Bladesorrow (The Agarsfar Saga Book 1)

by D. T. Kane

  Erem’s stare suddenly shifted from Ferrin off into the darkness beyond their circle of torches. Ferrin thought he saw a shape moving out in the darkness, but he couldn’t be sure with the glare of the flames across his vision.

  “We don’t have much time before they’ll be upon us,” Erem said without taking his eyes off the spot out in the darkness. “Do not be fooled by the shades’ apparent slowness. They don’t exist in the same plane as we do, at least not entirely. They’ll be in one spot one moment, then an entirely different spot the next, without a between.”

  The knot returned to Ferrin’s stomach. He was plenty confident with a blade, but how did you fight something that could jump from place to place without warning? As crazy as the man’s description sounded, it didn’t even occur to Ferrin to doubt it. He grasped at his father’s necklace for comfort, but the familiar buzzing sensation did little to ease the tension in his muscles.

  “Don’t engage them in prolonged, close-quarters combat,” Erem continued. “Quick attack, fall back; quick attack, fall back. Stay close to me. Never leave the circle. The shades should be hesitant to get close to the flames.”

  Ferrin nodded, and his anxiety lessened as he fell back on his training. Calm your mind. Focus on the attacker. He might know little of the approaching foe, but he could execute the man’s straight-forward strategy. Besides, how bad could this be? Mindless dead things ought to be easy enough opponents.

  “And hope there isn’t a Lesser Terror with the group,” Erem added.

  Ferrin’s momentary focus shattered. He hadn’t thought this situation could get any worse. How could Erem have left that part out of his explanation?

  But before Ferrin could gather himself to shout this question at the man, Erem grabbed his shoulder and motioned toward the far side of the clearing outside the circle of flame. At least a dozen, man-like shapes were now visible, plodding towards them. The darkness obscured any details. At first, they seemed to move like men, albeit slowly. But then Ferrin saw one of the forms blink out of view, only to reappear a moment later several paces from where it had been.

  Blazing brush on a dry night! Erem hadn’t been lying.

  Ferrin tightened his grip on the ebon blade, scrambling to regain his Focus.

  Then, the shades were upon them, and the truth was more terrible than Ferrin could have ever imagined.

  24

  Erem

  What sets the shadow apart from the four primes? There are many theories. One I find particularly convincing is that the shadow originates from the Elsewhere, while the primes find their origins on the Path. Few prefer this explanation, of course, as it raises many uncomfortable questions.

  -Excerpt from Stephan Falconwing’s Commentaries on The Lessons

  EREM SURVEYED THE GRIM scene, shrugging as sweat trickled off his neck and down his back. He shifted slightly to put himself between the approaching creatures and the boy.

  His name is Ferrin, he thought. It tickled at his mind, a fragment of memory where Raldon had spoken of a particularly gifted student. This couldn’t possibly be the same boy. Could it?

  Erem quickly pushed these sentiments from his mind. How could Raldon be dead? The news had gouged a pit of emptiness within him; he felt like a ship suddenly robbed of its rudder. He certainly didn’t need to get attached to anyone else. Life was much simpler that way, when you didn’t have others depending on you. He’d stick to calling Ferrin the “boy.”

  But Raldon’s death had at least accomplished one thing—discovery of the approaching craze. Had Erem not gone walking after dinner to try to sort through his thoughts they’d have been steps from the door before he realized their presence. It seemed that Raldon gave aid even after coming to the end of his path.

  There were at least a dozen shades now that he could see, with possibly more amongst the cornstalks and woods beyond the clearing. He’d never seen such a large craze, even during his time in the North. And while it wasn’t uncommon for a rogue shade or two to slip into the South, the presence of a whole craze smacked of ill tidings. It was hard to believe so many could breach the South’s defenses without aid. The strength of Tragnè’s Invocation still held sway over the Justices, pushing back any creature not of the Path that tried to cross the river.

  The leading shades had inched close enough that the torch light now danced off their grotesque features. They looked like men, at least in the sense that most had torsos, heads, two arms, and two legs. But the resemblance ended there. For one, their skin was entirely dark. Not the umber complexion of some northern dwarfs, but gray. Like soot. And they moved in abrupt staggers, limbs hanging at unnatural angles.

  And then there were the faces. Mouths open wide in endless, silent howls that paradoxically made him want to cover his ears. Skin so gaunt and tight it seemed the underlying bone might break through at any moment. Sunken eye sockets, holding shriveled pits that were entirely black. It was a fate worse than death to be turned into something so terrible, neither dead nor alive, slaves to the Lesser and Greater Terrors.

  The boy tensed behind him, but otherwise held his ground and remained silent. Erem could only imagine what the boy must be thinking. It was a testament to his resolve that he didn’t drop the ebon blade, turn tail, and run. Erem had seen fully initiated Keepers do as much in the face of less.

  “Stay close, boy. I don’t need a hero, just someone to watch my back.”

  The boy moved to stand by his side, his face a mix of determination and the pallor of fear. In another time Erem would have admired him; but now he felt only pity. The boy would never live a normal life, even if they survived this night. What had Raldon been thinking sending the boy here? Just look at what it had taken to hide himself—a single man—from the Grand Father. He’d all but died, and sometimes he wondered if the life he had now was worse than that. How was he supposed to protect two others when he could barely do so for himself?

  Light, I just want to be left in peace. I’ve already given all I can, and it wasn’t enough.

  The lead shade slipped, winking out of view.

  It reappeared directly in front of the boy, nearly taking him in the head with the shadow heart protruding from its palm. But Ferrin smartly ducked and slashed up. Thrushes Ascend. The blow separated the shade from its arm and, more importantly, the shadow heart. The thing collapsed in an unnatural heap of jutting limbs, a low, trembling moan emitting from its still gaping mouth. Erem had always thought the sound of a shade expiring—dying didn’t seem the right word—had a note of relief in it. A moment later the husk of decrepit flesh disintegrated to dust.

  A flash of victory crossed the boy’s face, but quickly vanished as another shade slipped from the darkness and reappeared within the circle of torches, descending upon him. Then Erem lost sight of boy as another of the things burst from beyond the ring of torches, swiping a gnarled fist at him. He blocked with his shield and lashed out with his dagger. Carab Scuttles Downhill. The blow met only air and he heard a muted pop as the thing reappeared behind him.

  He spun, assuming a defensive posture. Stones in a Cairn. Shield out, knees bent, knife blade down to scoop at the shade’s shadow heart and pry it loose. The shield covered him ankles to scalp, but he knew better than to ever get comfortable around these monstrosities. One moment they could be ten paces away, the next their vile, stinking breath choking your nostrils as they appeared right on top of you.

  The shade began to move towards him in agonizing lurches, one arm hanging as if the bone had simply dissolved beneath the skin. Torchlight reflected off the gold lion’s head emblazoned upon his shield, casting a sickly yellow gleam into the dead pits of the shade’s eyes. Uncomprehending, murderous intent looked back at him, like staring into a merciless abyss.

  Erem took a quick step forward, intending to knock the creature off balance with his shield. The Bear Roars. He cursed as the thing slipped again, knocking him off balance instead. With a whoosh the shade rematerialized behind him once more, and he whirled just in t
ime to block the monster from swinging its shadow heart into his back. The shade wasn’t particularly strong—they never were. But the shield still shuddered as if struck by a fearsome hammer. The elemental steel held, but Erem took note that even his mighty aegis couldn’t absorb too many blows from a shadow heart.

  Blessedly, the shade was slow to recover from its swinging blow, and this time he succeeded in knocking the thing to the ground. As it struggled in an awful jumble of limbs he stomped down on its wrist and pried the shadow heart loose from its palm. The thing let out a relieved moan, then crumbled away.

  Erem spun, eyes darting to locate the boy. He was at the other end of the circle of torches, engaged with another shade. It kept slipping away before Ferrin could cut it down. The torso of another shade, this one with a shadow heart impaled through the back of its head and protruding from its gaping mouth, was dragging itself along the ground with its cracked, ashen hands, forcing the boy to dance around it while dealing with the upright shade.

  Folly! The boy was staying much too close to the creatures. Erem started towards him but was waylaid by another of the creatures. Agar’s dead lion! Why weren’t the torches slowing them?

  He made quick work of the next one, but there was soon another to take its place, and Erem noted at least a dozen more dark shapes still lingering just beyond the circle of torches, as if the ones they’d felled had made no difference to their number at all. In between dodging and weaving, he stole a glance at the boy and saw he was still engaged with the same shade. Somehow it seemed more adept at slipping than the others. Using it with uncanny purpose.

  Erem narrowed his eyes. That wasn’t possible. All shades were the same: Mindless, numb beasts, bent solely on seeking living creatures to corrupt. Unless...

  The realization hit Erem harder than a shadow heart crashing into his shield: There was a Lesser Terror out there, and it was controlling that shade. He tried to shout to the boy to stand down, but Ferrin was too battle focused to hear. Light! It was a miracle the boy wasn’t dead already. Or worse than dead. Erem bellowed with frustration and cut down another shade. But two more immediately slipped into his path. The Terror was purposefully keeping them separated. Exactly what Erem would have done facing two skilled opponents with superior numbers.

  The shadows cast by the torches lessened. As if the mortal flames were dying, though the fire blazed brightly as ever. The hair on Erem’s arms stood on end. He whirled around, searching for the source of the shadow channel. Too late he realized it was coming from the boy.

  You fool! Erem cursed himself, remembering far too late the most important piece of advice when facing a shade: Don’t channel shadow at them. He shouted another warning, but it was useless. The boy took the shadow energy he’d gathered and directed it into a beam at the shade he was fighting. It was a sloppy thing, like splattering paint on a wall, but still effective in that it covered the target.

  The boy’s hex took the shade in the chest. But rather than being blown to pieces, the creature seemed to absorb the hex like a sponge. It staggered back, then steadied itself and lurched forward. The boy coiled, preparing to lash out in what he surely thought would be a killing blow. Sun Rises on a New Day. But before he could, the shade convulsed and the energy it had absorbed spewed from its mouth, slamming into the boy’s shoulder and knocking him to the ground. A trickle of smoke rose from the wound.

  “No!” Erem exclaimed, redoubling his efforts to push through the shades to where the boy had fallen. But he was surrounded by at least half a dozen of the fiends now, and the boy dropped out of his sight as they staggered towards him. Two of them reached him at the same time, ripping at his cloak with strength that could only be coming from the unseen Lesser Terror.

  Erem lashed out, desperation setting in. He searched the darkness in vain for the Terror—not that it mattered. No ordinary man could kill such a thing. He should know.

  So this was how it would end? In failure like all the rest. Two more of the creatures latched on to him, and he buckled to his knees, trying to knock them away with his shield. But the sheer weight of their numbers was too much. They were climbing onto his back now, like a pack of wild dogs felling a buck.

  The weight lessened. Then the shades were no longer upon him at all. Vines shot up from the ground, wrapping around the monsters, pinning them to the ground, dragging them away into the dark beyond the circle of torches. In some cases even splitting them in two. Erem sprang up.

  Autumn. Blades bless her! Erem hadn’t seen the little girl for days, but she must have sensed something amiss in the woods. He didn’t take time to look round for her. She would be out of sight—Autumn was only seen when she wished to be. A flash of worry crossed his mind, but he pushed it aside. There was no time; he’d have to trust that she was clever enough to evade the Terror that was out there. He’d taught her bits of things here and there, warning her of the creatures that lurked in the shadows when he could—subtly of course, so as not to scare her. But sometimes he wondered whether any of that was even necessary—her wisdom always surprised him despite the childishness she projected.

  As the creatures were dragged away by the vines, Erem hastened to where the boy had fallen. He was still conscious, propped up on an elbow, fighting off the shade he’d cut in two, which was still clawing its way over the ground like a rabid centipede.

  Erem reached the boy and stomped down on the shade’s back, pressing it into the well-tramped earth, and severed its shadow heart. Stooping beside the boy, he frowned at the smell of rot coming from his shoulder.

  “Can you stand? We need to get you inside.”

  Ferrin’s face was pale as the moon; the veins of his neck bulged, black as tar, spider-webbing across his skin. He’d be dead already if not for his shadow attunement. And even that might not save him now.

  Nonetheless, the boy nodded and Erem helped him to his feet. He leaned heavily, but propelled himself forward well enough and they approached the dwelling quickly. But not a handful of paces from the door, a shade slipped into their path, blocking the way. Erem recognized it as the one the boy had been fighting, the one under the Lesser Terror’s direct control. Several others slipped alongside it.

  Erem cursed as the creatures lurched toward them in their halted, unnatural way; arms and necks bent at wrong angles, dark eyes locked on them, emitting merciless glares that only agents of pure evil can muster. One had a broken foot and dragged it along the ground, producing a sound like nails on a brick wall. Erem made to set the boy down, but Ferrin squeezed his arm, shook his own head.

  “Keep me upright.”

  Before Erem could question him, the clearing darkened. Erem couldn’t feel the channel this time—he wasn’t fire attuned—but he could see Ferrin pulling energy from the torches they’d left behind. A rush of heat shot past them, so close Erem recoiled in pain. The air before the shades shimmered. Then they erupted into flames, muted shrieks issuing from their gaping maws.

  Attuned to three elements? Erem’s mind flickered back to the boy’s pronouncement of the elemental exam Valdin had forced on him.

  But such channeling required substantial strength. Strength the boy didn’t have. Erem nearly lost his footing as Ferrin collapsed against him. The darkness had crept further up this neck and was now spreading over one side of his face.

  Erem flung the shield free from his arm, hoisted the boy over his shoulder, and bolted for the cottage. He shoved past the flaming shades, hardly noticing the vines reaching out of the darkness to drag the smoldering bodies away. Upon reaching the door he tossed away the bar he’d used to keep Jenzara safely locked within and barreled inside.

  He would not let this boy die.

  25

  Jenzara

  Sometimes Tragnè wakes me at night, reporting she’s had a vision of future events. This startled me at first, but ought not have. Those like Tragnè, capable of channeling a great Invocation, have always possessed wondrous ability.

  -Except from Agar’s Authoritiesr />
  SHE RELEASED THE KNIFE and watched with satisfaction as it buried into the Grand Father’s chest. He fell to his knees, mouth open in surprise, eyes already glazing. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. She rushed into father’s waiting arms, looking up into his face, so happy he was still alive.

  Terror froze her. For it was Grand Father Valdin’s face staring back at her. His scraggly beard raked at her cheek like a razor. She whipped her head around to see father, sunken to his knees, clutching at her dagger in his chest. Blood dribbled down his chin. The Grand Father stepped back into view, an apology she’d never accept in his eyes. Then he raised his staff, slamming the butt down into her face.

  Jenzara awoke screaming, her blanket a matted tangle about her. She couldn’t think anymore. It just wasn’t right. She knew the law, but the injustice of it all was staggering. Father hadn’t deserved to die. And she’d known Ferrin all her life; he was good. They should all be asleep in their beds at Ral Mok now, not running for their lives. Or dead.

  But even as she thought this, another part of her mind—one she wanted to hate, but couldn’t—screamed that father had gotten what he deserved for sympathizing with fifths. How could he have done it, after they’d killed her mother?

  A memory of father dozing in his study flashed in her mind. A sob wracked through her.

  She reached out to grasp Ferrin’s hand, Tragnè take his shadow attunement. But he wasn’t there. A moment later she realized the glow illuminating the inside of the house wasn’t coming from the hearth, which had burnt down to simmering ashes. It was coming from outside.

  She shot upright. Through the window, dark shapes danced against a burnt background of firelight that seemed to be coming from a circle of torches that definitely hadn’t been there earlier.