Bladesorrow (The Agarsfar Saga Book 1)

by D. T. Kane

  Who was that man representing Ferrin and the Betrayer? He didn’t look like any attorney she’d ever seen, though her experience was admittedly limited. The closet to a true court proceeding she’d ever come were provincial mediations run by arbiters down from Lustin. Those had been little more than friendly conversations compared to what was going on here.

  This man was no wrinkled mediator from the fringes of Agarsfar. Speaking lies in open court had been bad enough. Then he’d risen from his spot beside the Betrayer and not only denounced her a perjurer, but then identified virtually every doubt she had about the Betrayer. Erem. And he’d done it all in the span of a few minutes.

  Whoever he was, he reminded her of the Grand Father. That was odd, because on the surface there seemed no similarity between the two. They certainly didn’t look alike. Valdin, the well-dressed, regal elder, whereas this strange lawyer was a gaunt fencepost of a man, tunic of modest cut showing from beneath his solicitor’s robes, a scar at the corner of one eye standing out from otherwise unremarkable features. The stranger gave off an impression of calm that could hold even in the face of a crushing storm, whereas the Grand Father seemed always on the verge of angered outburst, even outright violence.

  It was their eyes that drove her conclusion. Alive and quick to judge, gleaming with more than a bit of arrogance. Yet they were also so hard, as if callused by the innumerable wrongs they’d witnessed. And when those two pairs of eyes had met one another, it had been like the collision of immoveable forces. A mix of rage and anguish that was difficult to look upon for any great length of time.

  Taking a deep breath, she massaged her temples. She wasn’t going to let the man faze her. She’d lied so that Ferrin could live. There’d been several long days—and even longer nights—for her to consider what she’d agreed to and she’d come to peace with it. She had no qualms with telling a few mistruths if it helped get the Betrayer what he deserved. She could live with questionable means to achieve a just end. And if she were helping the Grand Father perpetuate his treatment of the other shadow attuneds? Well, what did she care?

  At least, that’s what she kept telling herself. The pit of her stomach indicated otherwise, her mind continuing to recall a fevered dream that she’d had on the barge. The one where her mother had intervened on that shadow child’s behalf.

  She tried to push her equivocations aside. What mattered was that Ferrin would be safe. Certainly, the Grand Father’s comment about the other charges against him had just been for the sake of decorum. It must have been. He wouldn’t back out of their deal after all she’d done. Would he?

  Gasps echoing across the chamber rescued her from further thought. She looked around, realizing she’d missed something. A smile played on the lips of the stranger representing Ferrin and the Betrayer. The Grand Father looked as if he might be ill.

  A half dozen Parents approached the Betrayer, polearms leveled at him as if he might attack at any moment. And perhaps he might. After Riverdale, killing a few Parents on the Senate floor likely wouldn’t phase him in the least. Though, he hadn’t wanted to harm anyone at the Crossing. He’d been furious when Ferrin had attacked that group of Parents with the shadow-attuned girl.

  No. His anger must have been a ploy to conceal his true nature from her. It must have been. It must have.

  The strange attorney whispered something in the Betrayer’s ear. A flash of surprise illuminated the man’s traitorous black eyes for a moment. Then it was gone and he nodded. The attorney looked pleased and returned to his seat, fiddling with a ring on his right hand. In fact, she noticed with mild surprise, the man seemed to wear a ring on each of his fingers.

  The group of Parents led Bladesorrow, heavily shackled, to the witness stand. He was going to testify? She clenched her fists. Why would the Grand Father allow that? Everyone knew there could be nothing but lies produced by his vile mouth. The hair on the back of her neck stood straight; just the thought of sharing the same air as him made her skin crawl.

  The other Temple justice was the first to address the traitor after he’d been bound to the witness stand. The crowd rumbled with an anxious, raging energy that seemed to vibrate the very structure of the building.

  “Let it be known, Bladesorrow, that we’ve over fifty members of the Temple here today, all of whom are prepared to eradicate your tarnish upon the glory of Agarsfar at the first sign of trouble.”

  Bladesorrow didn’t deign to respond. The justice grunted disapprovingly, then waved for questioning to proceed.

  “And no more inflammatory remarks, Devan... Timesmith.” Valdin nearly sneered when he spoke the attorney’s legacy name. It was an odd one to be sure, but his reaction seemed extreme. Jenzara shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

  “I only speak the truth, Grand Father,” the lawyer replied.

  Had this stranger—apparently Devan—just offered a retort to the Grand Father? Jenzara doubted there were many in Agarsfar who could get away with such insolence. How could this skinny, ill-dressed man rile the Grand Father so? And with seeming impunity?

  “Grand Master Keeper,” Devan inclined his head to Bladesorrow. The hairs on Jenzara’s neck stood higher still at the sound of respect in this Devan’s voice. “You stand accused of high treason, plotting with the North to invade the South. You deny this charge.”

  It wasn’t so much a question as a statement, but the Betrayer responded anyway. “Aye. I deny it.”

  Angry murmurs went up through the crowd. Jenzara balled her hands into still-tighter fists. Even now the Betrayer stomped over her mother’s grave.

  Devan glanced over his shoulder at the audience. “It would appear we’ve a few in the gallery who doubt your words. What do you have to say to them?”

  Bladesorrow stared into the gallery as if he hadn’t heard the question. His eyes landed on Jenzara for a moment. She desperately wanted to see murderous corruption in the gaze. But instead all she saw was sadness. Sadness, and resolved determination. She looked away.

  “I say the Grand Father has been feeding them lies about what truly happened at the Dales.”

  Angry roars rose from the crowd.

  “Objection,” Shinzar bellowed, standing so fast his chair tumbled away. “Your honors I won’t stand for this man’s unsubstantiated slander.”

  The Grand Father began to respond, but Devan spoke over him. “The Priest’s right. Mere questions and answers won’t suffice for this.”

  Every voice in the hall ceased at once. The Grand Father looked down at Devan with concerned questions in his gaze.

  “That’s right,” Devan continued. “In fact, I don’t think any words at all will do to reveal the depths of the injustice this man has suffered. But perhaps, Grand Master, we could show the fine people gathered here?”

  Show? What in Tragnè’s name did the man mean by that? The Betrayer seemed indecisive for a moment, the first time Jenzara had seen the man truly hesitant.

  “Yes,” he finally replied.

  The Grand Father leapt to his feet. “No, I forbid this.” He made to descend the stairs of his pillar.

  “You shall stay where you are, Virtuo Pettur,” Devan spat. The last words he’d spoken were in a language Jenzara had never heard. Devan thrust out an arm towards the central pillar and the Grand Father slipped backwards, landing hard on his back, as if he’d strode over a wet stone. The elemental mirrors positioned in the rafters of the chamber began flashing.

  Jenzara blinked at the ceiling. The man—Devan—had channeled. Angry cries arose from the Parents seated around her. Several had leapt to their feet, weapons drawn. Fearful moans issued from much of the remaining audience.

  Then her vision blurred, and for a moment she thought she’d be sick. She shut her eyes. When she reopened them, she was no longer in the Senate chamber. Instead, she was standing on a wind-swept avenue, worn cobbles underfoot. Storefronts and taverns lined the street. The road stretched off in one direction, ending at a towering meeting hall, its belfry dominating the skyline
. A sky of brightest blue, untainted by any of the red hues she’d spent her whole life seeing.

  Beautiful.

  In the other direction was a riverfront, lined with windmills spinning in a strong breeze. The avenue ended at a bridge made of polished white and black stone. On her side of the river the bridge was made mostly of the white stone. It transitioned to black as it stretched to the other side.

  The Unity Bridge. She’d never seen it, of course, but had read of it. It had been destroyed the day of Bladesorrow’s betrayal, along with much of the rest of the twin towns. But that meant...

  This was Riverdale.

  She felt a stab of panic at the thought. Shutting her eyes, and without really thinking to do so, she focused on controlling her breathing. The way Erem had taught her. This blunted her fear, sharpened her senses. And she realized she could still vaguely feel herself sitting in her seat at the Senate. Some sort of commotion seemed to be coming from the direction of Valdin’s post atop the pillar, but she couldn’t tell what was happening. It was if she was peering through a thick veil.

  This must be some sort of mind trick, she reasoned. Likely caused by that attorney, Devan, though she was beginning to have serious doubts about the man’s identity. It would take substantial elemental power to create an illusion such as this.

  She opened her eyes again. Still in Riverdale. The terrain on this—the southern side—of the river was still relatively fertile. She could vaguely make out farmlands beyond the rows of houses and shops that lined the main thoroughfare. This was in stark contrast to the barren northern side of the bank. Red, wind-blasted rock and brittle foliage as far as the eye could see.

  A group of perhaps fifteen to twenty had formed at the foot of the Unity bridge. About half wore the white robes of Parents. A few held torches, though the sun shone bright through a slight haze. The other half were unfamiliar to her. Men and women suited in brilliant gold plate, bearing swords and two-handed axes that gave off a sapphire glow. Royal blue tabards hung over their armor, bearing the sigil of a roaring lion in white outline.

  Keepers, she realized. She was looking, for the first time, at true Keepers of the Symposium. And not just any Keepers, but ones outfitted for war. She felt a surge of pride knowing that both her parents had belonged to a group as magnificent as these men and women appeared.

  She approached to get a closer look, worry and fear temporarily forgotten. Her velvet dress looked entirely out of place next to the Keepers’ military garb, but none seemed to notice. As she came up next to the group, she realized the Parent at the group’s center was none other than Grand Father Valdin. He was young, long hair of shining maple, face smooth. Almost handsome. But the gleam of his eyes left no doubt that even fifteen years ago he’d been the cruel, merciless man with whom she was unfortunately familiar.

  Hoof beats on the bridge drew her attention. A procession of five Keepers was crossing. Her breath caught at the sight of the man at their head. He wore the same golden armor covered by a blue surcoat as the other Keepers. But in contrast to the others, his pauldrons were massive, sculpted lion’s heads, and his armor was inlaid with lacquered blue script and runes that gave off the same feint glow as the other Keepers’ weapons. He bore a shield matching his armor, the lion sigil enameled in blue over its face. Not unlike Erem’s shield, she realized.

  Jenzara frowned, remembering Erem had been a lie; was actually the man who’d killed her mother. Her stomach twisted.

  The five riders reached the larger group and dismounted. Their leader approached the Grand Father and removed his helm, shaking free a mess of long brown hair. Jenzara gasped.

  It was the Betrayer. Somehow, unlike the Grand Father, he didn’t look a day different in age than the man she’d come to know as Erem.

  “Hail Grand Father,” Bladesorrow said, placing his right fist over his heart in a sign of respect.

  “Hail Grand Master Keeper,” Valdin replied, though he didn’t return the salute, and his voice sounded like rats skittering across broken glass.

  “High Emissary Nellis has returned with me from the Stronghold with a retainer of his brethren. He’s agreed to listen to our proposal and awaits us at the North Dale. Will you ride back with me to greet him?”

  Jenzara peered over Bladesorrow’s shoulder and could just make out the stout forms of dwarfs on the other bank, along with what appeared to be some very large cats. She’d never seen a dwarf before. Few had escaped from Sykt when Agarsfar had originally been settled, and those few who remained today lived almost exclusively in the North. They hardly looked like the evil brutes stories made them out to be. And what was this business of Bladesorrow telling the others at Riverdale he’d brought the dwarfs? His deception had been a sneak attack. Hadn’t it?

  “Ah. Well, unfortunately, Grand Master, there has been a change in plans.”

  “A change in plans?” Bladesorrow repeated, a touch of anger in his voice. “What do you mean? I thought we were in agreement.”

  Immediately, the Keepers altered their posture, fingers edging closer to hilts, shoulders tensing, feet squaring. The Parents of the group seemed suddenly uncomfortable, looking to the Grand Father, questions in their eyes.

  “Let me ask you this, Bladesorrow,” Valdin said, what little pretense of respect he’d projected now evaporating. “Why do you seek this accord?”

  Bladesorrow narrowed his eyes and slowly set his helm on the ground, as if he wanted his hands free.

  “We have already spoken of this at length, Grand Father. You know my motivations, just like you knew Rikar’s before me.”

  The Grand Father only crossed his arms in response. Bladesorrow briefly glanced at the Keepers around him before continuing.

  “I was selected by my fellows of the Symposium because they felt I could best lead the Keepers through these trying times while still upholding our cardinal principles: Knowledge. Valor. Equality. And truth be told, I’ve seen very little of any since this conflict began.”

  Valdin sneered. “They killed your own leader. The man was practically your father. What more do you need to see the necessity of this conflict?”

  Bladesorrow’s face remained implacable, the granite-like expression she’d come to know so well while training and traveling with the man she’d called Erem. But there was real pain in his eyes.

  His eyes.

  They were normal. Bright blue, like the azure of an unclouded sky. They didn’t soften his face. Not exactly. But where Erem’s dark pits had rarely betrayed more than bleak passivity, Taul Bladesorrow’s radiated a steadfast compassion. Like he knew what he was doing and had no doubt it was right.

  This couldn’t be. The Betrayer was supposed to have shown up at Riverdale raining black death upon the town with eyes to match.

  “Even if I believed someone from the North was responsible for Rikar’s murder—a fact of which I am entirely unconvinced—that is no excuse for all the bigotry. Tragnè be true, Valdin! There’s talk of arresting people whose only crime it is to have been born shadow attuned. All because of one terrible tragedy to which they’ve no connection at all. You know the history of our land as well as I. Agarsfar was founded precisely to avoid such oppression. Sykt? The Mad King and his Obscurio Damnant? The Leveande left all that behind when they settled here.”

  “The Leveande did not foresee the North becoming what it has today,” the Grand Father lamented. And for once he did truly sound sincere. “Did not foresee what this world would become. It is a cruel, hard place. Unforgiving. Unjust. Inherently unequal.”

  The Parents around Grand Father Valdin shot furtive glances at one another. They were confused by this outburst. Hardly like the unquestioning thugs many of the Parents now seemed to be.

  The Grand Master Keeper threw his hands into the air. “Bones and dust, Valdin! We already discussed this when you decided to come here. Where you see North and South, I just see Agarsfar. Light attuned? Shadow attuned? Earth? Fire? Water?” He paused to look at both Keepers and Parents afte
r naming each element.

  “No.” He swept his hand emphatically before him. “Just one people. Different talents, certainly. But these distinctions; these labels. They create needless prejudice. Why can’t we just treat all the same? Southern pride? Northern pride? Why not just Agarian pride? The first step to healing this rift between the peoples of our land is to start acting as if we’re already one, not separate parts that must become one. We are all one and the same people.”

  The Grand Master glanced around at the gathering once more. “That is why I’m here. Why we must have this accord.” There were nods of agreement from Keepers and Parents alike. Jenzara felt a swell of inspiration in her own chest at the words.

  The Grand Father glared at the Parents about him. Several of the men backed away under the oppression of his gaze. He shook his head, frowning, then walked up to Bladesorrow until their chests were nearly touching. The Keepers surrounding Bladesorrow reached for their weapons, but he signaled for them to stay their hands. At the Grand Father’s urging, the Grand Master Keeper bent so Valdin could murmur in his ear.

  “You should have taken the opportunity to back out when I gave you the chance. Your fate is already settled, but you could have saved these others.” Valdin pulled the Grand Master into what at first appeared an embrace. But from her vantage Jenzara could see the Grand Father reach into his robes and produce a jagged stone, gleaming onyx.

  “The Path ends here,” Valdin rasped. He plunged the shard into Bladesorrow’s side. At the moment of impact, Jenzara saw the flash of a hex. The surroundings momentarily darkened; the earth beneath her feet trembled; torches guttered; the nearby river gurgled.

  Bladesorrow inhaled sharply and staggered back as Valdin shoved him away. Rather than pain, the Grand Master’s eyes filled with sorrow so deep Jenzara felt herself choke back a sob. He looked like a man who’d just had his dreams ripped from outstretched fingers.

  “No!” shouted the Keeper nearest the Grand Master, a young woman with yellow hair and bright eyes. She lashed out at Valdin with her blade, a low uppercut meant to open the man from belly to shoulder. Fish Swim Upstream. A basic River Stance form.