Bladesorrow (The Agarsfar Saga Book 1)

by D. T. Kane

  But even as she thought it, doubt seeped in, as mildew creeps over an unused pair of boots. There had been signs.

  The Grand Father gave her a sad smile, like a loved one seeking to reassure a child who’d just scraped her knee. “I see you feel as stunned as I did when I learned of it, and have just as many questions. Come. There is something I wish to show you. Perhaps then you will understand me a bit more.”

  He turned and began to walk away. Jenzara stayed where she was, certain she’d collapse if she released the white-knuckle grip she was currently applying to the nearest bedpost. She also feared what the Grand Father would do to someone who’d helped the Betrayer. For though her mind had yet to comprehend the revelation, she’d no doubt the Grand Father had spoken the truth. Erem’s skill with a blade. His obstinate secrecy about his past. Intimate knowledge of the Symposium. The blue-gold lion shield. Even the shadow attunement made sense, for everyone knew the Betrayer had made a deal with the shadow friends of the North for a share of their dark powers, allowing himself to be made into an unnatural elemental patchwork.

  She gulped. Worse still, the voice in her mind was screaming that she deserved whatever punishment to which Valdin saw fit to condemn her. Helping the Betrayer? The shame of it was so strong it made taking her own life seem a reasonable choice.

  Eventually the Grand Father realized she wasn’t following. He looked back, frowning. “My lady, I respect you, so I’ll be blunt. If I intended to hurt you I would have done so already. And I certainly would not have bothered to heal your wounds. Now come.”

  His words were curt, but she barely heard. The only solace she’d ever taken in her mother’s death had been that her murderer had been killed. Justice served. Now she’d been robbed of even that consolation. It was as if she was learning of her mother’s death for the first time all over again. And not only that: She’d helped the man, helped her mother’s killer.

  “I see my words have shaken you.” Again the Grand Father spoke like a father to a small child. “The Betrayer killed your mother, I know. It must be quite the shock.”

  Hearing the man who’d killed father speak of her mother’s death was like hearing someone joke about poverty and starvation. The acute wrongness of it made her head spin.

  “But if it eases you at all,” the Grand Father went on, “I believe you have a part to play in bringing him to justice.”

  Her guts twisted as if she’d swallowed spiked wire. Bring him to justice? They hadn’t killed him already? Rage flooded away the guilt and confusion. The anger steadied her quaking limbs, all thought of what Erem had done for her gone. The Betrayer had been discovered, alive, yet still drew breath?

  “What can I do?”

  The Grand Father gave a half smile, eyes almost doleful. “To learn that, you must come and see what I have to show.”

  For several moments she leveled all the rage she felt into her glare. It had no effect on the man, and the sadness that reflected in his eyes snuffed out her fury. With some effort she loosened her grip on the bedpost and followed the Grand Father from the room. The guards fell into step behind her.

  He led her down a winding staircase. The halls were surprisingly austere. Sand-colored brick, unadorned stone floors. Torches provided the only light—no sunlight reached this inner stairwell. They descended for what couldn’t have been more than minutes, but felt hours. Her legs ached by the time the stairs ended, spilling out into the Temple’s main atrium. The Grand Father breathed heavily, though he pretended to be unaffected by the physical effort, standing too tall, breathing through his nose.

  The atrium was magnificent in a somber way, a sharp contrast to the bare hallways and stairwells. A large, open space, intricately carved crown molding and wainscoting featured prominently on the walls. The ceiling was arched, painted in bright-colored murals, many of which featured Lady Tragnè performing various acts of justice, humility, and charity: Battling during the Great Shadow War, calling beams of light from the heavens; bowing before Trimale as she assumed the role of Grand Master Keeper after Agar’s death; feeding the poor in Lustin.

  To one side, a doorway led out to the Quadrangle. Opposite that, a pair of large, arched doors marked the entrance to the Temple nave, a cavernous gathering place, or so she’d heard father once say. The doors were shut and barred. Only those raised to the Parentage—or those subject to its justice—were permitted entrance.

  In the center of the atrium towered a stone likeness of Lady Tragnè painted in vibrant hues. Her arms were spread, draped in a shawl. Inscribed into the base were the words Equality to all ye who set foot in this new land. A now-repressed part of her mind reflected that the Edicts didn’t exactly mesh with that sentiment.

  The Grand Father strode out of the atrium, into the dawn-lit Quadrangle. She followed, shielding her eyes as she stepped into the sunlight. The imposing monolith of Ral’s Obelisk towered over her as she inhaled the sharp morning air. The musk of people in a hurry mingled with the crisp dew still dripping from the eaves of the tall buildings about her.

  She followed the Grand Father across the Quadrangle, noting the wide birth passersby gave him, and the quizzical stares they afforded her. Holding her head high, she tried to pay them no heed. She certainly didn’t want to be associated with the Grand Father, but she had little choice but to continue following him. The guards’ footfalls would land on her heels if she even thought of slowing.

  Her breath caught as she saw the Symposium loom before her, its columns carved in the likeness of various Agarian legends. Agar himself, hand atop the head of his mythic lion, Rend. Ernst Darkaxe, Grand Master Keeper during the Ebon Affair. Robert, the Northern Surveyor. Mok’ten Earthfriend, last of the great builders. The twins Zalar and Balar, the only pair ever to serve as concurrent Grand Master Keepers. And those were only the small handful she could recall from father’s lectures.

  A shudder of remembrance washed through her. She had lived here once. Half-remembered images floated in her mind. Her mother brushing her hair. Her father’s strong hands lifting her, placing her on his shoulders, light glinting off the emblem on the blade at his hip. Her lower lip trembled.

  They passed through one of the many openings between the columns that encircled the Symposium proper. Before the Disbanding, the open mall down its center had been used for all manner of gatherings—lectures, sparring, celebrations. And unlike the Temple’s nave, it had been open to the public; a favorite meeting place for people of all persuasions.

  She saw nothing like that now. Sun still shown through the open-air roof, but the Mall itself was overrun. What once must have been a lush green park was now all decaying detritus, covered in filthy animal pens and rickety vendor fronts. The place stank of garbage and ill-washed men; the air rang with the squeals of livestock and rough shouts of haggling merchants. Around the perimeter of the mall stood brick-and-mortar storefronts, though the ones that were open at all were hardly what you’d expect in a place such as this. Dingy butcher shops, taverns, brothels. Many of the shops were closed, some with smashed-in windows.

  The Grand Father led her past all this squalor. One shop they passed appeared to have recently been robbed, walls lying in heaps of rubble, door splintered across the cobbles. Shattered vials littered the floor. The edge of blue-enameled shield poked through the remains of what might have been a pantry.

  “My lady, this way.” He indicated down an alley, then walked on without waiting for her. She hesitated, but the chaperons at her back made clear her compliance wasn’t optional, so she followed Valdin into the gloom.

  The alley stank even worse than the Mall. Her feet slipped over wet cobbles that she prayed owed their dampness solely to water. At the end of the passage stood an oaken door reinforced with horizontal iron bands covered with so much rust they nearly blended into the wood. The door was flanked by a pair of broad-shouldered Parents. Their white, unsullied robes looked out of place in the dank surroundings. Rather than the traditional cudgels, each man held a large halbe
rd. The wicked edges of the polearms grinned with menace, floating above the heads of their wielders. The door was secured with a chain and the largest padlock she’d ever seen.

  “Brothers,” the Grand Father said, “we’ll enter the camp.”

  The guards nodded. One produced a key nearly as long as Jenzara’s forearm. The lock disengaged with a snap that echoed down the alley, chains clattering to the cold ground, making her jump. She tried to get hold of herself, taking several deep breaths, but her heart wouldn’t stop hammering. What was this place? And what could it possibly hold that would help bring the Betrayer to justice?

  The guards swung the doors outward and the men who’d been trailing her rushed in wordlessly. Valdin gave her a look, entreating her to proceed before him. She regarded him coldly, then realized the face she was trying to make was an impression of Erem’s stern indifference. She flushed and moved past him through the doorway, eyes down.

  She proceeded down a long hall, immediately noticing it was lit by the purple glow of shadow flame, rather than mortal fire. Shying from the torches, she kept moving. The place smelled of too many bodies too close together. Dripping water echoed about the space. The shadow flame provided minimal illumination and she reached a hand along the walls for guidance. The stone was damp to her touch.

  Finally, the hallway emptied into a large space, perhaps once used as a mess hall for young docents or newly raised Keepers. She could dimly see the huddled forms of people against the walls, clearly making every effort to stay as far from the entrance as they could. The few faces she could make out were all apprehensive. Terrified. The guards who’d preceded her down the hall were ushering back a few men none too gently. From a far corner a baby wailed.

  One of the men being pushed back muttered a few curt words, drawing angry murmurs from each guard in reply. He was a bull of a man, short and broad, though his features were obscured by shadows.

  “Brothers, let him pass,” the Grand Father commanded. He’d stopped just behind her and she nearly jumped as the breath of his words caressed the back of her neck. The sensation brought to mind the shades that had chased them to the Crossing. The thought sent even more chills down her spine.

  The stocky man pointedly swiped the guards’ hands off him and shouldered past, moving with an obvious limp. Oily hair hung to his shoulders, framing a face dominated by a bulbous nose that looked an afterthought, like whoever had sculpted his face had just stopped trying. And he had only one eye; grotesque flaps of skin covered his other socket, giving the suggestion of melting wax having slid down half his face. But despite his startling appearance, Jenzara sensed an air of benevolence about him.

  “Grand Father, you honor us with your presence,” the man said in a tone that was anything but reverential. He gave a short bob of his head that might have been a half bow, or just the man working a tightness from his neck. “But it’s too soon. You can’t yet take another—”

  The man’s words cut off abruptly, his eye glazing over. The Grand Father gazed at him as one might regard an ant caught beneath an upturned goblet. It took Jenzara a moment to realize what had happened, but anger welled up within her when she did. He’d been enchanted. Just like what the Grand Father had done to father. She swallowed the spurt of bile that filled the back of her throat.

  “Tsk, tsk,” Valdin said absently, as if his true thoughts were elsewhere. “What have we discussed about speaking out of turn, my friend?”

  The man with the ruined face just stood there, staring dumbly ahead.

  Suddenly, the Grand Father stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. She hoped he didn’t feel her shudder.

  “Ah, but where are my manners? My lady, this is Frankard Oceanshade, the former Water Master Keeper. Frankard, I’m sure you remember the lady’s father, Light Master Keeper Everbright.”

  Frankard’s eyes refocused. His face contorted for a moment, as if he might allow his breakfast to once more see the light of day. Then he glared at Valdin, cleared his throat, and gave her a true bow, though the muscles in his back didn’t seem quite agreeable to the motion. It came out more as a slight bend at the waist. Jenzara nodded in reply, still not sure what to make of the man.

  “You knew my father?”

  “Aye,” Oceanshade replied in a surprisingly mellow tenor. “Served with him. Your mother, too.”

  Someone who’d known her mother? She tried to blurt about ten questions at the man all at once, but all that came out was an unintelligible stutter. Father had been the only person she’d ever known with any connection to mother, and he’d always be loath to speak of her. Yet here was a man who said he’d “served” with her, and served the Symposium at the highest level. What was he doing in a place like this? In fact, what was this place?

  Once more the Grand Father spoke with unsettling prescience. “Frankard works for the Temple, helping care for these poor souls.” He motioned around at the shapes cowering beyond the reach of the violet light. “He’s the unfortunate trait of a mild shadow attunement, but redeems himself with a strong affinity for water. Quite useful for keeping refugees such as these cared for.”

  “I’m not exactly here volun—”

  “Frankard,” Valdin snapped. “What did I just say? Speak only when you’re spoken to.”

  The stooped man’s eye began to glaze once more. But before going blank, the man had regarded Valdin with an expression that made Jenzara’s insides curdle.

  “Please,” she murmured, grasping the Grand Father’s arm. “Stop that.”

  Valdin flinched back from her touch as if her hand were a burning iron. His motion so startled her that she started backward as well, a muted cry forcing its way through her lips. It was difficult to see through the gloom, but she thought his face had turned red.

  “Of course,” he said, and the goose flesh the energy of his channel had brought to her arms vanished. She turned back to the former Keeper.

  “Master Oceanside, what was my mother like?”

  He regarded her for a moment once he’d regained his senses, then gave a low chuckle.

  “Helluva fighter, Suzahne. Stubborn, though.” He gave a slight smile. “We didn’t see eye to eye on most things. But she was a good woman. One of our best.”

  Her chest swelled with his words. To hear someone who’d actually known her mother speak well of her... She had so many more questions. What had her voice sounded like? Who had her friends been? What food had she liked best? But before she could pick one to ask next, the Grand Father stepped between her and Oceanshade, motioning for the guards to usher him back out of the light, which they did none too gladly. And none too gently.

  “My lady, I’m sure you’ve many questions for Frankard and perhaps, someday soon, I can arrange another meeting between the two of you for such purpose. But today’s visit is for observation only.”

  He swept his arm out before him, as if casting an imaginary light on the surroundings.

  “This is a shadow camp, one of several such residences in the City. Here, and at the others like it, the Temple houses the City’s shadow-attuned population.”

  Jenzara curled her nose. “These people live here? You mean for them to stay here?”

  “I hear that you share my distaste for this.” The Grand Father sounded compassionate enough, yet the coldness of his eyes stopped her from believing it.

  “But the Temple keeps them here for their own protection,” he continued. “They would be murdered, lynched, excommunicated by the general populace otherwise, such is the fear that runs through our society since the Betrayal. You were blessed in the western fringes; this sort of thing didn’t reach you there. But this is what the Betrayer wrought. I thought if you saw, then perhaps you would give the help I seek.”

  Jenzara spun to face the man. “You killed my father.” Oceanshade gave a low moan from wherever the guards had dragged him. “I would never help you.” She had the sudden urge to retaliate, achieve some modicum of vengeance. But what could she do? Her channelin
g was all but useless. She had no weapons, and hadn’t the skill to wield them even if she did. Even her newfound ability with a blade would be useless against Valdin, she knew. Not even father had been able to touch the man. Perhaps she could slap him, but that wouldn’t get her anything except maybe another beating. So she remained tight-lipped and tried to conceal the trembling in her hands.

  “My lady, it is not I who need your help, but these people.” Valdin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, shaking his head. He likely intended the gesture to convey pity, but all Jenzara saw was an exasperated man who found his surroundings detestable.

  “You see, Bladesorrow, in all his vile cleverness has forced my hand into giving him a trial.”

  Jenzara’s eyes widened and she took a step back from the Grand Father.

  “What?” she whispered. Under the Edicts the man should have been put to death as soon as he’d revealed himself.

  “Indeed,” the Grand Father replied. This time there seemed to be genuine displeasure in his eyes. “Once more I share your sentiment. The law is clear. But—” the man hesitated and his exasperation manifested in clenched fists held stiffly at his sides.

  “He revealed himself quite publicly, before the whole of the Quadrangle. And,” he rubbed at his temples, as if the words were exacting a vast mental toll, “I’m embarrassed to say, he used the laws of the land against me. I won’t bore you with the political details, but suffice it to say he demanded a trial and I cannot deny him. So trial there will be.”

  The man’s proffered humility was so false she almost felt embarrassed for him. But Jenzara hardly cared about that. Was there no justice in this world? Her mother and father both murdered and both killers still lived?

  “I’d like to think that our justice system will vindicate the light and bring the man to justice. But the man fooled us all once. Who can say what will happen this time? Riverdale was long ago and he killed all the witnesses, save for me.”