Bladesorrow (The Agarsfar Saga Book 1)

by D. T. Kane

  For a brief time, he’d worried that Bladesorrow had somehow survived. In the year or so following Riverdale, there’d been whispered rumors from the North that a man matching the former Grand Master’s description had been seen in Trimale City. But Valdin had sent agents to investigate and there had been no such man there. A waste of time. No one survived being stabbed by a shadow heart. But still, perhaps Stephan had been right—the Path was destined to repeat itself into infinity, and Valdin was powerless to stop it.

  No. He couldn’t let himself think that. If it was true, there was no hope he’d be able to save his love. Change had to be possible.

  A knock at the door. He muttered for whoever it was to enter. The door opened and Shinzar’s baleful face peaked in. Contempt hiding under a thin veneer of arrogance. He entered, saluting closed fist to chest as his eyes flicked around the room. The edge of his mouth turned up as his gaze fell on Raldon.

  “What is it, Shinzar?”

  The coldness in the Priest’s eyes stoked the fires of Valdin’s ire and he nearly hurled the man into the bookshelves once more. If not for the Priest’s brutal efficiency he’d have been dead long ago.

  “Are you ready for the next group, Grand Father?”

  Valdin nearly smiled at the predictability. Zealots were always the easiest to manipulate. Make them think you’re advancing their extremist agenda and they’ll do just about anything you ask. And that was before enchanting them.

  “That won’t be necessary, Shinzar. I’ve discovered all I need.”

  “Indeed?” The man’s eyes gleamed with an intent Valdin didn’t wish to name. “You’ve found the fifth the Master at Elements spoke of?”

  “I’ve located him, yes.”

  Shinzar looked like a hungry dog. “Shall I assemble a party to bring him to justice?”

  “That won’t be necessary. They’ll be returning here before long.”

  “Returning? But I thought—”

  Valdin channeled, waving a hand across Shinzar’s field of vision. No need for the man to know his plans. Shinzar jolted, back straight as a board, offering Valdin another salute.

  “As you say, Grand Father. What of the others? The townsfolk remain assembled in the Hall.”

  Valdin shrugged, thoughts already turning from Shinzar. “Release them. I’ve no further need of them.”

  He began to look away, but snapped his head back when Shinzar barked a chuckle.

  “Certainly you jest, Grand Father?” When Valdin only stared at him like the imbecile he was, the momentary mirth left Shinzar’s face.

  “We’ve just verified this town has been harboring a mature shadow attuned. The Edicts are clear—they’re all to be treated as conspirators. And the sentence for such crime is—”

  “You needn’t quote the Edicts to me, Shinzar.”

  Color fled from the man’s face at the sharpness in his tone, and Valdin took the moment to consider. The Priest’s interpretation was outrageously broad, though arguably defensible. He’d drafted the Edicts to give the Temple—and by association, himself—virtually unlimited authority in matters pertaining to the shadow. And since anyone who questioned the Temple could easily be named a shadow sympathizer, there was little anyone could do to question the Temple’s (and thus his own) will. But kill all of them? Valdin began to reach for more elemental power, preparing to enchant the man again, turn his mind from such needless slaughter.

  But he stopped. That could cause too many inconvenient questions later. All the Parents would want to know why the townspeople hadn’t been punished. Valdin couldn’t afford to deal with such dissension at this stage. This was the Conclave’s fault. They’d forced him into this terrible position. He sighed, then masked the sound with a cough. They were only Linears, anyway.

  “By the Lady’s Will we shall abide, Priest Shinzar. Carry out the Edicts as you see fit.”

  The excitement in the man’s eyes brought a deep aching to Valdin’s stomach.

  “As you command, Grand Father. By the Lady’s Will it shall be—”

  “You’re dismissed, Shinzar.”

  There was a flash of annoyance in the Priest’s eyes, the suggestion of a retort in the set of his jaw. But he only cleared his throat, then saluted and strode from the room. Valdin glared after him until his eyes burned. The tightness in his chest had returned.

  “They’re just Linears,” he muttered. He’d resigned himself long ago of the need to do things he found distasteful—or worse—to achieve true justice. And sacrifices on the road to justice were themselves just, were they not?

  The only answer he had to that question were the sobs of the girl over her dead brother, joined by the eternal silence of two corpses.

  22

  Erem

  The Mad King drove the Leveande from Sykt, fire at their backs. They sailed north for leagues, driven by desperation and thirst for freedom. Thus, a new nation was born.

  -Excerpt from Tragnè’s Oral Histories

  HE WAS EITHER GETTING old or arrogant. Neither possibility pleased Erem.

  “Sit over there and be quiet,” he said to the pair, waving at some chairs on the other side of the room behind his armchair. He winced at the pain in his wrist.

  They were little more than children, this pair he’d found wondering at the outskirts of the clearing. The boy struggled into a seated position, trying to find comfort around the ropes holding his hands behind his back. The girl stood in silent defiance, glaring at him with pursed lips, doing her best to pretend he hadn’t just hauled her from a net in the trees. But her eyes betrayed fear. Those purple eyes that stirred memories long buried.

  He regarded them a few moments longer, suppressed a sigh, and returned to the stew he’d been preparing before hearing the trap sprung. It appeared he’d now be cooking for three.

  Why couldn’t he just be left alone?

  He busied himself over the cauldron, trying his best to ignore the newcomers. The opalescent etchings in his wooden ring reflected of the burbling liquid. He traced them with a finger, wondering how best to rid himself of this pair. The fact that they’d been able to find this place was deeply concerning. Supposedly it was hidden from any who didn’t know where to look. If a pair as incompetent as this could find him, then—

  “You were a Keeper?” the boy suddenly asked, incredulity painting his tone.

  Erem gave silent thanks for the spectacles he wore, concealing the flash of pain he knew must have crossed his eyes.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Your shield. Blue background with golden lion’s head? That was Agar’s sigil, adopted by the Symposium.”

  Erem frowned. From what little he knew of the outside world these days, few learned the Symposium’s symbols. Raldon had often complained to him of the “modifications” the Senate had been forcing on his curriculum since the Disbanding. That this boy knew them added to the mounting evidence that these two weren’t with the Temple. A fact he at once found a relief and highly discouraging. Casting them out as enemies would have made things much simpler.

  “Girl, why don’t you take a seat?”

  She crossed her arms without reply. He noted with distaste that her eyes kept darting to the boy, to only purposefully look away the next moment. He had a strong suspicion as to why.

  “So what are a young shadow attuned and his companion doing wandering about uncharted parts of Falume?”

  The girl stiffened.

  “I’m not his companion,” she said, almost with a sneer.

  Erem gave a knowing nod. “Don’t worry yourself. I won’t be blowing you into the Temple if that’s what you’re worried about. But why are you here?”

  It was the boy who ultimately responded. “Raldon Everbright sent us.”

  Erem kept his eyes squarely on the girl. There was something not quite honest about the boy. An unwarranted air of superiority about him, not unlike another who visited him all too often. But the girl, despite her prejudices, at least struck him as credible, and no
trickery showed in her face at the mention of Raldon’s name. Instead, he saw something that might have been despair, which shook him.

  “And what relation to Raldon do you claim?” He expected her to say she was a student, or perhaps even a junior instructor. Instead, her response left his knife quavering over the vegetables he’d begun chopping.

  “I was his daughter.”

  That clipped reply was so full of meanings he had to make a serious effort to keep his hand from visibly shaking as he set the knife aside.

  “You’re Jenzara?” She’d changed so much since last he’d seen her. A squalling girl in Raldon’s arms as he’d ridden off to the North. But her voice held no deception and her eyes left little doubt. How she’d grown.

  Foolish. Of course she’d grown. It’d been fifteen years. Now she was a woman. A strong, fiery one by the look of it. He’d never been able to ask Raldon about her in more than a cursory way. Now he felt some regret at that decision. Her reaction to his knowing her name, however, was a slurry of mistrust and fear, and he made note to keep such thoughts to himself.

  “I see you speak at least some truth,” he said before Jenzara could get any questions out. “But Raldon didn’t give you that blade, boy. Did he?”

  The boy’s glare was that of a petulant toddler who’d been sent to the corner. “Not exactly. But given the circumstances I think he’d have wanted me to take it.”

  Even the boy’s imperious demeanor wilted some as he spoke these last words. Erem dreaded having to probe further for the answer he already knew. Jenzara saved him the pain of asking, while at the same time cutting him with the agony of confirmation.

  “My father is dead.”

  Sometimes the angst of uncertainty turns out to be far sweeter than the bitter ale of knowing. He left the table and dropped into the armchair before the hearth, head falling into one of his hands.

  “How?”

  Jenzara could only choke back a sob. It was eventually the boy who replied.

  “The Parents you mentioned earlier? It was no mere troupe. They’re an entire covenant; twenty-six strong. Led by Grand Father Valdin himself. Raldon died saving us from him.”

  Erem’s hands curled into fists atop the chair’s arms, face setting into the likeness of unsculpted stone. Would the Grand Father never cease to take from him? Without taking his eyes off the fire, he asked, “Why would Raldon send you here?”

  The boy took too long in responding for his answer to be entirely honest.

  “He said you could help us. Perhaps he thought you could train me.”

  “Train you?” Jenzara blurted.

  Erem could all but feel her suspicious gaze slice into his back. As he rose and turned to her, she took a step back.

  “His blades are ebon,” the boy said to her, as if that explained everything, which Erem supposed it did. Assuming the girl was sharp enough.

  She was, which pleased him more that it ought have, given the news they’d brought. The feeling was fleeting in any event. Jenzara immediately took another step back and her eyes darted to the door. He sighed.

  “So you’ll teach me?” the boy entreated.

  “Teach you?” Jenzara exclaimed. “Lady’s Light, don’t even suggest such a thing, Ferrin. He’s a fifth. We can’t trust him. And why would you want to be trained? You should be looking for a way to get rid of it.”

  Erem could only shake his head at that, but the boy was far less reserved.

  “Get rid of it?” Ferrin said. “Flaming foliage, you speak as if I’ve got a plague. I can’t just lose my attunement. It’s part of me.”

  The pair glared at one another, the space between them a yawning pit.

  “I’d have thought Raldon would have taught you better,” Erem muttered, intending it as much for the boy as the girl. Jenzara obviously didn’t see it that way, though, reacting as if struck. Her mask of courage flowed away as if a dam had broken and she began to shake. A single tear spilled from her right eye. The boy tried to put a hand on her shoulder, constrained as he was, but she yanked away.

  “Don’t you dare speak of my father. Who do you think you are?” Her voice cracked as more tears rolled down her face.

  Erem grimaced and looked away from her. For a moment he felt compelled to go to her, but refrained.

  “I’m sorry. I should not have spoken to you that way. But perhaps you should put some more faith in those attuned to the shadow. Your friend here, foolish as he might be, fought to protect you. And he’s shadow attuned, is he not?”

  Her face reddened and she looked away. Bah! He was just making things worse. Searching for a shift in topic, he said, “As to who I am? You may call me Erem.”

  “Erem?” Jenzara responded through tears and clipped breathing. “I never heard father speak of you. And he certainly didn’t associate with anyone in violation of the Edicts.”

  “Jenzara!” the boy—Ferrin—hissed.

  “Let her be, boy. You’d better get used to people fearing what you are.”

  “I’m not afraid of Ferrin,” she snapped. “And I’m certainly not afraid of you.”

  “You should be,” Erem replied, voice hotter than he intended. “If not by our power, then by your association with us. You’re just as much in violation of the Edicts as either of us now.”

  Jenzara looked at him through widening eyes, reddened like the skies from crying. She moved her mouth, but no words came to her. With Raldon now dead, there’d be few who’d dare resist the Temple by showing any sympathy for a grown shadow attuned. Nor to any traveling with him. They’d either kill Ferrin and those with him on sight or ship them down the West River to Tragnè City for a farce of a trial, followed by a very public execution.

  It was best to say nothing more to her. Instead he turned to the boy. “Raldon really said I’d train you?”

  “More or less.” The boy shrugged. “He also said you shouldn’t tie me up like some criminal.”

  “You attacked me, boy.” But he had a point. If Raldon had sent them here—with his last breaths no less—then he needed to give them the benefit of the doubt. Erem grabbed his knife from the table and released the boy’s bonds.

  “I can see Raldon didn’t tell you much of me,” Erem said. “You wouldn’t be so keen to learn from me if he had.”

  He paused, trying to think of what else to say. Why would Raldon put such a burden on him? Sending Jenzara here he could understand, though he’d no idea what to think of having her here. But this boy?

  “I don’t have much more training than you in the dark. It’s... Well, it’s not something I’ve always had to deal with.”

  “What? Like you didn’t know you were a shadow attuned?” the boy asked, narrowing his eyes.

  That had been a foolish thing to say, Erem chided himself. He might as well just come out and tell the boy the truth if he was going to lead him down paths such as that.

  “Never mind. What I mean to say is I won’t be of much aid to you.” Perhaps if he simply frustrated the boy’s efforts he’d be on his way. Or at least stop asking questions.

  “Well you’re going to have to do something,” the boy said. “Because they’re going to be looking for us. The Grand Father is going to be looking for us.”

  Erem kept his gaze level, but his mind began racing.

  “How did you get here?”

  The boy seemed surprised at the question, but answered nonetheless. “There was a shadow portal in Raldon’s study. It brought us here.”

  Erem shut his eyes. Of course he’d have told the boy of the portal. But such portals could also be traced by one powerful enough. And while this clearing was supposedly impenetrable, he also knew what the Grand Father truly was. Valdin might not have any shadow powers, but would that stop one such as him from determining where the portal led? Erem didn’t think so. He’d seen his share of burnouts and knew that losing an attunement did not always take with it the ability to sense the lost element. And once Valdin knew where the portal led, Falume would no longer b
e safe. Perhaps nowhere would be.

  “We’ll eat, then discuss this further,” he finally said.

  “So you’ll help us?” Ferrin pressed.

  Erem didn’t reply. Jenzara regarded him with renewed ill ease, but at least she didn’t insist on turning down his aid. Apparently she’d the sense to realize she needed all the help she could get in her current position. Which was all well and good, if he could figure out what help he could possibly give. Raldon was always assuming the best of everyone. But he was no hero. Where could two shadow attuneds go in a world that wanted nothing more than to kill them? He frowned into the bubbling cauldron, looking for answers. As usual, none came.

  Why couldn’t he just be left alone?

  23

  Ferrin

  The northern half of the continent is uninviting, full of dark creatures controlled by even darker forces. Even the Angels grow serious when they speak of it.

  -Excerpt from Agar’s Authorities

  HE ROLLED OVER ON THE hard, wooden floor of Erem’s dwelling, trying in vain to find a comfortable position. Despite the stranger’s promise to speak more of how he’d help them, the rest of the evening had passed largely in silence. Erem hadn’t divulged any details about himself, and Jenzara had hardly looked at either of them. He kept trying to reassure himself that she was still just in shock over Raldon, but the cold looks she’d been giving him said otherwise. Bloody shadows! Erem had been friendlier to him than Jenzara, and that was saying something given the man’s stolid demeanor.

  After giving them some bedding and directing them to a corner of the cottage, Erem had left, saying he was going to patrol the surrounding woods. He’d warned them to stay indoors, which Ferrin found perplexing. There were brackets on the outside of the doorframe that could clearly have been used to bar them in, but Erem hadn’t done so. That seemed to imply he genuinely wanted them to remain inside.