Bladesorrow (The Agarsfar Saga Book 1)

by D. T. Kane

  Nellis leered at him, which Devan found refreshing compared to the others’ superstitious fright. He looked down at the dwarf and favored him with a wide grin.

  “One more thing, Aldur Devan.” The dwarf spoke in an even lower tone now. “My people are starvin’. Without access to the South, little hope there be. Can ye help us?”

  Devan’s immediate inclination was to snap at the dwarf. He had more important things to do than go about finding food for some dwarfs. But then a thought struck him.

  “I might be able to arrange something, master dwarf. But you’ll need to tighten your belts for now.”

  “Aye. Thank ye, Angel.”

  Devan waved a hand at him and moved away from the fire, out into the darkness, until the dwarfs were only indistinct blobs shadowed in hews of amethyst and wine. There was no time to waste. The Path was crumbling and there were so many loose threads that demanded his attention. He peregrinated, leaving Nellis to yank at his mustache and the other dwarfs staring in shocked awe.

  17

  Jenzara

  There is no higher respect than the gift of one’s blade to another.

  -Excerpt from Agar’s Authorities

  JENZARA HURRIED DOWN the hall to father’s study, unsure whether to feel afraid, angry, or a mixture of both. The Grand Father had ended the feast just moments before, and she’d hurried away before he or anyone else could stop her. She needed to see father. Why hadn’t he been in the Hall? Surely if he’d just been there things wouldn’t have escalated as they had. A selfish part of her, though, was glad he hadn’t been there. He would have seen what a failure she’d been, standing there like a scared child, remaining silent while they’d killed Master Mapleaxe and then dragged away her best friend. Worse than a child. A child would have done something. Even now, all she could think to do was run to someone else for answers. The Grand Father had said father was in his study with a headache.

  That had troubled her even further. Father wouldn’t let something like a headache keep him from his duties. He’d once entertained a senator from Tarmin for two days, all the while suffering from a bout of Falumian flu. And even if he were truly ill, he would have been able to hear the commotion coming from the Great Hall. Once he’d heard that, she could think of little save death that would have stopped him from investigating what was happening.

  She rounded the final corner to his study and came up short. Two Parents flanked the door. Stone faced and aloof, they studied her with mild contempt, as if they hardly considered her worth their time.

  “Master Raldon has instructed that none are to disturb him until morning,” one of the men said.

  Jenzara opened her mouth, shut it. These were Parents of Tragnè, deserving of respect.

  “Thank you, father. And the Lady smile on you. But I am Master Raldon’s daughter, the Lady Jenzara. Surely he will see me. The sun has barely set and I know he often stays up well into the night.”

  She took a step forward. Before she could take a second, the Parent who hadn’t spoken stuck an arm across the study door, barring her way. It was only then she noticed that both of them had their maces in hand. She retreated a pace but kept her shoulders square to them.

  “Honored Chosen,” she said, voice shaking only a little, “I must object. I am his daughter. You have no right—”

  “No right?” the same Parent said, voice hot enough to sear flesh. “We are Parents of Tragnè. We’ve every right. Master Raldon is not to be disturbed until morning, on orders of the Grand Father himself. He must prepare to assist with the examinations.”

  Jenzara frowned. The feast had not lasted long after Ferrin had been dragged away, but Grand Father Valdin had briefly explained that each inhabitant of Ral Mok would be submitted to an elemental exam come morning. They were all to report back to the Great Hall at sunrise.

  He hadn’t given further explanation, but everyone knew what it meant. The Parents were hunting for shadow attuned. She’d known that already from the day the Parents had arrived. But seeing the fear on the townsfolk’s faces upon hearing the announcement had caused her to understand some of father’s anger. The people of Ral Mok were good, honest folk. Certainly none were hiding a shadow attuned. Did the Parents really need to submit them to such anxiety?

  She narrowed her eyes. Had the Parent said father wasn’t to be disturbed on the Grand Father’s orders? Suddenly, the possibility crossed her mind that the two men were just as much keeping father in the study as keeping others away.

  “Are you deaf, girl? Leave now, or I’ll see that you’re dragged off to the stables to suffer along with that fool boy who tried to interfere with Her Lady’s justice.”

  Ferrin.

  Without another word to the Parents, she spun back down the passageway, rushing out into the Great Hall. She shoved past several townsfolk who were still milling about, picking at the remnants of the feast. Their angry shouts followed her, but all she could hear were that Parent’s words. Ferrin had been sent to the stables to suffer.

  She burst into the cool, nighttime air, practically sprinting towards the stables. There was no plan in her head, other than she must do something. She couldn’t stand about and let matters get any worse than they already were. The fact that it was Ferrin had nothing to do with it. If father wouldn’t—or perhaps couldn’t—do anything, then she must. Her mother certainly wouldn’t have stood idly by. The Edicts were all well and good, but Ferrin hadn’t done anything. Not really. He’d just been trying to defend his helpless teacher.

  Come to think of it, she wasn’t exactly sure what the Master at Arms had done either. He’d acted a fool, certainly. But that wasn’t a crime. He’d voiced no support for the Betrayer’s actions or the shadow. Perhaps he’d expressed some unpopular opinions, but the Charter entitled men to express their opinions in a reasonable manner. She remembered that much from father’s lectures.

  But certainly the Parents had their reasons. And certainly they would listen to her.

  Just like those Parents at father’s door listened to you?

  Stop that. These were Parents of Tragnè, the Lady’s own Chosen. They would listen to reason.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  The voice was familiar and brought her to a halt, despite the urgency racing through her like a spooked horse. Jeremyck stepped from behind a tree, the moonlight casting his face in darkness, so only the downward curl of his lips was visible. A white sash emblazoned with the Temple’s golden sun hung across his torso. She glared at him.

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you, Jeryk.” She remembered how Ferrin pronounced the shortname, failing to enunciate the y, and how angry it made Jeremyck. “Get out of my way.”

  His disembodied mouth turned into a smile that sent prickles up her arms.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my lady.” He spoke her title with anything but respect. “See, the Parents permitted me to take my oaths this afternoon. I’m now an enlisted in Her Lady’s army, sworn to protect Agarsfar and carry out the Lady’s will.”

  She set her mouth in a thin line, inhaling through her nose. Treat those you dislike with grace and patience. That’s what father always said.

  “I offer you my congratulations, Jeremyck. But the land certainly has nothing to fear from me, so you needn’t worry about your duties with me. I bid you a nice evening.”

  The scrape of blade on scabbard echoed across the courtyard. She took a step away from him, brows raised.

  “I wish you a fine evening, as well, Lady Jenzara. But you’ll need to have it somewhere else. None save the Chosen are to get any closer to the stable tonight.”

  She crossed her arms. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t one to flaunt her position as father’s daughter, but to be ordered around like this was intolerable. And Ferrin needed her.

  “Now you listen to me, Jeremyck. I am—”

  An anguished cry from the direction of the stables cut through the night, silencing her. Had it been Ferrin? Her mind was certai
nly telling her it had been, and that was enough. Without thought, she rushed forward.

  Jeryk pushed her back. She stumbled, nearly losing her balance. A frustrated cry escaped her lips and she glared daggers at him. He had his blade drawn, shoulders back, knees slightly bent. Some variant of Blaze stance. Dogs After Their Quarry, she thought. It didn’t matter. She hurried forward again. His fist clenched, swinging for her temple.

  She ducked, lashing out with her foot and catching him in the shin. Jeryk let out a surprised hiss, dropping his blade to clutch at where she’d kicked him. The weapon fell nearly to her feet, but she could only stare at it, stomach clenching at the mere thought of picking it up. She could never be like her mother.

  But even so, she wouldn’t let this ox-brained oaf stand between her and a friend’s welfare. She drew one of her knives, the leather grip familiar in her palm. Yet somehow it didn’t feel right, even if Jeryk was doing the same to her. She swiped at him, immediately regretting it. Her heart wasn’t in it and she was all off balance. Pain raged through her arm as Jeryk grabbed her wrist, the knife clattering to the earth. She tried to wrench away, but he was far too strong. He twisted her about so her back was to him.

  “Sounds like Ferrin is finally getting what he deserves,” he snarled into her ear, his breath sticky against her face.

  She was about to elbow him in the gut with her free arm when something crushed into the side of her face. A fist. Jeryk released her and she watched as the ground rushed up to meet her, no strength in her arms to brace for the fall. The impact must have hurt, but she couldn’t remember it, or anything else for some time.

  JENZARA WIPED HER NOSE on a sleeve as she stumbled into the Angel chamber that father so liked to visit. Her short legs ached; she’d run all the way from the courtyard, where lesson time had just ended. Her eyes stung.

  She huddled onto one of the long seats, crouching low so no one could see her. A sniffle escaped her and she nearly began crying again. Then she noticed with a start that she wasn’t alone. A small boy sat cross-legged in a dark corner, surrounded by candles, some lit, others not. The sounds of laughing children drifted from outside but he didn’t seem to notice, staring intently at an unlit candle, humming to himself.

  It burst into flame.

  Wax spouted into the air, landing on the boy’s face. He let out a shout, falling back, scratching at his face. But when he finally righted himself he was smiling, eyeing the candle.

  She didn’t really want anyone to know she was there, but couldn’t suppress a giggle at his antics.

  The boy looked around. He was seated behind the elements fountain, so he couldn’t really see her. She huddled lower, slapping a hand over her mouth. But too late. He popped up, looked about, and grinned when he saw her. He came over.

  She pouted.

  “Go away, Ferrin” she said, wiping her nose with a forearm. “I don’t want to see you. Or anyone.”

  “I like your eyes,” he said.

  “I said... what?”

  “Your eyes. Purple is a pretty color.” He sat down beside her, legs barely long enough to reach the floor once he did so. “Why are you crying?”

  She puckered her lips, like when she’d eaten sour candies with her mother. That thought almost set her off crying again.

  “Hasn’t father ever told you to stay out of other people’s business?”

  The boy shrugged. “I’m not very good at listening.”

  She crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes.

  “Here, look at this.” The boy put an arm around her shoulder, pointing at the ground. She tried to pull away.

  “No, really. You’ll like this.” He was focusing on the dusty patch of floor before them. He hummed under his breath, like a bird singing. The dust began to swirl about, as if struck by a stiff breeze, though no wind was blowing. After a moment, the dust settled, the outline of a smiling face etched into the floor tile.

  She really wanted to go on pouting. But what fun. She let out a laugh.

  “That’s amazing.”

  Ferrin grinned at her.

  “You should see what I can do with fire. You’re not crying anymore?”

  “No.” She wiped at her eyes. “Thanks. I was being stupid anyway. Shouldn’t get upset when those boys tease about father.”

  Ferrin’s face darkened.

  “Which boys? Want me to pound them for you?”

  She smiled at him again.

  “No, that’s alright.”

  “They shouldn’t be mean to you.” He rose as if to go.

  “No, Ferrin. Really. It’s alright.”

  He looked to the exit. His eyes looked scary.

  “One time,” Ferrin said, “I tried to open the oven in the kitchens without a mitt. I never did that again.”

  “That was dumb of you,” she replied, giving him a shove, but only a light one. She didn’t want him to move away. “Why’d you do that?”

  Ferrin sighed. “Never mind.” He sat back down beside her. “I’ll leave them alone this time. But if they do it again...” He clenched a fist, waving it in the air before him.

  She laughed. It felt better than crying.

  “They do deserve it,” she said. Then her face turned into a frown. “But father tells me I can’t solve my problems with fighting. Mother wouldn’t have said that. She was a fighter! But she’s gone now.”

  Her lip trembled and Ferrin put his arm around her. She rested her head on it, refusing to cry again. Her mother had never cried. Father neither.

  They sat silent for a time. She began to feel as if she would fall sleep, there on Ferrin’s shoulder. That wouldn’t be so bad.

  “Remember what I told you?” Ferrin asked.

  His face became bleary in her vision.

  “What?”

  Suddenly she realized the flame Ferrin had lit was no longer giving off the inviting orange glow of mortal fire. Instead, it cast the room in deep, violet hues. A flame of a different type. Her breath caught.

  “I don’t think they’ll have any qualms killing a westerner or two in the name of the Edicts.”

  SHE SNAPPED AWAKE WITH Ferrin’s words ringing in her head, heart a stampede in her chest. Her face ached, as did much of the rest of her. Jeryk had always been a dolt. Like a dog that barked at everything then ran whining at the first sign of real trouble. But to assault her like that? Acting on orders of the Temple or no, he’d crossed a line.

  Rubbing her eyes, she looked about, realizing she was lying against a wall inside the Great Hall. Hundreds of others milled about, and she was dismayed to notice the first rays of morning shooting through the tall, arched windows.

  Her anger at Jeryk seeped away, overtaken by deeper concern. Daybreak? It’d only been an hour or two past nightfall when she’d gone searching for Ferrin. She scrambled to her feet, immediately regretting it. Her head was an empty pitcher and she swayed precariously, nearly falling back to the floor. Bracing against the wall, she took several deep breaths. It took quite an effort just to stand straight. A few of the people spared her a quick glance, but none said a word. Likely she’d been carried in by a Parent or two and they wanted nothing to do with her, particularly if her face looked as bad as it felt. She probed at it and winced.

  Despite all those gathered in the Hall, it was quiet enough to hear a lamb mewing from beyond the town walls. Father always said that silence birthed uncertainty. The thought gave her a chill. This was the most indecisive gathering she’d ever seen. Women pulling at dresses that didn’t need straightening, men scratching their palms looking off at nothing. Even the children sat in small clusters, hands in laps not speaking a word. She felt an unreasonable urge to hold her breath, so as not to encroach the quiet.

  I ought to say something, she thought. Try to set them at ease. That’s what father would have done. But what could she say? She bit at the inside of her lip, avoiding all eye contact.

  She jumped at a rumble from the Hall’s doors. Two Parents to a side pushed at them, causing sunlight
tainted by the sky’s red stain to march into the Hall like a procession of mourning. The glare sent a pounding through her head, forcing her to throw an arm across her face. As the dancing spots in her vision faded, she saw more townsfolk beginning to file into the Hall in scattered groups. Some looked at her, but none said anything. And that was just as well, for she had no answers, no reassurances.

  And, small blessing though it was, she didn’t have to wait long with their nervous glances skittering over her like roaches upon the crumbs of a great feast. Priest Shinzar strode through the Hall’s entryway, pushing his way through a throng of townsfolk who had just arrived. Ferrin trailed behind him, surrounded by half a dozen Parents. His hands were shackled and his eyes showed that he’d slept little, if at all. But otherwise he looked fine. He stood tall, chin high, hair mussed as always, a controlled tumult atop his head. Truth be told, she hadn’t known what to expect of his appearance, but after hearing those cries ringing out from the stables her imagination had prepared her for a far worse scene.

  She rushed to him, oblivious to Shinzar’s warning glares, and embraced him, squeezing until he coughed from the pressure. She pulled back to find a smile on his face that abated as soon as his eyes passed over her face.

  “What did they do to you?” He spun towards Shinzar, chains rattling. “What did you—”

  “Peace,” she said, sharp enough to stop him from saying anything foolish, soothing enough to give her an opportunity to say more.

  “This isn’t from any of the Parents. It was... Well that’s not important now.” She swallowed, searching for what to say next. A lump she hadn’t known her stomach held had lessened as soon as Ferrin had walked in unharmed.

  “I thought they’d hurt you,” she said, too quiet for any of the surrounding Parents to hear. She blinked at something caught in her an eye. Just a lash, or perhaps a speck of dust. That’s all it was. “Last night I heard... Coming from the—” she faltered, dropping her eyes from Ferrin’s.

  His mouth flattened to a grim line and he grasped her hands as best he could with the limited range of movement afforded by the manacles.