the Ravers was one thing. They were men, and he had struggled against years of Urmahne teachings demanding peace. With these creatures, he felt no such remorse.

  And yet, Endric felt as if he were not going to be enough. As if in spite of all the skill that he possessed, in spite of all the training he had, there were too many for him to face.

  Brohmin slipped and fell, one of the groeliin’s clubs swinging toward him.

  Endric swung around, slicing through the creature’s thick hide, keeping Brohmin alive.

  A groeliin club struck Endric in the back, sending him staggering forward.

  He fell onto the rock, losing his grip on his sword.

  He felt the creatures approach and suspected that he wouldn't be quick enough to turn. Now that he was prone, unable to stand and no longer in possession of a sword, the creatures would tear through him. He had seen the way they destroyed when he had traveled with the Antrilii. He had no false beliefs that he might be able to survive their attack. If the groeliin reached him—and there was nothing now that would stop them—he would be killed.

  Where was his sword?

  As he scrambled for it, he found it trapped beneath one of the horse’s hooves.

  Endric reached for his boot knives. They had saved him once before, and without his sword, it was all the hope he had.

  Endric took a knife in each hand and leaped to his feet.

  Two of the creatures stood on either side of him. Endric spun, twisting his arms in the form he had learned from Senda, borrowing from her staff techniques. He had found those patterns useful more times than he’d expected.

  He cut two of the groeliin down, but there were still too many remaining.

  And where was Brohmin?

  Had he fallen?

  Endric’s back burned where the club had hit him. At least he still had movement and sensation in his hands and feet.

  The creatures circled him. Endric put his back to the horse, knowing that it might end up requiring him to sacrifice his ride. The horse whinnied loudly and kicked out with powerful strikes of its rear hooves. Only one of the strikes connected.

  Endric lunged toward the nearest creature, but it shifted back, anticipating his attack.

  “Brohmin?”

  Had he come all this way, had he learned all that he had, only to fail now? It seemed a cruel twist of fate for him to fall to these creatures, creatures that the Antrilii—people he descended from—actively hunted.

  The Antrilii that he'd encountered had been right. He was no Antrilii. His father had abandoned whatever vows that he had, and now left Endric unprepared for what he faced.

  Endric lunged forward, catching one of the groeliin.

  His horse cried out and fell.

  Endric spun and saw Brohmin’s horse collapse as well.

  The groeliin had taken out the horses. Now, even if he were to survive, he would face a long journey by foot either back to Vasha or the attempt to cross through the mountains. Either way would be difficult. And that was only if he managed to survive.

  Endric shook those thoughts from his head. He focused on what he could do now. He focused on survival.

  He felt rather than saw two of the creatures near him.

  Endric focused on the forms he knew, thinking of what he had learned from everyone he had trained with. He dipped, dropping his shoulder as he swung up the knife, catching one of the creatures in the chest before spinning around, stabbing at the next.

  He surged forward, trying to reach the next groeliin, but pain surged through his spine. He slammed forward, and another club struck his shoulder.

  Endric screamed.

  His vision began to blur. He rolled, trying to bring his knives around, not wanting to die without putting up as much of a fight as he could, but saw no sign of the groeliin in front of him.

  But he felt something.

  Endric started to turn. Another club struck his leg.

  The pain was immense.

  He sat up, stabbing almost involuntarily with his knife before he fell backward.

  His vision continued to fade. This time, he suspected there would be no coming back.

  As he began to pass out, he heard a soft scream.

  Was that Brohmin?

  No. The sound wasn't a scream. It was a howl.

  Endric had heard it before and had appreciated the sound then.

  He laughed bitterly to himself. The merahl came too late to help him.

  4

  Endric jostled awake.

  He was alive. Somehow, he was alive.

  He didn't know how.

  Pain surged through his body, the kind of pain he’d known after losing to his father. It was the kind of pain that told him that he still might not survive even though he had lived through the initial encounter. The pain was so intense that he could barely keep his mind focused.

  He hurt everywhere. He felt a throbbing pain in both his back, his leg, his head, and even his arms. Were they dragging him to wherever they lived? Would Endric see the home of the groeliin? He couldn’t even imagine the horrors of that place. If it came to it, he might need to take his own life.

  He sniffed, noting a familiar scent. Smoke.

  Did the groeliin know how to light fires?

  If they did, would they roast him? Perhaps they thought to eat him rather than simply des
troy him. Maybe Brohmin was with him. If that were the case, then he would need to find the strength to fight. Somehow, he would have to get free. Somehow, he would have to help the man so that they didn't fall to the groeliin together. One of them needed to get free.

  He tried opening his eyes, but it didn't work. He moved his hands, and as he did, pain shot through him. His legs ached with a fire that reminded him of when he had been flayed open by his father's greatsword, Trill.

  How many wounds had he taken? Was this even something he could survive?

  Endric moaned.

  The sound escaped his lips almost involuntarily. It sounded muted, hollow.

  Something touched his arms, then his head, then his legs. Endric wanted to kick, wanted to struggle, but there was no use. His body didn't respond as it should. In that, he was much like he had been when he had faced his father. And he was equally weakened as he had been then.

  A muted voice carried to him. “Careful.”

  Voices? That didn't seem like what he would expect from the groeliin. Voices meant men.

  A memory of the howl that he had heard before passing out came back to him.

  He had heard the merahl but thought that the creature had come too late. There should have been no way for him to have survived long enough for the Antrilii to reach him. There had been too many groeliin, too many of the horrible creatures for him to face. But maybe somehow, he had survived.

  “I am being careful, Nessa.”

  Nessa. That wasn't the name of a groeliin. That was a female name. That was a female voice.

  Endric tried opening his eyes again, and this time they seemed to respond. He managed to see shades of light, enough that he realized that he was in some sort of room.

  A room with smoke? That meant a hearth. That meant a home.

  He moaned again.

  He had been trying to say something, trying to create words, but his mouth didn't seem to function the way it should.

  “Shush,” he heard. “Don't try to talk. Let your body mend.”

  “Where?” He managed to make the one word and allowed himself to feel that minor victory, satisfied in the fact that he had succeeded that much.

  “You're safe,” the voice said.

  Endric shivered. The feeling came on almost involuntarily. There seemed to be nothing he could do about it. As he did, pain surged through him anew.

  He felt something rub along his skin, and the burning increased again. A pungent aroma came to his nose, and it reminded him of the salves that Dentoun had used on him when he was trying to heal him after finding him on the plains, saving him from death by the laca.

  “Antrilii?” Once again, he felt a surge of victory that he managed even to say that much. The word was hard to form and came out almost like a mumbled, mixed-up sound, but it was enough—he hoped it was enough—for Nessa to know what he said.

  “Antrilii, yes. You have reached us.”

  Endric breathed out heavily, and another moan escaped his lips. This time, he did not attempt to suppress it. How could he, when he finally had reached the people he sought?

  “Groeliin?”

  “See? He could see them.” This was a different voice, not Nessa, and sounded younger, more urgent.

  “None but the Antrilii can see them. That's our gift from the gods.” This was Nessa. She spoke in a hushed voice and seemed to keep her attention away from Endric, as if she didn't want him to hear what she said.

  “Me. Antrilii.”

  It wasn't entirely true, and it wasn't really what Endric and wanted to say, but his mouth and body didn't work well enough for him to form the proper words. There was no way for him to explain who he was, who he had descended from, and no way for him to explain that his father was not an oath breaker. He didn't know if it even mattered to Nessa or the other Antrilii who were with her.

  “Which tribe do you think he's from?” the other voice asked.

  “He's not of the people. Did you see his clothes? Did you see how he was found?”

  “But if he sees them—”

  “That's what he tells us.”

  “But you know how many groeliin he was found near.”

  “How. Many?” Endric managed.

  He blinked his eyes, trying to clear them, trying to be able to see Nessa or the other person with her. All he saw were gradations of shadows. The last time when he had come around, healed by the Antrilii, there had been a more pleasant welcome from them. Then again, his father had been the one who had arranged the Antrilii assistance.

  A face loomed into view, although Endric couldn't make out the details. He thought he saw strands of dark hair braided together and slung over her shoulder, but it could just as easily have been thick bands of rope. There was no sign of a painted face, no evidence of anything else that he would traditionally attribute to the Antrilii. There was only the word of the women here and the scent of the stuff they used on him that made him believe that they really were Antrilii.

  “You were found near seven dead groeliin. What happened to the Antrilii warriors who killed them? Did the rest of the brood take them?”

  Endric blinked again, confusion washing through him. His mind throbbed, and it was difficult for him to process what she was saying.

  “Brood?” he managed to ask.

  “Yes. The seven would've been part of a larger brood. Where were the Antrilii who slaughtered the beasts?” Nessa asked.

  Endric took a breath. Pain still surged through him, but it was lessened, nothing quite like it had been. Whatever salves she had used on him had at least taken that much away. Was it possible that he might actually survive the attack?

  Considering how he had felt when he had awoken, and what he remembered of the injuries he sustained while facing the groeliin, it seemed impossible that he would be able to survive it.

  “You were beaten, nearly destroyed by the groeliin,” Nessa went on. “Only by the luck of the merahl and Antrilii arriving did you manage to survive.”

  “No Antrilii. Me.”

  It was progress putting three words together. Hopefully, he would be able to carry on an actual conversation soon.

  “Impossible,” Nessa said. “None other than the Antrilii can kill these creatures.”

  Endric knew that not to be true. Brohmin had been able to see them and fight them, and he was not Antrilii. That meant there were others. Was that some special gift of the Conclave? Was it the reason he was able to have such skill with the sword? Endric didn't know and didn't know that it mattered.

  He decided to change tactics. He was getting nowhere with Nessa when discussing the Antrilii and the dead groeliin. But he could find out more about what happened to him, and perhaps he could find out more about whether something had happened to Brohmin.

  “How bad?” he asked.

  Nessa leaned closer, and he could see the faint outline of her eyes. Definitely no paint on her face, not like the rest of the Antrilii he had encountered.

  “Bad wounds. Clubs. Some of them were spiked. Good thing this group doesn't seem to have poisoned their weapons. That's not always a given,” Nessa said. She leaned away, leaving Endric staring upward.

  He could make out canvas overhead and realized that he'd been wrong about his initial assessment. Now that his vision had cleared, he saw that they were in some sort of tent. He felt softness beneath him and wondered if he finally had managed to find a bed. It had only taken him nearly dying to do so.

  “Will I live?” Endric asked.

  Nessa snorted. “Will you live? The gods don't provide me with my medicines for you to die, outlander.”

  That was a term he had not heard before. If Nessa was the one who had mixed the medicines, that made her a healer of the Antrilii. Given what Endric had seen of Dentoun's medicines, and how effective they had been at keeping him alive, it gave him the first surge of hope that he felt since awakening that he might actually live through this ordeal. And now that he had found the Antrilii, he might actually live to learn what h
e'd come to the north to find.

  “There was another,” Endric said.

  Nessa leaned toward him, and he saw her face more clearly. She had heavy lines around her eyes but a distinctive face, and the dark hair that he'd seen braided and hanging off to each side of her head was definitely there. She had strands of color woven into it. A mixture of red and burnt orange that reminded Endric of the paint the men had worn on their faces. Did the women of the Antrilii fight?

  They were questions he hadn't asked. Even in the Denraen, women soldiers were rare. Senda was a scholar first, though she was incredibly skilled with the staff. There were other women soldiers, but it was relatively rare. Most remained as scholars. A part of him thought that might be a better life than living as a soldier, risking yourself in certain death over and over again. As much as he had learned of Senda, he wondered why she subjected herself to that.

  “There was no other. None but you.”

  Endric steadied his breathing. “There was another with me. He fell when we were fighting.”

  “You were fighting this man?” Nessa asked.

  Endric started to shake his head but had a surge of pain that split his skull when he did. He stopped the movement, trying to control the rolling wave of nausea that worked through him. He might survive this, but it would take time for him to recover. “Not fighting this man. Fighting groeliin.”

  “As I said, that's not possible. Only Antrilii face the groeliin.”

  “Nessa—”

  “Shush, girl. Run along and let me continue fixing him.”

  Endric sighed. What was there to say? What was there that he could do to convince Nessa that he could see the groeliin? Likely, it didn't even matter that he convinced her. He'd come to find the Antrilii so that he could understand more about himself. He could focus only on that, and convincing them of what he did or did not see wouldn't really matter.

  But finding Brohmin did.

  “The other. There was another with me. Did you find him too?” he asked again.