Bladesorrow (The Agarsfar Saga Book 1)

by D. T. Kane

  Thing was, there was nothing particularly dangerous in Falume so far as Ferrin knew. And Erem himself had told them this place was well hidden. The man obviously knew how to take care of himself, yet he’d definitely been edgy upon leaving. What could be worrying him?

  The earlier memory of Erem’s mastery over him during their duel brought a burn to Ferrin’s face. Ferrin knew he could easily beat the man, this Erem. Their battle had been a close affair. It was just that his recent levels of competition at Ral Mok had left him dulled, like a blade long unused. He’d no doubt if given another chance he could have Erem on his knees.

  But that knowledge didn’t take any of the sting out of losing. And if that weren’t bad enough, Erem showed no interest in teaching him. Just his luck—he’d finally found someone skilled enough to give him some proper instruction and the man turned out to be the biggest curmudgeon he’d ever met. More so even than Raldon. A mad old hermit.

  Ferrin rolled over again, rubbing at a knot in his back and trying equally hard to push Erem from his mind. The sheets the man had given them were clean enough, but coarse and thin, smelling of disuse. His thoughts turned back to Jenzara.

  She lay a short distance away, and though she’d made a point of turning her back to him he could still see the rise and fall of her body as she slept. He was glad that at least she had found some rest. Now if she’d just stop treating him like a leper.

  Ferrin should have felt relieved, now that he knew the secret Raldon had been keeping from him. Yet he felt just as incomplete now as he had all his years at Ral Mok. In some ways even more so, for now it seemed he’d lost Jenzara, as well as the comfort of knowing he’d be at Ral Mok the day his parents returned.

  But at least Jenzara had stayed with him. He had to remember her deep-seated reasons for her hostility. In a way, the shadow had ruined her life—taking her mother, forcing her from Tragnè City, condemning her to a life at the fringes of society. If she ever came around, it would take time. For now, he could deal with her distasteful looks. He considered reaching out to brush back a lock of hair that had fallen over her cheek.

  Erem’s abrupt return intruded upon his thoughts. Ferrin watched silently as the door swung open and the man made his way to the far corner where a cot stood. He took up the Keeper’s shield Ferrin had noted earlier, slinging it over his shoulder and made his way back toward the door. But before Erem stepped outside he looked back, then padded over to where they lay, footfalls silent as a sunset. Ferrin tensed and groped for his sword.

  “Boy, er, Ferrin,” the man whispered, barely audible.

  Not trying to slay them in their sleep, then. That was good at least.

  “Yes?” he replied, careful to keep his voice low so as not to wake Jenzara.

  Erem peered at him through the darkness and remained silent for so long that Ferrin began to wonder if he’d heard his response.

  Finally, Erem said, “We’ve a situation. A craze of shades making its way through the woods, heading towards this clearing.” He spoke as if he’d just announced the coming of a light rain.

  Ferrin bolted upright. Shades rarely appeared in the South. So infrequently, in fact, that some alleged they were just fictions perpetuated by the North. Ferrin knew better, but the man’s announcement startled him all the same. A single shade was rare enough; a whole craze entering the South was virtually unheard of. As far as he knew, no more than two or three had ever been seen in one place at the same time since the Valley of Ancients, the last battle of the Shadow War. One shade could kill a group of untrained men. A craze was enough to wipe out a whole town.

  “I see you appreciate the gravity of the situation. That’s good. If I’m to train you it will be much easier if you’re not a fool.”

  “Train me? What?” His voice rose in excitement despite the fear.

  “Never mind that. If you’re to help, we must move now. I can likely meet the threat on my own, but it would be a simpler matter with assistance.”

  Meet the threat on his own? This man really was mad.

  “I’m coming.” Ferrin rose and strapped on Raldon’s sword, which Erem had begrudgingly returned. Perhaps he was mad too, but there was something about this Erem that inspired confidence, even in the face of a seemingly impossible task.

  Erem nodded, as if this was the natural response one gave after being asked to face a pack of murderous monsters. Ferrin followed him out the door, which Erem closed behind them, then barred. Ferrin gave him a look.

  “For her protection,” Erem whispered, then strode away.

  Ferrin considered a moment, then accepted it. Jenzara would inevitably wake and try to rush out of the house. She’d be angry, but better angry than dead. And he’d no idea how she’d react to this shadow-attuned man’s request for help. Probably not well. Blind bats on a dark night! At this point he didn’t even know how she’d react if he asked her for help.

  It was black as an ink well outside, with only a sliver of moon peaking over the tops of the surrounding trees. The clearing smelt of damp, decaying leaves and over-ripe vegetables. Cornstalks swayed like drunken men in a gentle breeze.

  Erem pointed at a stack of wooden posts against the side of the house, ends wrapped in damp fabric. “Grab as many of those as you can and follow me,” he ordered.

  Ferrin did as he asked, taking up an armful of the posts. His nose wrinkled at the distinct odor of oil wafting from the wood. He’d no idea what the man intended, but figured if he was going through with this folly he might as well listen. Erem appeared to know what he was doing.

  The ends of the posts that weren’t wrapped had been sharpened, and Erem directed him to begin driving them into the ground several dozen paces from the entrance of his dwelling. The posts easily breached the moist earth and the work went quickly, with only infrequent pauses for the man to give Ferrin whispered directions about where to place the posts.

  When they’d finished, the posts formed a circle the diameter of five or six grown men lying head to feet. As Ferrin had completed the circle, Erem had dug a shallow pit at its center. He now knelt before it, striking his ebon knife against a flint, showering sparks onto kindling. The knife’s red runes glared like beacons in the darkness, casting a mysterious pall over Erem’s bespectacled face. The runes weren’t static, but pulsed, growing dim, then brightening, then dimming again, as if the weapon had a heartbeat of its own. Or perhaps mimicked the heartbeat of its owner.

  It wasn’t long before Erem had a blaze going. The reds and oranges of the flames cast shadows over his hard face. Odd that he wore the solar spectacles even now, as if he had something to hide.

  “Water is what creatures of the Elsewhere truly fear,” Erem said, unprompted. He was now assembling two handheld torches out of some larger pieces of kindling. “But they dislike any of the four primes. Mortal flame will do.” He turned to Ferrin then. “You’ve faced shades in the past, I assume?”

  Ferrin gave the man an incredulous look. How long had he been living in this clearing?

  “Faced them? Agar’s death,” Ferrin cursed, “I’ve never seen one.”

  Erem looked confused. “You mean one of your skill with a blade has never been allowed on patrol in the North? Surely you’d be of use to them there.”

  The man had spoken with no intention of giving a complement, but Ferrin felt a swell in his chest nonetheless. He’d never had to work particularly hard at anything, so complements had never meant much to him. But it was somehow different coming from this man.

  “We’re not exactly on good terms with the North, Erem. The South hasn’t sent a patrol north of Her Lady’s Justices in more than a decade. Not since Bladesorrow’s betrayal. Her Lady’s army holds Doom’s Keep and patrols along the river. And I’ve heard rumor of a small garrison near the ruins of Ral Falar, though Trimale only knows why the Senate would ever post troops there. Strategically useless if you ask me. Not that anyone ever has.”

  The man’s face darkened, but he made no reply.

  �
�And besides,” Ferrin went on, “you’ve got to be at least nineteen to enlist. I’m only eighteen. Not that I’d want to enlist anyway. I’ve seen the sort of men they send to Doom’s Keep. Some can barely hold a blade without slicing off their own fingers.”

  Erem’s face dropped further still.

  “I’ve been at Ral Mok all my life,” Ferrin continued, but more carefully now, wondering what he’d said to cause Erem’s face to darken so. “Well, all my life that I can remember, anyway. I was brought to Ral Mok as a child. They’re coming back for me one day. My parents. Though, they’re going to have a harder time finding me now that I’ve left.”

  Erem’s face softened just a bit. “I was an orphan myself. I don’t recall anything of my parents.”

  “I do,” Ferrin replied. “My father was a successful man. At least, I think he was. I remember his multi-colored robe. Finest silk. None but the wealthy could afford such clothing. And he also gave me this.” He lifted his father’s necklace from beneath his shirt. “I don’t remember him wearing it, but Raldon gave it to me. Said it was from him.”

  Erem’s eyes narrowed at the mention of Raldon. “You weren’t telling me the whole truth earlier, boy. About what Raldon said to you.”

  Ferrin winced. He thought he’d done a fine job masking the deception. Well, there was no point in holding back now.

  “Raldon told me that you were the one the Parents were looking for and that I couldn’t let that happen.” Ferrin laughed. As if he had any power to prevent that. To Erem, he said, “Any idea why he’d say such a thing?”

  “Because I’m a shadow attuned. Isn’t that obvious?”

  The man’s response had been a little too quick. As if he’d had it ready before Ferrin had even finished speaking. Before he could push further, however, Erem had already moved on.

  “What was Raldon protecting you from when Valdin killed him?”

  “Well, protecting is a bit strong,” Ferrin said. “I could have handled—”

  “What did I say about being a fool, boy? The Grand Father could kill ten men with more skill than you before breakfast.”

  Ferrin’s brows rose. Under other circumstances he’d have been be offended, but clearly he’d hit an old wound. “Sounds as if you’ve a history with the Grand Father.”

  “I wouldn’t call him a friend,” Erem grated in reply.

  Ferrin had to laugh at that. “Well that makes two of us. Have you seen what he does to the shadow children?”

  Erem’s face took on the likeness of a stone wall.

  “Yeah, that was my reaction. Puts them on leashes like dogs.”

  “Tragnè help us,” Erem said. “That’s even worse than Raldon reported.”

  Reported? Ferrin had a hard time picturing Raldon reporting to anyone.

  “Anyway. Valdin came to Ral Mok intending to test the attunement of everyone there. He had this thing called—”

  “An elemental seer.”

  “Er, yes.” Erem certainly knew quite a bit for a secluded hermit. “That’s right. When I touched it, I initially thought I’d fooled it, because it turned all five colors. But then it turned pitch black, and the Grand Father was practically giddy. Then Raldon attacked him, giving Jenzara and I time to escape.”

  Erem regarded him a long moment. Ferrin expected more questions about Raldon. Instead, he asked, “Are you certain of what you saw in the seer?”

  “Sure. But like I said, I think I’d just confused it. Why, is there something—”

  The sound of a twig snapping brought their conversation to a halt. Erem jerked upright, straight as the stakes about them. The softened look vacated his face. He lit the two torches, handed one to Ferrin, then motioned him to begin lighting the posts. Erem exuded a determined urgency that left no room for questions. They worked around the circle in opposite directions, meeting after each had lit his respective half.

  “All shades were once men. Or dwarfs. You understand that?” Erem asked when they’d finished their lighting.

  Ferrin nodded.

  “Well, they may still resemble men, but the similarities end there. They don’t move like men, and they certainly don’t die like men. Ordinary weapons do not pierce them; shades are ethereal, stuck somewhere between this world and the Elsewhere, and common steel will pass right through them without causing harm. Elementally enhanced steel works against them well enough, but ebon is even better. Ridiculous the South still won’t use it.”

  Ferrin gave the man a worried look and fingered the pommel of his own sword. Erem frowned. Then, without a word, he unstrapped his own scabbard and offered the blade’s haft to Ferrin. When he made no move to take the sword, the man grunted with impatience.

  “Take it, boy. I’ll fight with my knife and shield. No time to get my other blade. You might as well have remained inside if you don’t have a proper weapon to defend yourself.”

  Ferrin gave the man another uncertain look, then took the sword like one might handle an overflowing chamber pot, keeping it as far from his person as possible.

  “It won’t bite,” the man gruffed. “You’re shadow attuned, boy. The ebon won’t infect you.” This latter part was less gruff, but still lacquered with impatience.

  Ferrin silently berated himself for being so daft. Of course ebon wouldn’t hurt a shadow attuned. Hoping to make up for his foolishness, he gave the sword an expert twirl.

  “Amazing balance, though I’d have thought it’d be lighter judging from how slender the blade is.”

  If this analysis impressed Erem, it didn’t show.

  “With that you’ll be able to pierce and slash the shades the same as you could any other man. But blows that would be terminal to an ordinary man won’t even slow a shade.”

  Ferrin grimaced.

  “There’s only one way to kill a shade—separate it from its shadow heart. The shard of the Elsewhere that turned it into a shade. Understand?”

  Ferrin’s eyes widened, but he nodded. He’d read of shadow hearts, but what little he’d seen had been couched in legend, not fact. From what he understood, it was a material similar to ebon, perhaps it even was ebon, but that originated from the Elsewhere. The sickness shadow hearts caused was magnitudes more potent than ebon. Even those attuned to shadow couldn’t handle them.

  “The shadow heart is usually driven into the mouth or hand of the host. But it can be anywhere, so be alert to its location. Once stabbed, death is usually soon to follow.” Erem paused for a moment, as if mulling a long-past memory. Then he went on. “Once dead, the victim can be reanimated by the shadow heart’s owner. Removing the heart breaks the animating link between the controlling fiend or terror and the shade.”

  Ferrin nodded. But he didn’t want to understand. Animated corpses? Erem hadn’t said that. Not exactly. But that’s sure what it sounded like. This was worse than he’d expected. How had his teachers ever expected him to graduate to a life defending Agarsfar from the shadow without ever telling him of such horrors, much less teaching him how to combat them? He’d read of shades. But all the books had been vague in their descriptions—detestable one-time shadow worshippers who’d descended so far into the shadow they were no longer recognizable as men. Most tomes also implied that, while dangerous, shades were slow and easily dealt with by one properly trained. Though thinking back, Ferrin now realized the books had never really explained what constituted being “properly trained” to face a shade, much less a whole craze.

  Erem glowered at his reaction, which Ferrin guessed must appear somewhere between puzzled ill ease and outright terror. Feeling the need to defend his plainly inadequate knowledge, he said, “I’ve spent countless hours studying. I was sure I’d read everything Ral Mok’s library contained about the North and the shadow threat.”

  The man shook his head. “Much of the South is in denial about the truths of the North—both the good and the bad. Few books have ever given it proper attention, and fewer still have been written by ones qualified to do so. I doubt any such books have ever
made their way to an outpost such as Ral Mok.”

  Ferrin’s face darkened at the insult of his home in the man’s words. He began to protest, but Erem held up his hand.

  “I’ve nothing against Ral Mok, boy. Under Master Raldon’s leadership I’m sure it was as progressive as a town can be in these times. But even one such as Raldon cannot—” the man’s stoic demeanor broke for just a split second “—could not resist the dogmatic pressures of the Parents of Tragnè. Not entirely. What few useful books Ral Mok may have had were likely burned long ago. Shadow hate dates back generations. The current war is merely the most recent example.”

  Ferrin nodded. There was nothing to say to that. He’d seen firsthand, just earlier today, what the fanaticism of the Temple could do.

  “If only the Senate could see what I’ve seen.” Erem sighed. Then, as if he’d just said something he shouldn’t have, hurriedly added, “To be completely truthful, the Parents aren’t entirely to blame. Ever since the South’s break with the North centuries ago, after the Ebon Affair, there were plenty of Keepers who thought it best to conceal knowledge of the North from the common populace as well. Many at least did so out of a desire to protect society at large from some of the North’s true terrors, however misplaced that desire may have been. But there is plenty of good the North has to offer that was never set down in the Keepers’ histories. Even amongst the Keepers—the alleged forward-thinking leaders of our Nation—there were those prejudiced against the North. Fear of the unknown breeds hatred in persons from all walks of life.”

  For a moment, Erem seemed to take on a different air entirely, going from a hard recluse who cared for naught, to a great, if exhausted, man. Like one who bore the tribulations of a great many on his shoulders. Ferrin found himself pondering the man’s words and wondered, not for the first time, just how exaggerated the South’s view of the North really was. But then he blinked and before him remained only the hard-faced recluse.