Bladesorrow (The Agarsfar Saga Book 1)

by D. T. Kane

  But that was unclear. Could Bladesorrow be reestablished as a Constant after all the damage the Path had sustained? Who could say? A paradox involving a Constant had never occurred. It was possible. But it was equally possible that the Path would remain too jumbled after the paradox resolved, the waters around Bladesorrow’s watershed event at Riverdale too muddled for him to reclaim status as one of the Constants. Such a gamble was too great a risk when time itself hung in the balance. If they annihilated, but the Path didn’t recover, then it’d be no better than allowing the paradox to persist.

  And if it did heal? If the Path went back to the way it had been, with Taul Bladesorrow as the fifth Agarian Constant? Then there was no hope for saving his beloved from the Conclave’s sentence.

  That was no choice at all.

  There was no upside to even attempting to bring the remnant Bladesorrow to Ral Falar to annihilate with the Andstaed. It would be a failure any way the dice fell. He would stick to his original plan: Kill Bladesorrow, break the Path’s circularity, save his love. He would deal with the Seven once she was saved. And only then.

  That he hadn’t been able to end Bladesorrow’s life already made him want to rip the hair from his skull. Fifteen years of interminable life as a Linear, and the answer had been right before him, inches away from his grasp.

  But Bladesorrow had surprised him. As much as it grated on his pride, it would have been foolhardy to kill him before all those witnesses. No one had ever matched his elemental prowess, but even he couldn’t presume to stop a mob of thousands if they’d chosen to turn on him. Which was a distinct possibility if they learned everything he’d told them for the past fifteen years was a lie. That Bladesorrow truly was the selfless hero he’d once been made out to be. And that Grand Father Valdin was the one who’d stolen the man’s great hope from Agarsfar.

  He ran a hand over his side, feeling where the man’s blade had bitten into his flesh. Friend Slayer. The weapon awarded to the young Taul Bladesorrow when he’d won Agar’s annual tourney. He’d used that same blade in the following year’s competition. All contestants’ weapons were blunted during the tourney with an earth channel. But the blunting channel on Friend Slayer had mysteriously failed during that second tournament, and Taul had killed a close friend in the dueling ring. Legend had it that the sorrow of that day was etched into the very metal of the weapon, ever driving its wielder to atone for that tragedy. So long as the man wielded that sword, no injustice could he commit.

  Briefly, Valdin wondered if there was another reason he hadn’t killed Bladesorrow right there on the Quad. He brushed the thought away. Bladesorrow may have gained a brief reprieve, but it would be an empty victory soon enough. No one would come to his aid at trial, and Valdin had just the witness he needed for a swift conviction.

  He frowned. The plan required a manipulation he wasn’t proud of. A scheme that soured his stomach. But many things he’d done since making his deal with the Seven had left a bad taste in his mouth. He was used to it.

  He’d dawdled long enough. Peeling the sheets from his skin, he pushed himself out of bed. His joints cracked as he donned a white robe. He’d spent nearly three thousand years as an Aldur, body spry as a Linear in his prime. Now, in just the fifteen years since Devan had maimed him, he’d deteriorated to this.

  Devan. His meddling certainly wouldn’t be finished. But Valdin had channeled the wards around the cell holding Bladesorrow and the boy himself. No one alive could get through them, not even an Aldur. He almost hoped Devan would try. He’d finally get his due after all these years.

  He pushed open the door to his chambers, out into a non-descript corridor. Images of Tragnè’s sun carved into random blocks of the sand-colored stone walls were the only decoration. Heart pounding with the anger of memory, Valdin turned into a stairwell and began to ascend the Temple’s tower. He was quickly out of breath, calves burning. The stairwell was dim and narrow, the stench of burning torches permanently soaked into the stone walls further hindered his breathing.

  After much too long he reached the level right below the belfry, panting, hands on knees. Once he’d collected himself, he turned down a passage that ended at a door flanked by a pair of Parents. He passed the men without so much as a glance at their salutes. Easing the door open, he slipped in, closing it gently behind him.

  This was one of the few rooms in the Temple with windows. Nearly at the peak of the spire, it afforded a view of the Quadrangle that he found decidedly uninspiring. Nothing like the grandeur offered by the Conclave’s view of the Raging Mountains.

  But it was the room’s occupant, not its view, that concerned him. The first rays of morning crept timidly through the windowpanes, casting a soft glow of burnt embers and mulberry blossoms upon the girl sleeping in the four-post bed at the room’s center.

  Jenzara was a study in beauty, and for a moment all thoughts of the Seven and Bladesorrow slipped from his mind like wax down a candelabra. Her chest rose and fell, the sheer fabric of her night gown outlining her shape with tantalizing clarity. The garment’s hem had run up one of her legs, displaying a generous length of thigh that gleamed in the pre-dawn light. He stood transfixed, imagining how her violet eyes would reflect in that glow. Her face had taken to his healing well. Only minimal purpling remained where Shinzar had struck her. He inhaled, shuddering at aromas of fresh soap and sweet flowers. He reached out a hand to run along the girl’s upper leg.

  A rugose, age-spotted hand.

  Yanking his arm back in disgust, he slumped onto a chair in a still-dark corner of the chamber. He ran a hand down his face, trying to wipe away the shame. He’d committed his share of unforgivable acts since the Conclave had condemned his beloved, but all in furtherance of undoing that atrocity. He wasn’t about to start violating sleeping girls. His skin crawled at his near impropriety, then burned as he realized that he’d likely already crossed that line with the thoughts that had flashed across his mind as he’d looked upon the sleeping girl.

  He’d brought her here with a vague hope that it would perhaps draw Ferrin here, though at the time that had seemed unlikely. Any other Parent would have turned her over to Shinzar’s torture chambers, but Valdin would sooner kill Shinzar in front of every other Parent in the City than leave the girl alone with him. Once, Valdin may have called that compassion. That’s what Devan would have named it, no doubt. The death of the girl’s guardian was on his hands, and she was certain to be killed as well unless he interceded.

  But compassion was a sentiment for which he’d long since lost all capacity. And now with Bladesorrow’s unexpected return, the girl would prove a useful tool.

  No, he wouldn’t fool himself pretending he had the girl’s best interests in mind. He might not relish the fact, but he’d spend her like a purse of gilts if it got him closer to his goal. There was nothing he wouldn’t do if it meant curing the injustice that had been wrought upon him. He’d burn the whole of the world, use his soul as fuel, if it meant saving the one he loved. And if the girl burned with him?

  So be it.

  45

  Jenzara

  For those fifths deemed not a threat to the general populace, the Senate shall establish camps as necessary to house them. Such camps shall be isolated from any attuned to the prime elements.

  -Excerpt from the Shadow Edicts

  THE SUN WAS JUST RISING, reflecting off the North Sea, casting long shadows over the already-bustling Quadrangle below. Merchants pushing carts of goods before them. Children playing slink and snoop while on their way to school. Two old men sitting at a table in the shade of Ral’s Obelisk, arranging a game of kings on a checkered board.

  Scattered memories of childhood in the Great City sent an unexpected roil through Jenzara’s chest. Happy times when she’d still had her mother. Still had both her parents.

  She sighed and turned from the scene. Countless times she’d dreamed of returning to the City. But not like this.

  Her room was the most luxurious accommodation
she’d ever seen. A four-post, canopied bed. Silk sheets. A carved armoire that took up much of the wall opposite the window. Plush carpet massaged her bare feet.

  She hated it all.

  She’d awoken here two days ago. Before that, the last thing she fully remembered was being beaten bloody after hurling a knife at the Grand Father. After that, just flashes of memory in dark rooms. The rocking of a ship. Smell of salty air. A man laying tender hands on her wounds.

  She also remembered Erem’s pained expression as he’d rushed Ferrin away over the Crossing. With those spectacles covering his eyes she wasn’t sure how she knew it had been a pained look. But she knew with absolute certainty. The impression of it stuck in her mind like a thumbprint on her brain.

  Since waking here she’d seen almost no one. The only person who’d even acknowledged her existence was the young acolyte who brought her food three times a day, and he refused any communication other than a slight nod of his head at her words.

  She’d resisted eating at first, but that hadn’t lasted long. Her stomach had howled in protest. She hadn’t eaten a true meal in days. No one had told her how long it’d been since the Crossing, but it had to have been at least a week. Perhaps more. It would have been impossible to travel down the Western River, then over to Tragnè City any faster. Most of that time was a blur, if not utterly lost to her. But her stomach hadn’t forgotten hunger, and the food was succulent—roast pig, fresh fruits, strong cheeses. A cornucopia like she’d never seen or tasted.

  Not that the food fooled her. No matter how nice the furnishings or delicious the victuals, this was a prison. Each time the young man opened the door to bring her meals, she saw a pair of guards outside, clubs hanging from their belts. It hadn’t stopped her from trying the door until her hands hurt, but it was always locked, and no amount of shaking the knob made any difference. The guards didn’t even bother to yell at her.

  Worst of all was the lack of information. What had happened to Ferrin? Her throat clenched every time she thought of him. She missed him, was ill with concern. But he’d also been so cold, killing that girl at the Crossing. She’d just been getting used to the idea of him being a fifth. Now she didn’t know what to think. Had the revelation of his shadow power brought about such mercilessness, or had it been there all along? Ferrin had never exactly been what she’d call compassionate, or even kind. But she’d seen him stand up for what he thought was right. And for her. She couldn’t believe that person was gone.

  Her internal struggle ran deeper than just worrying over Ferrin’s attunement. The scene at the Crossing had been as much her idea as his. She’d shared that look of understanding with him before springing to action. She’d known full well what he would do. Sodden earth! She’d tried to kill the Grand Father herself. Just two weeks ago she would never have contemplated taking a stand against the Parents of Tragnè. Now here she was, jailed for an assault on the Temple’s leader. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, she’d aided the escape of two shadow attuneds. The Parents had backed them into a corner, but she doubted that would make any difference when the sentence came down.

  The part of her mind she’d been suppressing since the night Erem had saved Ferrin screamed that the two men she’d helped were no different than the folk who’d killed her mother. The thought rang in her ears as if mother herself had risen from the grave and spoken the accusation. She shuddered with shame.

  “Lady Jenzara, might we speak now?”

  Goose flesh rose on her arms as the Grand Father’s voice jolted her mind from its embattled thoughts. The man’s tone was that of silk dipped in poison. A tremor wriggled down her spine at the memory of waking to find the man in her room. His eyes had held a mixture of amusement and lascivity that had made her skin want to peel from her bones and slither away from his sight. Instead, she’d screamed and pulled the covers over her barely clad body. Jenzara had never thought anything could make her feel the same mixture of fury and fear as the thought of her mother’s death. But the Grand Father did just that. His very gaze seemed a violation.

  Bleary memories of the man sitting with her in the hold of the ship suddenly surfaced. His sad mutterings making him seem almost vulnerable. A lone soul striving for a goal he’d likely never attain. Was that a perverted desire in his eyes when he looked at her? Or was it simply pained regret over some lost love? She wanted it to be the former, wanted even more reason to despise the man. But she wasn’t sure.

  Still, how could she ever hold compassion for the man who had murdered father? So, she remained silent, considering the Grand Father. This was the first time she’d ever openly stared at him. He looked old. Feeling a bit of confidence return, she crossed her arms, deepening her glare.

  “Come now,” Valdin said. “Is there a problem with your quarters? Food not to your liking? Just ask and I’ll make it so.” He spoke with a gracious formality that was so out of place with the emotions running through her mind that she almost laughed simply to release some inner tension. Instead, she spat out a retort.

  “You could start by leaving and unlocking the door on your way out.”

  He sighed, a long exhalation through his nose. “My lady, I’ve no desire to keep you a prisoner. But you did try to kill me. You must understand, even I can’t force the Temple to ignore that sort of infraction.”

  She grimaced before she could stop her reaction. Raising a hand to the Grand Father was likely enough to get you hanged. And she’d done far more than that. But that also meant she had little left to lose. At least Ferrin and Erem had gotten away. She narrowed her eyes. “You could also ask the acolyte whose been fetching my meals to fetch my knives.”

  The Grand Father’s expression went blank. “Lady Jenzara. I regret that we’ve gotten off to such a poor start. But you must come to realize that I am not your enemy.”

  She laughed. “You killed father, chased me all the way to Corim’s Crossing, and your men nearly beat me to death. How else should I think of you?”

  “I didn’t...” the Grand Father started, then stopped, clearing his throat. He actually seemed at a loss for words, eyes dropping from her own. But that only lasted for a moment. When he looked to her again, she disliked the determined set of his features.

  “You’re a smart woman,” he said. “You must comprehend that everything I’ve done has been squarely within the law, sanctioned under the Edicts.”

  She tried to meet his stare, but faltered in the face of the man’s cool, reasoned tone. The words gnawed at her. This was a conundrum she’d been forcing from her mind. Now the Grand Father’s words fueled the nagging voice in her mind like dry kindling on a dying fire.

  You helped not one, but two fifths. You broke the law. You ought to be thanking the Lady he hasn’t killed you already.

  But Ferrin is good, argued the other half of her brain, though meeker than it had been in days past. Ferrin was arrogant, perhaps, but there was no evil in him. And, unless she’d misjudged terribly, Erem was respectable too. Noble even, in his own hard, stoic way. The man hadn’t even wanted to hurt any Parents, much less kill them.

  But they’re fifths, the other voice raged. Fifths have caused both Agarsfar and yourself so much pain. Mother would disown you if she could see you now.

  She stuck her palms to either side of her head, closing her eyes tight.

  “You know I’m right,” Valdin said. If she hadn’t known who was speaking, she would have said there was compassion in the words. “But I don’t expect us to resolve our differences today,” he went on. “That’s not why I’m here. I come to bring you news of your traveling companions.”

  Her eyes flew open, heart fluttering. “Ferrin? If you’ve hurt him, I swear to you, I will—”

  “My lady, my lady,” Valdin entreated, arms raised, palms out. “Please. Calm. Your friend is fine. He’s in the Temple’s care this very moment, in fact. And free from all corruption, too.”

  Ferrin was here? How was that possible? And the Grand Father had said he was well. How cou
ld that be?

  “You healed him?”

  “He has been healed. Even more important, he’s safe.” He gave her a smile. Then his face turned grim. “For now, at least.”

  For now? She opened her mouth to demand he stop his word games, but he went right on.

  “I’m afraid grave news has also been revealed of the man you were traveling with. The one you called ‘Erem.’” Secrets swirled in his eyes.

  Jenzara narrowed her glare, heart hammering like a drum. The crushing worry had eased its stranglehold on her stomach with the knowledge that Ferrin was alright. But she sensed more dire news was just around the corner.

  “What of him? If you mean to tell me he’s got the eyes of one touched by the Seven, I already know. I’ve seen him without the spectacles.”

  “Nothing so obvious. It’s something far worse.” The Grand Father sighed. It sounded forced.

  Worse than being touched by the Seven? She hadn’t thought there was anything a Parent would detest more. Of course, she knew there was nothing wrong with Erem. Whatever his eyes might suggest, there was no malintent in him.

  “I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t born witness to it myself,” the Grand Father said. His face remained somber, a portentous cast to his eyes. But there was an edge of genuine dismay in his tone.

  “The man posing as Erem? He is, in actuality, Taul Bladesorrow. The Betrayer.”

  It was as if the words dropped the mass of mountains on her shoulders. Her legs nearly ceased to hold her weight and it was all she could do to avoid sinking to the floor.

  “Why would you say such a thing?” she whispered, knees dangerously close to unhinging. Her words seemed to come from far away. Hadn’t this very man stood in Ral Mok’s Great Hall and explained to the whole of the town how he’d personally killed the Betrayer?