Bladesorrow (The Agarsfar Saga Book 1)

by D. T. Kane

  She crossed her arms under her breasts so as to push them together and did her best to look exasperated. The man noticed, hungry gleam in his eyes.

  “That so?” With obvious effort he shifted his gaze towards Oceanshade and stepped past her towards him. She took a deep breath as Erem had shown her.

  “Haven’t you had enough this week, fifth? Not that I don’t enjoy—”

  In a flash she had the knife to the man’s throat, her free hand wrapped around his waist, holding him fast. She tried to ignore the stink of his breath as she whispered into his ear.

  “Not another word.”

  The Parent stiffened under her grasp, the greased leather of the jerkin he wore under his robes whining as he did.

  “You uppity little—”

  She pressed the knife’s edge into his neck until it broke skin. The man choked back whatever terrible name he’d had in mind and let out a whimper. Taking up the wadded bit of cloth she’d ripped from the dress, she stuffed it into his mouth, dagger drawing more blood as she did. The warm liquid rolled over the clenched fingers of her knife hand. She’d expected to feel empowered, controlling the man like this. What she felt instead was more a dull dissatisfaction, anger that something like this was even necessary.

  “Some assistance, Master Oceanshade? If you please?”

  The look of surprise that had overtaken the man’s face since she’d jumped the guard morphed to one of almost wry satisfaction. He removed his belt and used it to bind the Parent’s hands behind his back. The captive’s eyes spat venom, but he looked away when Oceanshade’s own good one met his, offering no resistance. Oceanshade obtained another belt from one of the gathered shadow attuneds and bound his feet. Then she removed the sash from her own dress and wrapped it about the man’s head, securing the gag.

  “Put ’im in the corner, as far from the light as ye can,” Oceanshade commanded a pair of young men who’d come forward to assist. They complied with obvious eagerness. As they dragged the guard away, one made no effort to hide the elbow he jabbed into the Parent’s ribs. The guard let out a muted groan, then was lost to the darkness. Oceanshade watched them go, then flicked his gaze back to her.

  “For a moment, I thought ye meant to kill.”

  She met the man’s eye, though she was shaking on the inside.

  “That’s not what Erem... the Grand Master Keeper would have done.”

  Oceanshade gave a noncommittal grunt, as if she’d solved a riddle he’d had no expectation of her guessing. “Mayhaps. But I still must know what changed in ye.” The way his eye roved about the room indicated he wasn’t the only one who needed to hear an explanation. That was probably fair, but still she hesitated. Thinking it was one thing, but putting voice to it after a lifetime of believing otherwise?

  Oceanshade furrowed his brow. “Ye agreed to bear false witness against the Grand Master Keeper. We all heard ye do it. I don’t care if you’re Raldon’s daughter or descended from Agar himself. Ye owe us an explanation.”

  This time she did outwardly flinch. The implied respect for father in the man’s words only caused the yoke of shame upon her shoulders to cut more deeply. He would have been embarrassed to see what she’d done.

  Oceanshade must have seen this in her face, for his own softened some. As much as his half-ruined visage could soften anyway, which wasn’t much.

  “If ye’re brave enough to choose life over death, then you can speak to us, my lady.”

  Jenzara thought she’d rather face the other guard without a knife than speak the words on her mind. But she saw that these people wanted—no, needed—something from her. Something personal. The best any outsider had shown them in years was disinterested contempt. Their souls were starved.

  So she began to speak.

  “I have a friend. A good friend.” Her face heated, but she forced her mouth to keep moving. “I just recently discovered he’s a fifth—” she bit back the word a moment too late and grimaced. “Sorry. A shadow attuned. When I found out, I was shocked. Scared. Appalled. I felt as if I suddenly didn’t know who he was. But then I—”

  She’d been about to say that she’d realized her mistake, that Ferrin hadn’t changed at all just because he was shadow attuned. That he was no different than any of the other people in the room. They all breathed the same air; loved their families; had hopes, dreams, fears. That it was wrong to let others’ hatred cloud her own eyes.

  But none of that was true. Not really. She’d reconnected with Ferrin, sure, but it’d been in spite of his shadow attunement. She hadn’t accepted it. Pushing it to a walled-off section of her mind had been the only way she could bare to look at him. And Erem? She’d begrudgingly accepted him because she’d needed to. Perhaps she’d even grown into a cautious liking of the man by the time they’d reached the Crossing. But she’d certainly turned on him easily enough when given the chance. What was the life of a fifth if it meant saving Ferrin? Even now she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t trade the life of everyone in this room for him.

  No. She couldn’t stand before these people and proclaim she’d had some sort of moral awakening. An epiphany. Even now a part of her mind shouted for her to run from the fifths who surrounded her. She was only here because she’d seen what the Grand Master had seen at the Dales, and the truth of it had been undeniable. It’d taken some mind trick by a man she’d never met—a man she suspected was nearly as dangerous as Valdin himself, if not more so—to show her the ills of her beliefs. And even then, shame had needed to lasso its heavy chain about her neck and drag her here, resisting all the way. She’d only embarrass herself further if she proclaimed false intentions before these people. They’d been force fed enough lies. She’d give them no more.

  “I spent my whole life hating the shadow attuned. Blaming them for my mother’s death. Blaming them for my father’s exile. Blaming them for just about everything I saw as bad in my life.”

  A man shouted a curse from the back of the room and many angry mutters of assent met it. Oceanshade’s eye was little more than a slit as he glared at her. She held up her hands, imploring the crowd to let her continue. The grumbling didn’t cease, but at least it didn’t get any worse.

  “No one can offer you sufficient apology to rectify what you’ve endured. At least, not in a single setting with a few words, no matter how artfully chosen. And no matter what I believe now, I can’t just forget a lifetime of beliefs in the space of an hour. You’d all be fools to believe any of that. And I don’t think any of you are fools.”

  The men and women around her went silent. Some of the cold disdain remained in their stares, but at least some of it had been replaced by something else. Anticipation? The cautious hope of the downtrodden, of those accustomed to promises being broken. She tried to stand a little taller.

  “I can’t give you apologies. Tragnè help me, I can’t even give you the courtesy of looking you in the eye without thinking twice about your attunement. But what I can tell you is this: Taul Bladesorrow has returned. One of the few men brave enough to actually fight for you. To care about you. He was betrayed by Valdin at the Dales. I heard it from his own mouth not an hour ago at the Senate. And now he needs your help.” She took a deep breath before adding. “And the Parents also have my friend. So I’d really appreciate your help too.”

  The silence stretched on, as if ropes pulling in varying directions were attached to her insides. She’d never felt so small. How could she bare to live with herself if these people wouldn’t help? She couldn’t rescue Ferrin and Erem on her own.

  “Valdin actually let him speak?” A disbelieving voice shouted out from the darkness.

  It wasn’t what she’d been hoping for, but it was a start.

  “Yes, though he had some help. An attorney, or at least someone posing as an attorney. He actually stood up to Valdin.”

  Oceanshade’s eye widened and, to her great surprise, he Pathed himself.

  “Stories always did say Taul was favored by the Angels,” he muttered. Sever
al others murmured agreement.

  “Well, I don't know about that. The man certainly didn't look like an Angel.” But even as she said it, the stunning vision of the Grand Master’s testimony ran through her mind and she shivered. Perhaps there was more to the attorney than his disheveled, half-starved appearance had let on.

  “What does the Grand Master need of us?”

  It sounded like the same voice that had cursed at her just moments before, though she couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter. That simple question snapped the remaining tension in the room and Jenzara felt as if she’d just breathed for the first time in days.

  “Well, one of the guards at the Temple let slip that they’re being held in the dungeons below the Temple. Do any of you know the way?”

  “Aye,” Oceanshade said, eye now gleaming at her. “I’m well acquainted with the tunnels beneath the City. I’ll take ye.” Then the man surprised her again, this time by looking away from her, as if embarrassed. “Truth be told, yer not the only one with a few things to atone for.”

  Jenzara arched her eyebrows but remained silent. She knew all too well how it felt to carry the burden of shame. It’d been necessary to speak of her own, but there was no need to press Oceanshade now.

  “I’ll come too.” One of the young men from earlier—the one who’d elbowed the Parent—stepped out of the room’s shadows. Several others voiced similar sentiment.

  “No,” Oceanshade said. “There will be Parents in the tunnels. Won’t be much for them to channel down there, but they’ll have numbers and we’re hardly in fighting condition. A large party will only get us caught. Probably killed. It’ll be me and the lady. No one else.”

  Jenzara felt much of the excitement escape the room, some of the pent-up angst returning to fill the void. She couldn’t lose the support of these people now.

  “But we could use a distraction up here,” she said, eyes meeting Oceanshade’s single orb. He considered, then nodded. “And I think the other guard has the keys to your collars.”

  She waited a moment for the implication of her words to register. Once they did, the smiles on the faces about her were nearly audible.

  “Lady Jenzara,” Oceanshade whispered, pulling her close. “We won’t succeed in the same trickery on this guard as you did with the first. It might come to...”

  He let his words trail off into the shadows. Her stomach churned for a moment, but then she took a long breath and narrowed her eyes. For the first time in a long time—perhaps ever—her mind was entirely clear. She still had plenty to make up for. And she might not live long enough to atone for all her wrongs. The path ahead was full of dangers. And yet confidence swelled within her.

  “We’ll do what we need to do to rescue my friends, Master Oceanshade.”

  He considered her a moment, then nodded. Without another word he stooped, retrieved the water skin from the floor where she’d dropped it, and hoisted it onto his own shoulder. They walked from the room, towards the entrance and the lone remaining guard. Towards Ferrin and the Grand Master Keeper.

  51

  Ferrin

  I begged and begged, but he would do nothing to bring him back. I understood, but at the same time I could never forgive.

  -Excerpt from Tragnè’s Oral Histories

  JENZARA STOOD THERE amidst a haze of dust. Her green dress had been reduced to little more than rags. One of its arms had slipped past her shoulder, revealing a curve of bare collarbone. She looked just how he’d always imagined she would if ever forced into a dress, and he felt a grin spread over his face despite the circumstances. She returned the smile with a flash of her violet eyes.

  “You look awful,” Ferrin said, barely holding in a laugh.

  She narrowed her eyes. Those alluring purple eyes.

  “Have you looked in a mirror lately?” she said. “I haven’t seen a—”

  He rushed forward, pulling her close by the small of her back, and kissed her. She tensed under his hands, but only for a moment. Then she pulled him even closer, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her lips into his. A longing he hadn’t known was there eased from him. It seemed so obvious, now. She was the only girl—only person—who’d ever truly meant anything to him. All he wanted. And now that Jenzara was finally in his arms, he didn’t want to let go.

  But the bliss didn’t last. From somewhere behind Jenzara a man cleared his throat and, after a moment of tightening her arms around him even further, she pulled away. The fact that she did so with what felt like reluctance eased the frustration. A little. His eyes opened and met hers. There was a flash of desire in them, but that quickly turned to embarrassment as she turned red and looked away. This led him to notice the one who’d cleared his throat. A gargoyle of a man, stooped with only one good eye. He was bent under the weight of a water skin slung over one shoulder. His face was nearly as red as Jenzara’s.

  “My apologies,” Jenzara murmured to the man. The shudder of a chill went through her. She exhaled. “This is—”

  “Frankard Oceanshade,” Bladesorrow finished for her.

  Jenzara’s face twisted into a confused tangle of apprehension and relief as she looked upon Bladesorrow. Ferrin waited for her anger to rush forth in a much-deserved torrent, after everything Bladesorrow had dragged them through. But it never came.

  “Erem... Taul... I mean, Grand Master Keeper Bladesorrow—”

  “Taul will do fine, Jenzara.”

  She nodded, but no confidence returned to her features. “I don’t... What I mean... You... I’m sorry.”

  Ferrin felt his eyes widen. Jenzara seemed close to tears as she looked at the man whom she’d spent most of her life despising. Did she not see all the mistakes he’d made?

  Bladesorrow shook his head. “No, Jenzara. It’s I who am sorry. I’ve failed you in more ways than we’ve time to discuss. Not the least of which was letting your mother die at the Dales.”

  Jenzara snapped her head away, face even redder than it had been when she’d pulled back from their kiss. This time a few tears did fall.

  “Mother,” she whispered. “It wasn’t your fault, Erem. I saw.”

  Bladesorrow seemed to have trouble getting the next few words out, not bothering to correct her usage of his false name. “I appreciate that,” he finally managed. He hadn’t looked away like Jenzara had, but seemed to be looking past her, avoiding eye contact. An awkward silence passed between them for a time and even Ferrin began to feel uncomfortable. Mercifully, Bladesorrow eventually turned his attention to the ruin of a man who’d accompanied Jenzara.

  “I must admit, Frankard, you were one of the last people I expected to see.”

  Oceanshade cleared his throat again. A troubling utterance that sounded more like he was choking than preparing to speak. His stare wandered over Bladesorrow’s cavernous eyes and he seemed almost ready to take a step back. But then he looked to Jenzara, who gave him an encouraging nod, and he looked back to Bladesorrow with markedly less apprehension. When he finally began to speak, it was with a tone of abashed esteem.

  “I’ve similar thoughts, Grand Master Keeper. But when I heard you’d returned, I saw the opportunity to finally do something right after all these years.”

  “Do something right?” Jenzara interrupted. “I think those people back in the Symposium would say you’ve done more right by them than any other in a very long time.”

  Oceanshade crossed his arms, as if trying to make himself smaller. “I appreciate that, my lady. But the only reason those people were in that predicament in the first place were decisions I once made.”

  Bladesorrow made that impatient sound at the back of this throat. “We might not have agreed on much back then, Frankard. But you hardly bear the responsibility for what has happened.” He held out his hand to the man. After staring at it for a time as if it might bite, Frankard took it in a powerful grasp.

  “Thank you,” Bladesorrow said. “Both for this rescue and watching out for Jenzara.”

  Oceanshade laughed,
an unsettling sound not unlike a mastiff’s labored breathing.

  “She hardly needs watching out for, Grand Master. She convinced me, and a whole room of imprisoned shadow attuneds besides, to follow her. Then she got us to you. All without killing anyone. I just pointed the way through the tunnels.”

  Bladesorrow arched an eyebrow. “Surely there were guards in the tunnels?”

  Jenzara reddened, but a smile also played at the edges of her lips. “Some. But someone once told me that killing is rarely the right answer.”

  “It’s amazing what a well-placed throwing knife and a water channel to muffle the cries can do,” Oceanshade chipped in.

  Bladesorrow’s face seemed as close to happy as Ferrin had ever seen it. But he felt quite different.

  “You mean you left the guards alive? That’s too much of a risk. Where are they?”

  Jenzara narrowed her eyes. “They’re bound securely enough. And out of the way. Besides, they’ve been victimized as much as the rest of us by Valdin’s lies. It’s not for me to decide whether they deserve death.”

  “Aye. Particularly after what we’ve learned of Valdin,” Bladesorrow said.

  “What do you mean?” asked Oceanshade.

  “Valdin uses enchantment,” Ferrin said, “Saw him do it to Raldon and Jenzara with my own eyes.” He was still frowning at what Jenzara had said, hardly convinced leaving those guards alive was prudent. Even if the chance of them raising an alarm was small, it wasn’t worth it. Then again, he wasn’t exactly in much of a position to be questioning their methods.

  Jenzara shuddered and Oceanshade’s face deepened into a scowl.

  “And that’s not all,” Bladesorrow said. “Valdin’s an Angel. One of the Aldur.”

  Jenzara grew very still. Oceanshade barked a laugh.

  “Grand Master, don’t take this the wrong way. But are you feeling quite alright?”

  Bladesorrow didn’t miss a beat. “When was he raised to the Grand Parentage?”