Bladesorrow (The Agarsfar Saga Book 1)

by D. T. Kane

  Erem let his gaze shift to the two Parents who were holding Westcott. A trickle of blood showed at the edge of his mouth, but he stared straight ahead with the steely resolve of any true Keeper of the Symposium. He might be small and prefer his chemistry sets to swords and glory, but Westcott was braver than most blademasters.

  “That’s an impressive weapon, stranger.” Valdin spoke in a disinterested drawl, but Erem thought he saw the slightest hint of apprehension in his eyes. The Grand Father could see clearly what his blade was crafted from, and the implications that came along with it.

  “I’d see your face,” Valdin said, eyes remaining on the ebon blade. “Remove those spectacles.”

  “Come and take them from me, Valdin.”

  This drew angry grumbles from the assembled Parents. One of the pair holding Westcott let go and stepped forward. Erem knew him. Priest Shinzar. He’d been pegged by many as the next Grand Father back in the days before Riverdale, before Valdin had stepped in.

  “How dare you address the Grand Father so. Remove your glasses now and kneel before Tragnè’s chosen—”

  Westcott shrugged free of the remaining guard, grabbing for the mace hanging from Shinzar’s hip, sending the pair into a struggling stumble. The Parent from whose grasp he’d escaped already had his mace in hand and raised it to land a crushing blow into Westcott’s skull.

  At nearly the same moment, Erem felt Ferrin draw in shadow power. He’d have screamed at the boy’s inability to listen if there’d been time. But there wasn’t. The Grand Father inhaled sharply, undoubtedly having sensed Ferrin’s intake of power. Though he knew from Devan that Valdin could no longer channel the shadow, he still seemed able to sense it. Erem understood the feeling, for he could still sense others’ intake of light.

  His eyes darted from Westcott to Ferrin, barely a blink’s worth of time to make a choice. The mace was descending upon Westcott’s skull. The man he’d known for so long, who’d taken him in at the risk of extreme peril to his own wellbeing.

  At the same instant, the hex was already leaving Valdin’s fingers, sure to strike Ferrin square. Raldon’s dying wish had been for him to protect the boy.

  Erem pulled in as much power from the deep shadows around him as he dared.

  And threw up a wall of channeled shadow before Ferrin.

  The mace fell. Marrow and cerebrum sprayed into Erem’s face. The crunching sound of bone turned his stomach. Westcott’s eyes popped from their sockets and he toppled forward.

  Ferrin’s hex met a shield raised in front of the Grand Father by several other Parents. It deflected into a nearby bookshelf, which came toppling down, sending both Parents and books alike scattering.

  Valdin’s hex, intended for the boy, slammed into Erem’s own shadow shield and bounded off into the rafters, showering them all in debris. Ferrin doubled over, clutching at his shoulder from the strain the channel had placed on his still-healing injury.

  For a moment no one moved, shocked by the rapid-fire series of events. Erem looked down to the splatter of Westcott’s blood across his tunic, then over to his friend’s twitching form.

  He bellowed. A release of fifteen years’ worth of frustration and rage. For one moment he was as fool hardy as the boy, losing all sight of his plan. He gripped his ebon blade, and with a power fueled by fury and angst swept it in an upward arc at Valdin’s chest.

  Manticore Charges the Stag.

  Before the blow reached its mark, the ebon blade slammed into an invisible aura about the Grand Father. The weapon shattered, and Erem was thrown back, crashing into a reading table, splitting it clean in two. His vision went black, head spinning from the impact. For a moment he thought he must be dead. Certainly the Grand Father would finish him before he could reorient. He braced for death. But no killing blow came.

  Finally, he got hold of his senses, peeled his eyes open. Several of the Parents were helping the Grand Father to his feet.

  So, he’s not quite as indomitable as he’d have us believe.

  As soon as Valdin was up, be pushed the Parents who’d helped him away, anger in his movements. He looked to Ferrin, who remained down on all fours, panting. The wound in the boy’s shoulder had reopened, soaking through his shirt. Valdin made as if to prepare another hex, one Erem would be powerless to stop. But the Grand Father hesitated, turning to look down at Erem. There was a scowl on Valdin’s face. Yet there was some uncertainty, too.

  “My dear man, who do you think you are, Agar reborn?” He paused to wipe a droplet of Westcott’s blood from the arm of his robe, trying to look unperturbed. But there was a noticeable shake in his voice now, eyes never quite meeting Erem’s own.

  “Channeling a shield with shadow,” Valdin went on. “That’s a fine trick. But surely you don’t actually believe you can stand against an entire coven?”

  Erem said nothing, but pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the splinters piercing his hands. Pure hatred continued to course through his veins, like a wild horse refusing to take to the bridle. But he needed to get a hold of himself. Killing Valdin now wouldn’t serve his plan, as much as the man might deserve it.

  Valdin now regarded him with cool composure, but Erem was sure he was surprised that he was able to stand at all. The Grand Father glanced to Ferrin, who had managed to push himself up to his knees, though the twist in Ferrin’s expression indicated he was in no state to attempt another attack.

  “Stranger,” Valdin said, keeping his eyes on Ferrin. “I don’t know who you are, but trust me when I say I’ve many good reasons to kill that boy. Some you might even agree with if you knew what I know. Stand down. There’s no need for you to die as well.”

  Shinzar gave a strangled gurgle of disbelief from where he stood behind the Grand Father, but Valdin held up a hand, silencing him.

  “I wouldn’t trust you if you told me the Senate has sixty members,” Erem said, his voice cold as the North Sea.

  Valdin sighed, massaging at his temples.

  “I have the girl, you know.”

  Ferrin growled at this mention of Jenzara. Erem sensed his attempt to draw in power for another channel, but he let out a sharp cry of pain before he came anywhere close to completing the hex.

  “She cares for you,” Valdin went on, “giving herself up like that at the Crossing so you could escape. I can make sure the Senate goes easy with her if you cooperate.”

  An odd sensation swelled in Erem’s chest at Valdin’s suggestion that Jenzara cared about him. He pushed it away. Valdin was full of tricks. He’d learned that the hard way, long ago.

  “You won’t harm this boy so long as I draw breath.”

  The look of exhausted frustration that had overcome Valdin’s face resolved to cold determination.

  “You should have taken the opportunity to back out when I gave you the chance.”

  Erem’s heart froze for an instant at those words. Ones he’d heard the Grand Father utter before. But a moment later he recovered, setting his feet as he sensed Valdin reach out to the light once more and weave it into a dread hex. A low, feral roar welled up from deep in Erem’s throat. He reached for the shadow, letting the rage and hate fuel the channel. Letting himself reach deep into the power he’d kept bottled for so long.

  White-hot light shot from Valdin’s fingertips, enough to scorch the surrounding tables and shelves, tendrils of smoke winding into the air. But rather than shy away from the burning energy, Erem met it with a bellow, piling all the shadow he could muster into a wall before him.

  The hex rebounded back at Valdin. The Grand Father’s eyes bulged in surprise and for an instant Erem was sure he’d killed the despicable man. But he was faster than anyone Erem had ever seen. Valdin threw up a shield of his own, deflecting the power into the chest of the Parent who’d killed Westcott.

  The man exploded. That was the only way to describe it. Flaming white sparks mixed with bits of sternum and muscle erupted into the air. As the flash of impact faded, all that remained were the man’s waist and
legs, standing there like a half-assembled suit of armor, bits of spine protruding over the top. The Parent who’d been standing next to the unfortunate man took one look, then spun away and began to retch uncontrollably.

  Valdin hadn’t completely avoided injury either. The force of the rebounded hex had thrown him off his feet once more. A stench of seared flesh hit Erem’s nostrils. Several of the other Parents had also been knocked down by the concussive force. Those who had kept their feet looked around, stunned, several rubbing at their ears. Without waiting for further reaction, Erem stooped, grabbed Ferrin, and dragged him up and into an all-out sprint.

  “Run!” He urged. “Our lives depend on it.”

  Ferrin lurched along after him, half dashing, half allowing himself to be dragged. They pushed through and out of the library before any of the stunned Parents could react. Valdin shouted with rage from behind them. Definitely still alive, then. Good. An undecipherable mixture of disappointment and relief surged through him. But at least if Valdin still lived his plan remained intact.

  Erem’s mind raced, clear of the hate he’d experienced moments earlier. He’d killed that Parent. Not intentionally, but killed him all the same. And the haunted look in the eyes of the man next to him. Light, that’s not what he wanted. Valdin had to die. Eventually. But not these others.

  “Ferrin,” he rasped with urgency. He could feel the boy fading. “We must make it to the Quadrangle. To the Obelisk. Once we’re out in public I can keep them from killing us. You must only make it a bit further. We can’t save Jenzara otherwise.”

  The boy said nothing, but Erem thought he felt a bit of renewed resolve in the boy’s wavering gait.

  What Erem had in mind was something he’d never imagined he would have to do, but it was their only chance. And beyond that, it just felt right. Sometimes to solve your own problems you must first help others through their own plights.

  It was time to stop being selfish.

  41

  Valdin

  This Charter shall not be amended except in writing approved by two-thirds of the full Senate. Prior to such vote, each of the three houses must be given opportunity to speak. To avoid endless debate, each house shall speak only through its appointed leader: The Grand Citizen of the Commons, the Grand Parent of the Temple, and the Grand Master Keeper of the Symposium. Each house’s leader must be present—they may not appear by proxy.

  -The Agarian Charter

  PLASTER SCRATCHED HIS eyes as he sat up, trying to collect himself. His shoulder was afire with pain where his shield had failed to fully block the hex the stranger had reflected back at him. The stink of charred hair and skin hung in the air. Reaching for light, he channeled to ease the pain.

  Valdin shuddered, not so much from his injury as from what had just happened. That hex he’d just channeled should have seared through the man, leaving a hole in place of his heart, elemental shield or no. But he’d reflected it with ease. No one—not even one of the Aldur—had ever stood up to him like that.

  Cold fear gripped his innards, like he hadn’t felt since he’d sat before the Seven at Ral Falar all those years ago. There was only one Linear who had existed in this time with even a reed’s width chance of exerting elemental power to match his own. But it was impossible. That man was dead, he was certain of it; he’d dealt the killing blow himself.

  Valdin shook his head, still trying to clear his eyes of all the dust. Dwelling on that was useless. Now that he knew the man’s ability, he’d deal with him accordingly. Just kill him outright.

  The boy was what mattered. The thought of killing him brought a grimace to Valdin’s face, the violation he intended to commit. There was a reason the Conclave had outlawed harvesting. A nasty practice. But regaining his power was the only way he could possibly salvage his plan and ensure the Seven weren’t unleashed once more upon the world. And Stephan told him that this Ferrin had to die in any event, so he might as well make it as useful a death as possible.

  Yet now there was the girl. They’d only just arrived back in the City the day before, and she still hadn’t fully recovered from the injuries Shinzar had inflicted upon her. It would be a shame for her to wake to find that he’d not only killed Raldon, but her friend as well.

  Stop it. What was he thinking? He didn’t even know the girl, and she already hated him. There was only one woman who mattered to him, and if he didn’t kill the boy there was no hope of saving her. He would just have to live with Jenzara despising him. Light knew there were plenty of others who did so already.

  He drew himself upright, vision finally having returned. It was time to put an end to this madness. He looked about.

  The boy and the stranger were gone. Yet all his men remained, standing about, faces in various states of shock and panic. Fear and rage gripped him in equal measure.

  “Oafs!” he bellowed. “Don’t just stand there. Where did they go?”

  “They headed towards the Quadrangle, Grand Father,” Priest Shinzar stammered. The man’s face was streaked with blood and dust. He looked like he didn’t know where he was.

  The Quad? The stranger was even more foolish than Valdin had thought if that’s where he was headed.

  “Good,” he said. “There will be nowhere for them to hide, and the entire City will bear witness to their corruption. We shall show them the consequences of defying the Temple. Come!”

  He spoke the words with calm resolve, but inwardly his mind was a blur with doubts. He’d never walked into a battle with even the slightest fear of losing. Now, when the stakes were highest, this shadow-attuned hermit was about to ruin everything. And failure was not an option. Not with all that hung in the balance. Regaining his powers, stopping the Seven, carrying out Stephan’s dying command, saving his beloved. His head seemed ready to explode with the pressure of it all.

  He took up his staff and made for the entrance of the library, one foot crunching into the mauled skull of the apothecary as he went. None of the other Parents made to follow. The frenzied exchange must have loosened his enchantment’s grip on them. He turned back, drawing in the available elements about him—earth from the wooden floors, light coming from the windows, fire from the candles—and squeezed their minds.

  “Brothers,” he said. “Has something gone wrong with your hearing?”

  They straightened, faces calming. But even with the suggestions of his enchantment, their eyes held a disconcerting question: That man just bested you, what do you expect us to do? He wished for a good answer.

  “It is your sworn duty as practitioners of The Lady’s Will to uphold the Shadow Edicts,” he shouted. If he had to keep this charade of caring for the Lady up much longer he’d be ill. But sometimes it was the only thing that moved these men. “You will chase them, or you will suffer the same fate as this one here.” He motioned at the pair of legs that still stood upright, which until quite recently had belonged to one of their comrades. “The price of failing the Lady is quite high.”

  Several of the men muttered. Others turned white as the blazing sun itself. For several gut-turning seconds, he thought they didn’t intend to comply. But finally Shinzar barked at them and they formed up.

  “Kill the man; leave the boy for me,” Valdin commanded. “But if you hurt him? So be it.” The hint of a dry cackle crept into his words. Perhaps he really was going mad. “Go.”

  The men rushed out of the library towards the Quadrangle.

  He followed, but slowly, allowing the others to move ahead of him. He’d hoped a deep breath out of their hearing would relieve him of the dragons playing slink and snoop in his stomach. It didn’t.

  He wiped cold sweat from his brow and quickened his pace. The group was skilled enough as far as Linears went. And they were all disposable. But after what he’d just seen that stranger do, he’d an awful sense that they couldn’t be trusted to deal with the man on their own. He hurried through the Symposium Mall, snarling at a merchant who tried to show him an assortment of gems.

  How could
this be happening now? Everything was all wrong. First, he’d killed Bladesorrow, but it hadn’t released the Seven as it should have. Then his shadow powers had been robbed from him, condemned to live the life of a Linear these past fifteen years. Now he’d had no fewer than three opportunities to retake his powers from this petulant runt and failed each time. And if what he’d recently learned was true, that Devan had bested that Lesser Terror? Did that mean he had a hand in this? Somehow meddling with his plans from a distance? It would explain how Ferrin and the stranger had arrived here so quickly after...

  The sound of crashing stone and shouts of pain echoed down the market from the direction of the Quadrangle. Valdin felt something tug at his senses, like a wounded memory that wouldn’t quite surface; a reminder of what he’d lost. Someone had just channeled shadow. He broke into a sprint, coming out onto the Quadrangle and the blinding mid-morning light.

  The boy and stranger stood shoulder-to-shoulder, backs to Ral’s Obelisk, a bubble of shadow power drawn around them, blurring their features. The boy was struggling to keep his feet and was unarmed. The man gripped a broadsword with the steady ease of one well-versed in how to use it. Sun glinted off the steel, sending reflections bouncing off the monolith that towered above them. The hilt of the weapon was rather unceremoniously wrapped with discolored cloth and twine.

  Ten Parents stood in a semicircle around the pair. An eleventh lay moaning off to the side, crushed under a pile of rubble that had been sheared off the face of the Temple. Several of the Parents murmured to themselves and sent hexes flying at the stranger. The orb of shadow around him shimmered, wavered for a moment, then steadied.