Bladesorrow (The Agarsfar Saga Book 1)

by D. T. Kane

Ferrin flexed his fingers, opening and shutting them into a fist. The dagger was still concealed in his boot. He could probably take down at least three of the Parents before they realized what was happening. Curse Oceanshade for not removing his collar. He could kill the lot with a single shadow hex. His eyes darted to Jenzara’s, looking for the same understanding they’d shared at the Crossing. But she only gave a barely noticeable shake of her head.

  “Liessss!” Shinzar screamed, taking his hands from his head. He drew the mace from his belt, jabbing his free hand at Jenzara. His eyes were mad, bugging and rage filled. Valdin’s enchantment degrading his mind.

  “You will die with the rest, girl. The Grand Father isn’t here to protect you now. He won’t question it if I tell him you tried to flee and we had to strike you down.”

  “Sir,” one of the other Parents said. “Are you sure that’s—”

  “Silence!” Shinzar spun, burying his mace in the speaker’s chest. The man’s brow furrowed, confusion shading his features. Then he spluttered, coughing blood into Shinzar’s face. The Priest didn’t even flinch.

  “I speak for the Grand Father, and by proxy, for Tragnè herself. You dare question me?”

  The man couldn’t answer, of course, and before long slumped over, tearing free of the mace’s tines. He collapsed to the ground, gave a final gurgle from deep in his chest, then lay still. Shinzar looked to each of the other Parents in turn, the blood of their now-dead comrade splattered across his face.

  “Take them to the nave. All of them.” He turned his bloody visage back to Jenzara, giving her a crazed smile. “Including Raldon’s tramp daughter.”

  Several of the Parents stepped forward to carry out the command. Ferrin could wait no longer. He reached out to the torches, drawing power from their flames. The birdsong of his Focus flowed through him as he narrowed his sight at the advancing Parents and unleashed his burning fury.

  “Ferrin, no!” Bladesorrow shouted. He barely heard, too wrapped in the power of the elemental channel.

  It was impossible to say which of the Parents did it. But just as he released his hex, a wall of flame rose before him. It absorbed the flames of his channel. The wall seemed to swell for a moment, flames dancing above all their heads, licking the tunnel’s ceiling. Then it regurgitated the hex. He had no time to react as it slammed into him. Much of the power crashed into the collar about his neck and he was enveloped in a white-hot flash of blinding agony as the metal heated like steel in a forge. He screamed and for a time remembered no more.

  FERRIN BLINKED AWAKE, then wished he hadn’t. His neck was throbbing, as if wreathed in flame. His hands were bound behind his back and he was kneeling on a mosaic tile floor. It was far cleaner than any surface upon which people walked ought to be. Immaculate. Each tile bore a different symbol: Tragnè’s sun, the Grand Father’s staff, Ral’s Obelisk. An elemental shrine burbled nearby, just out of his vision. He could smell the fragrant flowers growing from it, mingled with the sickening char of the dead skin at his neck. The room was illuminated by a multitude of torches, causing shadows to dance off the tiles. And the figures about him.

  He tried to shift his weight and realized a pair of hands were firmly planted on his shoulders, holding him in place. He tried to look around and nearly screamed. It felt as if his flesh was ripping from his bones. He could almost hear the skin peeling. So he remained still and settled for his periphery view. Bladesorrow was kneeling to his left; Jenzara to his right. Another form he assumed was Oceanshade was on his knees on the other side of Jenzara.

  “Welcome,” proclaimed Shinzar from somewhere behind him, voice bouncing off the high ceiling. “You should all be honored, being admitted to the Temple nave. Generally only Parents are permitted within these walls. But there is precedent for conducting the executions of enemies of the state here. Laid bare to Her Lady’s judgment.”

  Hot anger welled up in Ferrin at the crazed arrogance in the man’s voice. Whether it was the fanaticism of his beliefs or the warping effect of Valdin’s enchantment didn’t matter. The man intended murder. Perhaps if it had been only his own death the man sought, he could accept it. But Shinzar intended harm to Jenzara as well. He tried to turn towards the sound of Shinzar’s voice and nearly passed out from the pain. But through the haze of red that threatened to rob him of consciousness, he realized something. The iron collar was no longer about his neck. He reached out to the shadows of the room, testing to be sure his ability had returned.

  Something slammed into the side of his head with such force that it sent him toppling to the side, nearly into Jenzara. Now his vision darkened, ears ringing as if a Ral Mok sentinel had blasted the morning horn directly into them. He tried to right himself, but another blow came down, this one on his shoulder, forcing a cry of pain from his lips. Staying down seemed the prudent course of action after that.

  “Stop that!” screamed Jenzara next to him.

  Shinzar stepped into his view. From his prone position Ferrin had to tilt his eyes up to see the man. The Priest hefted a spear nearly the height of a man. The point glowed with elemental power, one of its edges serrated like a wolf’s fangs. Through the haze of pain, Ferrin vaguely remembered tales of the ceremonial weapon, used for executing those convicted of high treason. Apparently Shinzar now considered the conviction requirement as optional.

  “Please don’t insult us like that, young Ferrin.” Shinzar’s voice was sickly sweet, like frosting on a moldy cake. The dried blood of the Parent he’d killed in the tunnels still streaked his face, turning to crust in his short beard. “The Grand Father insisted that he kill you himself, otherwise we’d have let you roast in that collar. But our sniffers will alert us if you so much as think of channeling the shadow. And if I deem you too great a threat, the Grand Father will just have to be satisfied with your corpse being delivered to him in a bag.”

  “Let the boy be,” Bladesorrow said from off to Ferrin’s left. The Grand Master’s voice was unconscionably steady. “You know he’s done nothing wrong.”

  Shinzar flew at the Grand Master, grabbing him by the collar that still hung about his neck. “Done nothing wrong? His very birth was a wrong. Hiding his attunement in violation of the Edicts. Wrong. And he’s a murderer. Parents have died at his hands. A traitor following in your footsteps, Betrayer.”

  The two men locked eyes for a time, neither speaking further. Ferrin managed to resume a kneeling position and was immediately grabbed from behind and held in place. A ring on one of his captor’s fingers named him a Parent.

  Finally, Shinzar gave Bladesorrow a shake and released him, breaking contact with the man’s dark eyes. Two Parents standing behind Bladesorrow resumed their grasp on his shoulders.

  “Enough of this,” Shinzar said. “Her Lady’s will must be done, and you are all guilty. The only question remaining is the order in which to carry out her justice.”

  He began to circle them, breathing through his nose. At random intervals he would twist his neck to one side or the other, resulting in an audible pop. Each time it sent an arrow of dread into Ferrin’s heart. There had to be something they could do. He glanced over to Bladesorrow. The man’s eyes were shut and he seemed to be muttering to himself. No help. With effort, he willed his agonized neck to turn to Jenzara. She was tight lipped and pale. Torch light reflected off her violet eyes and their gazes met. There was an unspoken apology in her features. He wanted nothing more than to just squeeze her hand, assure her it would be alright, even if it was only a comforting lie.

  Shinzar continued to circle them. Ferrin had never imagined that the man not speaking could be worse than his infuriating words. But this silence surely was. It dragged on, his steps echoing, reverberating off the chamber’s tall ceilings like moans of the condemned. The only other sounds were their own anxious breathing and the babble of the elemental shrine. The unrelenting lapping of the water only added to the tension. Ferrin’s heart felt like it might climb up his throat and fly from his mouth, his stomach right behind it
.

  Shinzar stopped.

  “Oceanshade. The Temple had such high hopes for you. After the political support you gave us following Bladesorrow’s treason, and your assistance in the camps. A pity, really, that it’s come to this.”

  Ferrin heard Shinzar adjust his grip on the spear.

  “Please,” Jenzara said, quiet pleading in her tone. “You don’t need to do this.”

  “Hold his head,” Shinzar said to a Parent outside Ferrin’s view.

  “Please,” Jenzara whispered again. “He’s only here because I asked him.”

  “It’s alright, Lady Jenzara,” Oceanshade said. “Dying in the Grand Master’s service is a far better fate than I’d imagined for myself in a long while. I only wish I could have—”

  A sickening squelch echoed off the high ceiling and Oceanshade’s words were overcome by a choked burble. His figure collapsed into Ferrin’s view. A bloody hole was all that remained of his throat. His single eye was still open, dancing about, pleading for relief. He let out rasping gargle after rasping gargle, beginning to convulse. Blood pooled around him and his face began to smack into it with wet slaps as he continued to spasm. Shinzar bent over him, wiped the spear’s head on the man’s tunic, and returned to his pacing before Oceanshade had even stopped twitching. Jenzara began taking deep breaths, likely trying to keep from screaming at the scene. That was certainly Ferrin’s inclination as he watched the last glimmers of life drain from Oceanshade’s eye.

  “Cease this madness, Shinzar,” Bladesorrow grated. “I’m the one you’ve issue with. Let Ferrin and Jenzara go. They’re innocents.”

  Shinzar stopped before Bladesorrow and for a moment Ferrin thought he meant to end the man without further pretense.

  “You just don’t understand, do you, Taul?” He spat the man’s first name like a curse. “Even before you revealed your true nature, even before that awful day the Symposium voted to name you of all people Grand Master Keeper, you never did understand the true way of things. Their crimes are irrelevant. They’ve chosen to associate with you. An enemy of the state and, more importantly, an enemy of the Temple. Of the Lady Herself. Even if they were innocent of all else, their presence in your company is enough to condemn them. You are a plague to all those you touch.”

  Bladesorrow set his jaw, staring straight forward. But there was pain at the edges of his eyes. As if he believed at least some of Shinzar’s words.

  The Priest began his circling once more, cracking his neck and breathing heavy, like a bull ready for the yoke.

  “It’s going to be alright,” Ferrin said, looking to Jenzara. She actually had the courage to give him a small smile. How he wanted to hold her in that moment.

  Shinzar stopped before him, fingers twitching around the haft of his weapon. Ferrin drew himself up to full height. At least, as tall as he could make himself while on his knees. He met Shinzar’s eyes and choked down the terror in his stomach. If he was going to die, he wouldn’t give the Priest the satisfaction of his fear. The Priest wore a look of satisfaction.

  “Boy. You’re quite taken with Raldon’s daughter here, are you not?” His smile would have made a lion cry, boring straight through Ferrin, as if someone had ripped out his heart and replaced it with a yawning hole. A fall that wouldn’t end. All thought of courage in the face of death left him.

  “You’ll do nothing to her,” Ferrin said, so angry he could barely form the words. Rage overrode pain as he craned his neck to look into Shinzar’s face. His smile only grew. The torchlight made it seem as if his teeth were bleeding, the gored fangs of a feral animal.

  “Helplessness is the worst of emotions, is it not?” Shinzar moved to stand behind him, then bent to whisper in his ear.

  “She is lovely, isn’t she? Too bad this is how she chose to repay the Grand Father’s leniency. You need look no further than that corpse before you to see the cost of betraying his trust.”

  “No, no, no,” Ferrin shouted, looking desperately to Bladesorrow. Two Parents held him in a kneeling position. One was digging a boot into the back of one of his calves. His expression was bleak.

  “You monsters,” Ferrin yelled at the Parents holding him. “I know you’ve got it out for the shadow. But she’s not shadow attuned. How can you let him do this?”

  The men didn’t even flinch.

  “Come now, my boy,” Shinzar scolded. “Desperation hardly suits you. Where is that petulance you offered me back at Ral Mok?”

  Ferrin clenched his eyes shut, mind racing. He struggled under the grasp of the Parent who held his own shoulders, but his physical energy was spent. There had to be a way out. He loved her. They couldn’t take Jenzara away. There had to be something. His breaths had turned to stunted blurts, each one a fresh agony through his shoulder and neck.

  “Stop this, Shinzar.” Jenzara’s voice was low and level, carrying with it the solemn command of her father. For just a moment, the sound of it soothed even Ferrin’s obliterated nerves.

  “If you mean to kill me at least have the decency to do it without your childish taunts.”

  The Priest’s steps scraped away from Ferrin towards Jenzara. His mind screamed for an option. Anything.

  “It really is a pity, my lady. Both your mother and father had such great potential. But like so many others they made the mistake of opposing the Temple. It must run in the family.”

  “They were stronger than I,” she said, almost entirely masking the quiver in her tone. “I’m just thankful I was able to live up to their example in the end.”

  “A poor precedent to set for their daughter, I’d say,” Shinzar scoffed. “Your mother died as easily as any Commoner at the Grand Father’s hands. And Raldon? He might as well have died with her, fool that he was supporting Bladesorrow even after Riverdale. He accused the Grand Father of being a traitor during an open Senate session, did you know that? He could have stayed here, serving the Lady’s will. Instead, he forced the Senate to strip him of his titles and banish him to Ral Mok.”

  “He spoke the truth. And they both had honor, unlike you,” Jenzara said, anger overcoming the tremor in her voice.

  “Honor is worth little when you’re dead, Lady Jenzara.”

  Shinzar moved up behind her and raised his spear.

  No. This couldn’t be happening. He’d just gotten her back. Out of options, Ferrin reached out wildly to every source of elemental power he could find.

  “STOP,” he screamed.

  But it was too late. Shinzar’s spear shot forward, taking Jenzara in the back. Through the heart. Her back arched.

  Then time stopped.

  All stood still.

  52

  Devan

  The Sixth Lesson’s prohibition against crossing one’s own timeline also bars third parties from assisting another in doing so. Consider the consequences if one’s past self was told of something they’d do in the future and tried to stop it. The outcome would be little better than a paradox.

  -Excerpt from Stephan Falconwing’s Commentaries on The Lessons

  HE SLUMPED IN HIS ARMCHAIR, head in hands, surrounded by the mess of tomes and half-burned candles he’d left before going to the trial. The tattered barrister’s wig still sat upon his head, scratching at his scalp, adding to his misery. His eyes ached. He wiped at his nose.

  He hadn’t thought that even Val could stoop to the depths he’d just witnessed. But there it’d been, plain as the sun in Tragnè’s sigil. Val had been the one who stabbed the Grand Master Keeper with the shadow heart, foul object of the Elsewhere. And Val had infused the shadow heart with four of the five elements. Then the Lesser Terror had finished the job, supplying the shadow. The precise process Stephan had described to him so long ago. The process for bringing them back.

  It made Devan lightheaded to even think it. But there was no denying it. Not after what he’d seen at Ral Falar.

  Up to this point, it seemed only the Seven’s greed had saved the Path. That was the only explanation he could think of for why
they’d chosen Bladesorrow when they could have had Val turn literally anyone into their host. They’d hoped to return from the Elsewhere and bring down the Path, all in one fell, diabolical swoop. Kill Bladesorrow, inhabit his body, prevent the Path from self-correcting, then return.

  Devan gave a hoarse chuckle, no mirth in it. The Seven hadn’t bargained on Val failing to kill him, nor the paradox he’d caused by saving Bladesorrow from death. Still, the Seven had achieved much of what they’d desired. The Path was dying. And they could speak through the Andstaed, even act through it, as his visit to Ral Falar had made all too plain. But their power was contained to Ral Falar. Whatever process Stephan had created that allowed for their return had been hampered by the paradox. Left incomplete. They didn’t have full control of their host, and never would unless the Grand Master Keeper died.

  He had to get Bladesorrow to the North as quickly as possible, end this threat. No more fiddling about in Tragnè. The man’s insistence on rescuing the girl would have to move to the back of the wagon.

  But Devan also could no longer justify allowing Val to run free. Not after what Bladesorrow’s testimony had shown. His surprise appearance at the trial and Val’s shock had held some small satisfaction, juvenile as it may have been. But he’d put off their true confrontation long enough.

  Devan shut his eyes, then inwardly opened them upon his vision of the Path. Now that he knew Val’s approximate location, he wouldn’t be hard to find. He was the most powerful elementalist in a thousand leagues (and likely in all of the Seven Realms).

  From atop the mountains, he surveyed. It was worse every time he looked. Dozens of little rivulets now snaked off the Path, flame shot through the ground like geysers. Even parts of the river itself were somehow aflame. The Path was consuming itself. But amongst the chaos, Val still stood out, his power a beacon on a dreary night. Devan reached out to the spot, embracing all five elements, and peregrinated.