Bladesorrow (The Agarsfar Saga Book 1)

by D. T. Kane

  Besides, she was still angry with him. She hated when he behaved as he had the night before at the chapel, as if he knew everything and you knew nothing. The worst part was he was so earth-shaking smart it was hard to argue with him. She knew there was nothing wrong with the Temple, the Parents, but it all sounded so bleak when he spoke of it.

  He was sitting at one of the long tables directly in front of her. Her neck ached from avoiding his eyes. Those last words he’d spoken about mother, how the Temple went against everything that had mattered to her. Jenzara clenched her fists beneath the table.

  But she wasn’t going to let Ferrin or father dampen this whole evening. She’d waited years for a chance to interact with just a single Parent, much less twenty-six of them. Now was her chance.

  So she turned to her left. The man beside her was the same Parent who’d given the sermon that morning. Shinzar. He’d also been the one who’d laughed after her failure to heal the shadow child during her first meeting with the Parents, but she tried to put that thought from her mind. His dark goatee was closely trimmed and his hairline receding, eyebrows perched on his expansive forehead in such a way that he seemed to always be scowling. He was staring straight ahead, food untouched before him. She took a deep breath and tried to avoid looking at the mace that hung from his belt.

  “Father Shinzar, how are you liking the feast so far?”

  He slowly turned his head as if responding almost wasn’t worth the effort. The edge of his right lip curled upward as he examined her through narrowed eyes.

  “Priest.” He spoke this single word with such pointed enunciation she flinched back.

  “Pardon me, Father?”

  His lip curled even higher. “I’m a Priest. Priest Shinzar. You offend me, thinking a man of my stature would be a mere Parent. Don’t they teach you anything in this backcountry?”

  Her cheeks warmed, but she still managed a self-deprecating smile. Not going to mess up this opportunity. Not going to mess up this opportunity.

  “Many apologies, Priest Shinzar. We certainly do what we can. But I would like nothing more than to further my education at the Temple itself. I know my channeling display earlier was a bit—”

  “Pitiful. Not that I’d have been impressed even if you had healed the boy. The Grand Father gives that fifth more than he deserves. And channeling ought only be used when absolutely necessary. After all, the Lady Tragnè founded Agarsfar to escape the oppressive abuse of channeling, didn’t she?”

  She imagined her cheeks were now red as the untouched wine in front of Priest Shinzar. If she’d been Ferrin, she might have pointed out that Lady Tragnè hadn’t founded Agarsfar all on her own. But unlike her friend, she knew when to keep her mouth shut.

  “Well, yes,” she said, trying to keep a smile on her face. “But I’ve other skills as well. One that I—”

  “What skills?”

  The Priest’s eyes were beginning to wander from her face, more than seemed proper for a man of the Temple. Or any man for that matter. She cleared her throat and raised her chin. His eyes flicked back to hers as if he’d forgotten she actually had a face sitting there above her chest.

  “I’m passably good with a bow, better than passable with my knives. I can care for horses and ride them better than most of the students here and—”

  “Girl, passable and better than most are not traits we look for in acolytes. My mother and father were both Lady’s Chosen. They had me at lessons for ten hours a day, every day, from the time I could walk. When I made a mistake, I was beaten and sent to bed without dinner. If I’d ever even suggested I would settle for being passable at something my father would’ve tossed me from the Senate promenade into the North Sea.”

  Her upper lip trembled and it was only the mortifying thought of further embarrassment that stopped her from letting a squeak of surprise escape her lips.

  “But perhaps,” he said after letting the silence between them stretch to a nearly unconscionable length, “we could make some... arrangement.” His eyes began to drift from her face once more.

  It took her a moment to recover from the shock of the man’s outburst. But as he continued to stare, her eyes narrowed. Crossing her arms over her chest, she gave the man a look that probably wasn’t so dissimilar to the ones she offered Ferrin when he was being particularly obstinate. She immediately regretted it as rage flashed in Priest Shinzar’s eyes. He raised a hand and—

  “And that was just the first time Taul Bladesorrow fought off a bandit ambush in Falume. At the age of twelve. Twelve I tell you! The lad was leading patrols by fourteen.”

  The ale-induced shouting of Master at Arms Mapleaxe was impossible to ignore even though he stood at the far end of the dais, surrounded by a group of instructors. Priest Shinzar’s shoulders noticeably tensed and he snapped his head around to leer at Mapleaxe. One of the instructors noticed the Priest’s glare. Eyes widening, he yanked at Mapleaxe’s sleeve, but the man plowed on.

  “The boy couldn’t have been more than ten when he wandered up to our front gates the first time, totally alone, nothing but the clothes on his back with ’im. And yet, when they put a sparring sword in his hand he was already better than all but Raldon ’imself. Of course, that was back when Raldon was the Symposium’s Emissary to Ral Mok, before he was raised as a High Keeper. But he was still a master with ’is staff even then. But just imagine it! A lad of ten years shaming full-grown men in the ring. If not for that terrible tragedy in the arena, he’d still be winning Agar’s annual to this day. I dare any one of ye’ to say it’s not true.”

  Shinzar was on his feet so fast his chair flew back, crashing into the stone wall behind the dais. “Cease your blasphemy, drunken oaf.” His snarl carried through the hall just as well as Mapleaxe’s cantankerous proclamations. All chatter from the long tables ceased.

  The Master at Arms looked at the Priest for a moment, then burst out laughing.

  “I don’t know about an oaf, but perhaps yer right about the drunken part.” He clapped one of the men standing around him on the shoulder. The man looked like he’d rather be mauled by a manticore than standing between Mapleaxe and the Priest at that moment.

  “What news of me colleague, Master at Elements Robertin, Priest?” the Master at Arms blundered on. “That old wallop left for a summit down in the City months ago and we haven’t had a word from him in weeks. Almost as if the shadow took him,” Mapleaxe guffawed, dribbling ale into his beard.

  “You dare speak of the shadow?” Shinzar sneered. “You know nothing, foolish man. You’re fortunate the Grand Father had mercy on you and your meddlesome Master Raldon. Your lot was little better than the Betrayer himself.”

  Jenzara gasped at this slander. She’d a sense, of course, that father had been on the wrong end of the political battle that resulted in the Disbanding. But to compare him to the Betrayer? Ferrin’s ill words of the Temple flooded back to her mind. She needed to stop this before it escalated further. Father would expect nothing less of her in his absence. But she hesitated before the suffocating silence of the Hall.

  The Master at Arms, however, wasn’t cowed in the least, the jovial redness of his face now replaced with the deep crimson of anger. His eyes seethed as he slammed his tankard to the table, sending a shudder through the dais.

  “How dare you,” he rattled in his gruff tone. Then, much more loudly repeated, “How dare you. You are a guest in this Hall, Priest. I’ll not hear you dishonor the Master.”

  Murmurs of angry agreement rose from townspeople seated around the Hall, though not as many as Jenzara would have hoped for. Perhaps her faith in father had been shaken as of late, but he was adored by the townsfolk.

  “Raldon is a great man,” Mapleaxe continued. “And you know as well as I the Disbanding was a farce. The Grand Father sent Raldon here because he saw through the ruse Valdin perpetrated on the Senate. Sometimes I wonder if the Grand Father’s tale of Grand Master Keeper Bladesorrow’s betrayal at Riverdale is even true.”


  Jenzara looked at Mapleaxe with dismay. The Priest shouldn’t have insulted father, certainly. But now the Master at Arms was flirting with treason.

  Priest Shinzar leapt from his place on the dais like he’d been shot from a bow, mace in hand. He halted mere inches from Mapleaxe’s face.

  “That name is forbidden.” The words came like a hiss from the man’s lips, barely audible, sending a wave of crisis slithering through the hall. Several other Parents had risen from their seats at the sight of Shinzar’s anger. A few townsfolk also rose in support of the Master at Arms, but most stayed where they were, staring at the scene in shock. Mapleaxe was well liked, but few would openly support him in this dispute, which was the right of it as far as Jenzara could see. These were Parents of Tragnè after all. Leaders of Agarsfar.

  She needed to stop this. But what could she do? She scanned the sea of faces for Ferrin. Perhaps he could help. She finally spotted him, but he had his eyes clenched shut as if in a trance of intense concentration. What was he doing?

  “And if you dare besmirch the Grand Father’s name again,” the Priest continued, “I shall personally see that they are the last words to ever pass from your filthy lips.” The conviction behind the priest’s words left little doubt in Jenzara’s mind that the mace he held was for much more than show.

  Mapleaxe didn’t even flinch. All effects of drink were now gone as he glared at the Priest. His skin was wrinkled, and he was shorter than Priest Shinzar. But he was still broad in the shoulder, built low to the ground, not unlike the mastiffs Ral Mok’s blacksmith kept as pets. For a moment Jenzara saw the High Keeper he’d once been, working alongside father.

  “I’d like to see you try, white smock.”

  Shinzar’s action was swift and immediate. A hammer blow meant to crush Mapleaxe’s skull.

  But Mapleaxe was ready. He crossed his arms and threw them up, catching Shinzar’s forearm in the space between his fists, then twisted. The mace dropped from the Priest’s hand and the Master at Arms kicked it under a nearby table.

  Shinzar countered with what Jenzara thought was a rather meager kick. It connected with Mapleaxe’s shin, but he might as well have kicked a wall for all the effect it had. The Master at Arms jabbed a fist into the Priest’s gut and he doubled over, a whoosh of breath escaping his lungs.

  Thunk. Like the sound of a hatchet burying into an ancient tree.

  Mapleaxe’s eyes widened. He made a sound like clearing his throat, then coughed, covering Shinzar’s bright robes in red spray. The Parent behind Mapleaxe wrenched his mace free from the base of the Master’s neck, scattering flesh and blood across the nearest long table. Jenzara stood frozen in place, unable to believe what she was seeing. A woman screamed from somewhere on the other side of the Hall.

  Mapleaxe fell to his knees, surprise still painting his features. Shinzar, still gasping, wiped blood that wasn’t his own from his face with the back of his hand. He circled around Mapleaxe and plucked the mace from his companion’s hand.

  “This is what comes to those who defy the Temple,” he wheezed. Without further pretense, he raised the sinister cudgel high above his head, preparing to bring it down upon—

  All at once, the hall’s torches spluttered. There was a frump like the room itself had inhaled. Then a wall of fire shot down from the ceiling between Mapleaxe and the two Parents, driving them back. A bench caught fire and one of the instructors who’d been standing near the Master at Arms let out a yell as his shirt sleeve burst into flame. He began frantically rolling about on the floor. Those around him seemed hardly to notice, wide eyes fixed on the burning barrier.

  Dread filled Jenzara’s stomach and she spun away from the action to where Ferrin had been sitting. He was still there, but now he was standing. And not just standing, but feet planted upon a tabletop, towering above those about him. As she watched, he reached an arm back like he meant to throw a ball, and threw it towards Priest Shinzar. Another jet of fiery fury swept across the room and Shinzar had to dive from its path. Several feasters behind him weren’t so lucky and let out cries of pain as the flames raked them.

  “Not so mighty now, are you?” Ferrin said through clenched teeth. Jenzara was not fire attuned, so she couldn’t feel his channel. But the power he was marshalling to maintain the wall of flames had to be considerable. Sweat was breaking out on his brow, forcing him to shake moisture from his eyes.

  She felt someone step up beside her but almost didn’t bother looking. What she expected to be a momentary glance to her right turned to a frozen stare when she recognized who it was. The dread in her stomach turned to outright horror.

  Grand Father Valdin.

  The terrifying magnitude of the situation hit her in that moment. Ferrin, her friend, was attacking Parents of Tragnè for all the world to see.

  “That will be enough,” the Grand Father said. He sounded much closer to annoyed than angry. He gave a casual wave in Ferrin’s direction. Her friend grunted and dropped to one knee. With the other hand, the Grand Father gestured at a barrel of drinking water and cast his arm in the direction of the flames Ferrin had summoned. A stream of water flew from the barrel, extinguishing the flames and drenching all who stood in its path, including Shinzar. Mapleaxe had dropped to all fours and was rasping with a terrible rattle in his chest. Once the splash of water subsided, it was the only sound in the entire Hall and Jenzara feared it might drive her to madness.

  “Now. What seems to be the trouble?”

  Shinzar, making a point to stand directly over Mapleaxe—his breaths sounded almost like gags now—gave the Grand Father a recitation that made the Master at Arms seem far more culpable than he likely was. For the entirety of the Priest’s diatribe, Valdin’s eyes remained locked on Ferrin, though his eyes showed something closer to fascination than the indignation she’d have expected. Ferrin still knelt on the table. The muscles at his temples were strained, as if he were pushing against some great force, though Jenzara could see no explanation for this. As Shinzar ranted on, the Grand Father motioned to a pair of nearby Parents, who rushed to grab Ferrin. He offered no resistance as the muscles in his head and neck continued to strain like a man holding back an incredible weight.

  She turned to the Grand Father in concern. What was happening to Ferrin? And what was going to happen to him? And where was father? He hadn’t appeared with the Grand Father. She began to voice these questions, but the Grand Father placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and gave a squeeze. Anxiety immediately left her and she fell silent. A smile touched her lips.

  Priest Shinzar was still going on when Grand Father Valdin turned his attention back to him.

  “Yes, yes, Shinzar. The Master at Arms was speaking of the Betrayer and said many nasty things about Our Lady—” pause for murmurs of respect from the Parents and some of the assembled townsfolk, “—and the Temple and everything you—we—hold dear.”

  Shinzar looked slightly flummoxed but fell silent all the same. Jenzara had to suppress a giggle at the expression on his face. Why had she suddenly become so giddy?

  “It’s to be expected, I suppose,” the Grand Father continued, turning from Shinzar to cast his eyes over the gathered townsfolk. “The older amongst you did grow up worshipping the man, yes? Taul Bladesorrow?” He swept both hands out before him, indicating his question was for the assembly.

  Those gathered cast nervous glances about the room. Some looked mortified at the suggestion. The sudden surge of joy faded and Jenzara found herself frowning, wondering why the Grand Father would bring up the man who’d killed her mother. But the Grand Father gave her shoulder another squeeze and she immediately felt better.

  “Come now. Taul Bladesorrow hailed from this Ral and was long thought of as the greatest man in the land.”

  Some murmurs of agreement at this. But as soon as the nervous atmosphere began to ease, the Grand Father’s face darkened.

  “But heed me well. I was there at the end, fifteen years past. Witnessed the man’s betrayal. He summo
ned Keepers and Parents alike to Riverdale, promising a peace accord with his contacts from the North. And we believed him, fools as we were. Even listened when he asked us to withdraw the main force of the army so as not to scare the Northerners.”

  He said these last words with such contempt that Jenzara shuddered. Though somehow she didn’t think his eyes matched the tenor of his anger. They showed a tired patience, like that of an elder who’d been asked by the village children to once more regale them with a favored tale.

  “And Northerners he brought us. An army of them. Shadow friends all, riding the accursed black panthers of the Darkerland. Bladesorrow himself rode at their head. His eyes were dark as night, result of some grim deal with the Northerners, trading his light for the corrupt power of the fifth element. Like the second coming of Lord Ralmos himself, leader of the shadow hordes during the Great Shadow War.”

  Shocked gasps sounded around the room as the Grand Father continued.

  “As the story goes, Bladesorrow named his blade Friend Slayer after a mishap in the annual tourney resulted in a friend’s death. Well, that day he gave the blade’s name new meaning. Some say he used that very sword to slay Grand Master Keeper Bladesong and his son. And I believe it after what I saw that day, watching as he cut down Parents and Keepers alike with the foul blade. And that wasn’t the worst of it. He shot dark malice from his fingertips, a shadow channel that melted those in its path like an acid. Even the covenant of Parents I formed fell before his awful fury. My brothers fought bravely, but we were simply too few to repel the invading force. Bladesorrow had planned his treason well.”

  Jenzara’s legs wobbled and her knees nearly gave out. Her mother had been one of those Keepers killed at the Dales. She slumped into her chair.

  “In the midst of the fighting, I came face-to-face with the traitor. My staff was a blur as I called down bolts of light upon the man. But I was like a straw house caught in Bladesorrow’s whirlwind. I thought myself doomed.”

  The Grand Father let silence linger for a time, letting the thought of his demise permeate throughout the Hall. Jenzara shuddered at the thought of what might have happened if Grand Father Valdin had actually fallen. Bladesorrow might have led his army of Northerners all the way south to Tragnè City. She couldn’t help but notice, though, that the Grand Father’s face didn’t exactly look like one recalling a brush with death. Then again, perhaps a man as mighty as he didn’t fear such things. If only she could be so brave.