Soldier Sword (The Teralin Sword Book 2) Read online

  Tresten scratched his face, shifting himself on the rock. “The teralin can be charged, and it gains specific power. That is the danger. You witnessed what happened with negatively charged teralin. You saw how it affected two men who understood the dangers.”

  “Brohmin and Novan?”

  Tresten nodded. “If it could affect even those two, imagine what happens to those who do not recognize the dangers.”

  Endric didn't have to think hard to recognize that. The Deshmahne were proof of it. They carried the dark blades of the metal with them, likely under its influence, drawing them deeper and deeper into the blackness of the influence of the negatively charged teralin.

  “And the positively charged teralin?”

  Tresten shook his head. “Positively charged teralin is difficult. Only a few have the capacity to charge it.”

  Endric remembered what had happened to him in the mines, the way that the rot he'd held had somehow changed, protecting him. If Novan were to be believed, he had charged it.

  “What happened that day, Tresten?” Endric asked.

  “You know what happened, Endric, son of Dendril.”

  “How was I able to charge the teralin?”

  “That is a different question, isn't it?”

  Endric sighed. “So much of that time remains a mystery to me,” he admitted. “I thought that I knew who I was and what I was capable of doing… but meeting Nahrsin and the other Antrilii, Novan, and Brohmin…”

  “You realized that you weren’t as worldly as you thought?” Tresten asked.

  Endric nodded. “I thought I was a skilled swordsman. For that matter, I thought most of the Denraen were skilled swordsmen.”

  “You no longer believe that your men are skilled?”

  “How can I believe that when I’ve seen the way the Deshmahne fight?” He could close his eyes and remember the way that they moved, the supernatural speed and agility. Whatever it was that they had done to gain power, it had truly benefitted them. And combined with their use of teralin, they were deadly. More so than he had been.

  “The Deshmahne steal power,” Tresten said. “That is how they are able to do those things you saw. You should not use them as a barometer of your own talent.”

  “How do they steal power?” Endric suspected Listain knew more about the Deshmahne but had only shared pieces with him. It hadn’t mattered then, but now that he would be expected to travel south, he would need to know.

  “There have been questions about that, but none have been confirmed.”

  Endric watched Tresten for a moment and realized that the Mage must know something. He had a curious gleam in his eyes, one that seemed to reflect more knowledge than he let on. “What do you think?” Endric asked.

  Tresten laughed softly, a sound that was almost musical. “Usually I’m the one who’s asking that question. You really are your father’s son, aren’t you?” Tresten leaned back, resting on his elbows and staring up at the sky. “To understand, you would need to know more about the energy of the world.”

  “Like Magi Magic?”

  Tresten smiled. “Something like that, though perhaps not quite what the rest of the Council would share.”

  Endric frowned. “If it has to do with the Magi, then I understand why you wouldn’t want to share.”

  “Who said I would not share?” Tresten said. “You who are descended from the Antrilii have a right to this knowledge.”

  “Why is that?”

  Tresten shook his head. “Ask your father.”

  “I have.”

  “And?”

  “He’s told me that there are aspects of the Antrilii that I have yet to understand.”

  “What does that sound like to you?”

  Endric hadn’t considered what it sounded like other than a refusal to answer. Each time he questioned, his father deflected, declining to answer until Endric no longer believed he would. If nothing else, Endric had learned he had more family than he had ever realized. Fighting the Deshmahne—and saving the city—had brought him closer to an uncle that he’d never known about and introduced him to cousins he still couldn’t believe existed.

  “I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me anything about the Antrilii.”

  “You’re Antrilii as well,” Tresten said.

  “I might be descended from them, but that doesn’t make me Antrilii,” Endric said. “Like I said, I thought the Denraen were skilled swordsmen, but the Antrilii make us look like new recruits, first holding a blade.”

  Tresten laughed. “Have you ever thought about why that would be?”

  “Better training?” he said, shrugging. “I saw Dentoun fighting. If he trained the Antrilii, it’s no wonder that they are all as skilled as they are.”

  “And you have Dendril, his brother, training you. If it were all about training, then the Denraen and the Antrilii would be equals, don’t you think?”

  “What other answer is there?”

  Tresten tipped his head back, staring at the sky. “If it’s not training, then perhaps it’s something else, something that has to do with the man holding the blade.”

  “You’re saying the Antrilii are born to it?”

  Tresten shrugged noncommittally. “I am saying that you should seek to understand your ancestors before you believe yourself less than worthy.” He sat up and nodded at Endric. “Which is why I will share with you this: The Magi know of power in the world, the energy that comprises all things. They call it manehlin. The ancients had a different term for it, one that I feel is probably more fitting, especially when translated. They referred to this energy as ahmaean. You have learned something of the ancient language, I believe?”

  Endric nodded but didn’t know how to translate ahmaean or manehlin. Neither made much sense to him. “What is this energy?” he asked. “Which is right?”

  “I don’t think there is right or wrong with this. Energy surrounds all of us, Endric. We are all a part of it, though some possess it more strongly.”

  “Like the Magi?”

  Tresten nodded. “Like the Magi. Others possess nothing more than a memory of it, the barest whisper. Most do not know it exists, other than that the Magi exist.”

  Endric looked over at Tresten. What must it be like to possess such power? To be able to see it and use it? What must it be like to speak to the gods?

  They were questions he didn’t ask Tresten. He couldn’t. Asking one of the Magi about speaking to the gods felt like a violation in some ways.

  “What does this have to do with the Deshmahne?” Endric asked instead. There had to be a connection, otherwise, why would Tresten have shared with him?

  “This has everything to do with the Deshmahne. As I said, all life has some energy.”

  “The ahmaean that you mention.”

  Tresten nodded. “Very good. Yes. All life possesses ahmaean. Some possess it more strongly than others.”

  “Like me?”

  Tresten smiled strangely. “Even you, Endric. All the men and women within Vasha. All the creatures found throughout the land. Everything has this energy. There is an arcane ability, one that few understand, that allows the transference of power.”

  Endric blinked. “Transference? As in, taking it?”

  “That is exactly what I mean.”

  “Does it kill?”

  “Not as quickly as you would think. It takes time for the transference to succeed, and in that time, the energy is gradually stolen, drawn to the other. Eventually, though, you cannot live without your ahmaean.”

  “And the Deshmahne have learned this?”

  Tresten nodded. “At least one among them has learned. As I said, it is an arcane ability, and one that perhaps should never have been discovered.”

  “That’s how the Deshmahne gain their power?”

  “They take from others. It is not theirs, but stolen. Not only from people, but from other creatures, life with much ahmaean.”

  “Like what?”

  “You’ve met the Antrili
i. I believe you have met such creatures?”

  “The merahl?”

  “They are descended from a greater race, but even they possess much of this energy. It is because of this that they are particularly well suited to hunt the groeliin.”

  Endric remembered the merahl as they hunted, and the steady sound of their hunting howl as it echoed across the sky. They were powerful creatures, and he couldn’t deny the intelligence in their eyes—or the fact that Dentoun had seemed to communicate with them. Could the Deshmahne have taken the merahl and stolen power from them? Was that really what they had done?

  “Why tell me this?” he asked.

  Tresten offered a sad smile. “If you are to travel the south, then you should know what you might face.”

  Endric laughed softly. “You know that my father sent me south?”

  “I know a great many things. That is one of the advantages of my position.”

  “Then you know he sent me with Listain.”

  “I thought the two of you have solved the issues between you? Did not your rescue of him convince him that you had the best interest of the Denraen in mind?”

  Endric smiled. “There’s more to it than that, I think. My father intends for me to be gone from the city. I expect he will use that time to discover what he can of Urik and plan whatever strategy he has that allows him to capture him. Without my involvement.”

  “Yours and Listain’s. Interesting that Dendril would remove the two people who feel the most resentment over his betrayal.”

  “I would think that my father should feel resentment. It’s because of Urik that we lost Andril.”

  “I have little doubt that your father remembers that quite well, but Dendril is not so easy to understand. Many believe that he is not as well connected as Listain, but that could not be further from the truth. Dendril’s connections are more discrete but no less impressive. More than that, Dendril has an astute mind, essentially that of a scholar, one that he has honed through years of study. When you place knowledge and intelligence together, different insights occur. That is something you should strive for.”

  “You sound as if you respect my father.”

  “Why would I not respect the Denraen general?”

  Endric shrugged. “I didn’t know the Magi felt that way about the Denraen, that’s all.”

  “Perhaps not all. Most of the Magi never have reason to think of the Denraen, not as they once did. There had been a time, back when the Magi spent their days away from the city, where they understood the Denraen, and the Denraen understood the Magi. It was an interdependence, a relationship that has evolved over time into something that it was never meant to be.”

  Endric sat silently, listening to the sounds of the night. Here in the ruins, there weren’t many sounds other than the occasional gusting of the wind as it blew across the mountaintop. He sighed, wondering if there was something to the fact that his father had chosen both Listain and him to leave the city. Did he attempt to remove them so that they wouldn’t press on the issue of Urik? Maybe there would be more to talk about with Listain on their travels than he realized.

  “One day, you will need to visit your ancestors,” Tresten said. “You will need to learn about the Antrilii. I suspect that you’ll have answers to questions you never knew you had.”

  “And Urik?”

  “If he has gone to the priests, then he is gone to us for now. Leave him to your father.”

  “Novan seeks him.”

  Tresten nodded, seemingly unsurprised by Endric’s comment. “And he might find him first. Perhaps that would be best.”

  Tresten sat for a moment more before standing and leaving Endric sitting on the rock of the Lashiin ruins, alone with only the stars for company.

  He stayed where he was for a while longer, letting the night surround him, glancing every so often to the palace and the lights in the windows, but there were no answers for him there. Somehow, he would have to find them on his own, just as he would somehow have to find Senda before leaving. There were ways to search, but he didn’t look forward to what would be required.

  7

  The first terrace had a disorganized sort of chaos to it: the sounds of men and women going about their business, the occasional street hawker shouting for customers, horses clomping along the streets, those of merchants or soldiers or other travels. All the sounds mixed, creating a sense of vibrancy on this level, one that other places in the city didn’t possess. It was the reason that he’d often enjoyed the first terrace—oftentimes far more than he should have.

  The second terrace certainly didn’t have the same liveliness to it. There was an order to it, a rhythm, that came from the soldiers. It was the order that his father fostered, a sense of calm and stability that came from the regimented life of the soldier, from the early morning bell to the rhythmic stomping of boots as men marched, to even the steady clapping of the practice staves and staffs as soldiers honed their skills. There were times when the order soothed him, but this wasn’t one.

  Endric paused on the ramp leading from the second terrace to the first, listening. In this place, he was almost trapped between the two parts of the city, parts that were so different from each other. One was no different than any other city in the world, while the other represented the might of the Denraen. High above him, on the third terrace, the Magi existed, even more separate from the rest. It was almost as if with each ascending terrace, there was a greater connection to the gods.

  There was only another day remaining before he needed to leave with Listain. One day to either find Senda or leave word for her about where he headed. She wouldn’t be bothered by the fact that he’d been assigned out of the city, but he would be troubled by not having another chance to say anything to her or to ask her to look into whatever news they could find about Urik.

  Taverns hadn’t yielded any information. After leaving Tresten, Endric had spent countless hours searching the taverns of the first terrace only to find nothing, but he managed to lose Pendin to an overconsumption of ale. In the past, it had been Endric who had been the one to over-imbibe, so the change had made Endric laugh. Still did.

  “All the noise,” Pendin groaned. “It’s bad enough in the barracks.”

  “Maybe you should have displayed better self-control.”

  “Me?” He glanced over to Endric, his face drained of color.

  How many times had his friend vomited this morning before he’d managed to get out of bed? Probably more than the two times he had on the walk out of the barracks. Endric had said nothing when Pendin disappeared from the road, knowing that his friend had been there for him more than once when the situation was reversed.

  “You really should have stopped drinking long before you got into this shape.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “That you drank as much as you did?”

  Pendin grunted, and it appeared as if he might vomit again, but he managed to hold it in. “I can’t believe Endric is lecturing me about control when drinking,” Pendin muttered, starting down the ramp.

  Endric smiled as he followed. “An officer understands the need for control. If I don’t have any, how can I expect my men to possess control?” He handed a flask of water to Pendin. “Drink. It’ll help.”

  Pendin glared at him. “An officer. It sounds like you’re repeating the babble your father told you.” He took the offered flask and tipped it back, taking a hesitant drink.

  “Andril,” Endric said, smiling. “Though I suspect my father would have told him the same thing.”

  “Yes, well I think I displayed more control than you ever managed. At least I didn’t end up in a cell at the end of the night.”

  “That rarely happened.”

  Pendin coughed and for a moment looked as if he might vomit again, but he managed to control himself. “More often than we liked.”

  Endric clapped him on the back and Pendin gagged again, shooting a spiteful glare at his friend and en’raen. “Men change. S
ome of us outgrow these discretions of our youth. And then there are those like my steward. I’m thinking I might have to discipline him for his inability to serve me this morning. Maybe a few hundred hard marches might do him good.”

  “Try it and see if you end up with a pillow smothering you some night.”

  Endric laughed. They neared the beginning of the first terrace. The sloped road leading to the second terrace let out on the edge of the first, near the wall surrounding the city. From here, the road split in three directions. The widest section led straight through the first terrace and would eventually lead to the main gate and out of the city. The others both led into the city, though one veered more toward shops and taverns while the other angled toward the university rising high above the rest of the buildings on this level.

  They turned that way.

  They needed answers, and they hadn’t managed to find any so far in any of Senda’s usual haunts, but she had come from the University, having studied there before she had been claimed by Listain and the Denraen. As far as Endric knew, she still had connections in the university, and maybe they would have heard where she’d gone.

  As they walked, he glanced over at Pendin. The color hadn’t returned to his face, and he remained silent. Every so often, his gaze would dart to the wide, rectangular building rising from the center of the university.

  “What is it?” Endric asked.

  They came close enough to the university that they began passing some of the scholars who streamed in and out of the gates. The University was the home to some of the most renowned scholars who came to Vasha for the mere chance at entry into the university. Only a small number were ever selected. From what Endric knew, the university was more selective than even the Denraen, and they prided themselves on taking only the most skilled soldiers.

  Most of the people they passed wore dark brown robes. They were a marker of the university, each embroidered with a circle of stars on the left upper chest. Several wore colored belts that Endric had been told represented each area of study, though he didn’t know the distinction between them.