Bladesorrow (The Agarsfar Saga Book 1)

by D. T. Kane

  Devan ran a hand over his scalp. Stephan knew he’d had similar thoughts before.

  “That’s the Aldur’s great burden. At times the potential for our power to be boundless seems agonizingly near. But that’s just not the truth of it; ultimately it can only be wielded for the greater good of the Path as a whole. It won’t entertain individual whims. If you try, the Path will just correct itself. That’s why I can’t stand the name you Linears have for us. Angels. It implies that we’re gods. We’ve great power, yes. But there are rules by which even the Aldur must play. Rules you’ve no way of yet understanding.”

  “I understand enough to know the rules have been broken before,” Ferrin retorted. “I’ve read The Lessons, and Bladesorrow told us of the ones you call the Seven. They used their power for personal gain and it sounds like they got along just fine until the rest of your people interfered.”

  Devan’s face darkened. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have said the boy had been speaking to Val. “You don’t know what you say, lad. The Seven nearly brought the Path crashing down on all of us. Their selfishness remains a threat to this day. More dire than you know.”

  “Enough! I’m no Aldur. No Time Smith. I don’t have to play by the same rules as you.” The boy quaked under the strain. He wouldn’t be able to hold all the elemental threads much longer. This struggle would soon become moot.

  Then the ground began to rumble and Devan had to fall to one knee for balance. Ferrin was stooped forward, as if shoving his weight against a shut door. Except there was nothing before him; he was leaning against empty air. Against time itself.

  Devan was too surprised to say anything as he watched Shinzar’s thrust slowly reverse course, the spray of blood from the girl’s chest retracting back into her. The Path was crying out, its consternation ringing through Devan’s head like an untuned lute.

  This couldn’t be. The lad didn’t even know what he was doing; had just discovered he had even the potential to become an Aldur. And yet here he was, winding back time like raising a drawbridge. Devan wasn’t sure even he could perform what he was witnessing the lad do.

  As soon as Shinzar’s thrust had fully cleared Jenzara’s back, the lad threw his full weight into her, throwing them both to the floor. At that, Devan felt the boy release all the power he’d been holding.

  Time resumed as normal. Shinzar thrust forward (again), this time meeting nothing but air. He grunted in surprise and tripped forward, catching his balance on the end of the spear that he’d meant to be (had been) the girl’s doom. He spun to look upon Ferrin and Jenzara. The lad was gasping, curled in a ball; the girl in a state of bewildered relief. But even as Devan watched her, she willed herself back to her knees, giving the Priest a challenging stare. Path be true, she had so much of her father in her.

  “What?... How?” Shinzar spluttered.

  At that instant, the doors to the nave flew open. Val stood there, almost doubled over, panting. But his eyes surveyed the room like a fox, taking in the scene. His eyes fell to Devan, then to Bladesorrow, and finally over to Shinzar, where he had once more leveled the spear at the girl.

  “You shall not evade Her Lady’s justice!” the man shrieked, raising the spear. The crazed cast to his eyes left little doubt in Devan’s mind that he’d been driven mad by Val’s enchanting.

  “No!”

  For a moment Devan thought the cry had come from Ferrin. But the lad was still doubled over with the pain exacted by the effort of altering time. Devan realized it’d actually come from the doorway.

  Val channeled, a lance of flame flying from his hand, slicing not into Bladesorrow or Ferrin, but Shinzar. The hex took Shinzar square in the chest, throwing him from his feet and sending him sliding across the floor. His robes erupted into flame. The man’s screams echoed off towering ceilings, but were mercifully brief. The power of Val’s channel reduced him to little more than ash in the span of mere seconds. For some time, the only sounds were Val’s continued panting and groans of pain coming from Ferrin, writhing beside Jenzara.

  “Grand Father?” one of the Parents still holding Bladesorrow queried.

  “Stay where you are,” Val said, moving further into the room. “This isn’t over, Devan.”

  “Yes it is, Valdin.” Bladesorrow’s voice rang out with the authority of a leader of the Symposium. “Admit your defeat. All this death must cease.”

  “There’s no need for you to murder even more people,” Jenzara added.

  Val laughed, the sound holding more than a little of the madness that had been in Shinzar’s voice. Devan reached out to the elements, readying himself for Val’s next move. Val turned to the girl.

  “We’re all murderers, my lady. Your friend there, young Ferrin, has killed at least half-a-dozen Parents. And how many men do you think Bladesorrow has killed over the years?”

  “I’m no murderer,” Jenzara said, eyes shooting arrows.

  “Tell that to the family of the guard we found at the camp entrance in the Symposium. And the one you tied up inside? How do you think he fared once you left him to the whims of all those shadow attuned that he’d harassed for years?”

  Jenzara swallowed, though her stare remained hard.

  “And what about the fifths you unleashed on the Temple? A distraction, I believe you asked them to create? Well, they’ve been dealt with, all dead. And they took a few Parents with them as well. More bodies. Death begets more death. Blood on all our hands, even yours.”

  Jenzara made a sound of consternation at the back of her throat.

  “They didn’t die at my hands,” she said.

  Val scoffed. “If hiding behind the acts of others makes you feel better, Lady Jenzara, then by all means. But make no mistake, others have died as a direct result of your actions.”

  Jenzara finally dropped her glare, dismay painting her face.

  “Enough of this, Valdin,” Bladesorrow cut in. “You’re the only murderer here. Stop spinning your webs.”

  Val turned back to Bladesorrow. Devan moved closer to him.

  “You ally yourself with Devan and speak to me of murders, Bladesorrow? After what he did to my beloved?”

  Bladesorrow furrowed his brow.

  “What does he mean, Angel?”

  Devan swallowed. He considered defending himself, but anything he could say would sound heartless. Depraved. A Linear could not understand the necessity of what he’d done.

  Val laughed again.

  “You all act as if I’m the only one here who’s willing to do whatever it takes to achieve my aims. Yet you Linears don’t have a clue about what your precious Devan has done.” Val turned burning eyes on him. “Have you told them of the note? Or did you hide that as well?”

  Devan grimaced as Val retrieved and unfolded a worn parchment from his robes, then began reading.

  “The Master at Elements possesses the answers you seek. All you must do is ask the right questions. Surely you can handle that?” He looked up from the paper, malice in his eyes. “Sound familiar? I knew I recognized the handwriting. Path knows I read enough of your books.”

  Val’s lips twisted into a smile that would have induced maggots to flee in revulsion. “Curious that I received this note the same day Ral Mok’s Master at Elements showed up in Tragnè City, asserting that I had invited him.”

  Devan kept his face blank but swallowed back dismay. He hadn’t thought Val would put that all together.

  “Master at Elements Robertin?” Jenzara said. “But it was you who invited him to Tragnè City.” She looked woozy, but Devan knew even that degree of awareness wouldn’t last long. Not after what had just happened to her.

  Val only shook his head.

  “What is he talking about, Angel?” Bladesorrow said.

  Devan remained silent. He’d done what was necessary, but no one present would wish to hear it.

  “They really don’t know, do they?” Val turned to address the girl. “Devan is the reason I came to Ral Mok. He sent that invitation to your
Master at Elements, knowing he possessed information that would induce me to go there. Then Devan sent me this note.” Val waved the paper in the air. “Encouraging me to question him. My, my.” Val’s eyes widened. “In a way, you could say that it’s Devan who is responsible for Raldon’s death.”

  Jenzara turned a hateful glare upon Devan.

  “You brought this all upon us?” she cried. “My father would still be alive if the Parents hadn’t come to Ral Mok.” She rose, taking several accusatory steps towards him before wobbling, nearly losing her balance.

  Devan shut his eyes. “I had to do something. The Path was going to fall if I didn’t spur the Grand Master to action. I didn’t know Raldon would die.”

  “But you knew of the risk?” demanded Bladesorrow.

  Devan’s eyes flew open. “Of course I knew. Just like you knew there was a chance Riverdale might go completely and utterly wrong. There’s always risk in anything worth doing.”

  Bladesorrow glared at him with his black eyes but offered no response.

  “As much as I’m enjoying this,” Val said, “This must end. The girl can leave unharmed. But Bladesorrow and the boy die here.” Then Val took a deep breath, pitching his voice so only Devan could hear. “But perhaps you are right, Devan. I don’t have to kill you. Let me do what I must, then we can banish the Seven back to the Elsewhere. Together.”

  There was a flash of what Devan could only call hope in Val’s eyes. Devan opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. How he wanted to say yes. Mend over their shattered relationship.

  But not after what Val had done.

  Val saw the answer in his eyes. For a moment, there was the faintest suggestion of anguish in his old friend’s face. But it was gone in an instant. Val’s face hardened, eyes becoming slits. He motioned at the Parents who’d been holding the girl before he’d killed Shinzar.

  “Kill him.”

  Devan released an exasperated breath. “What are you doing, Val? A couple Linears won’t stop me. Don’t condemn them.”

  The Parents charged, eyes glazed with enchantment, heedless of Devan’s words. One carried a short, spiked club; the other spun a ball and chain over his head. Irrelevant, of course. With a jingle of his fingers, Devan flicked his wrist at the closer of the two, mentally picturing a mace of his own. The Parent’s face collapsed with a crunch, crushed like an egg. Gore oozed from the cracks in his skull as his body reeled past Devan, not yet having realized it was dead.

  The other man swung his ball and chain for Devan’s head, but it deflected harmlessly off the shield projected by his other hand’s psychic weapon. Devan swiped his free hand in the direction of the man’s throat. It ripped open, gushing red down the man’s robe, drowning the yellow emblem of Tragnè’s sun. The Parent collapsed, his final breaths coming up as spurting burbles of his own blood.

  Devan turned back to Val, about to ask him once more what the point of that had been. But the smile of triumph on his face held the words in Devan’s throat. His former friend’s eyes flicked to the Grand Master and Devan felt him draw in power, fire from the room’s many torches. The brief battle had accomplished one thing. Val had separated him from Bladesorrow. In a frenzy, Devan reached for all five elements. That same instant, he threw his senses towards the Grand Master, grasping at his very essence. The man vanished a split moment before a ball of fire fell upon him. The two Parents who’d been holding him were vaporized, the heated rush of oxygen from the hex’s impact sending Devan into a backwards stumble.

  Bladesorrow reappeared next to Devan, freed of his chains and collar, which Devan hadn’t included in the peregrination. The man collapsed to his hands and knees, gagging. It’d been a sloppy peregrination; he’d had no time to cushion the man from the sudden jolt of being yanked from place to place. But better he be violently ill than violently dead.

  Val snorted. “You always were the better peregrinator. But a Linear can only take so much of that. Before long, you’ll accomplish the deed for me. Plus,” his eyes danced over Devan’s shoulder, “It looks like my other Parents are done cleaning up the mess of fifths Lady Jenzara unleashed from the camp.”

  Devan glanced back to see the door at the far end of the nave fly open. White-robed figures began to spill into the room.

  “It’s over Devan. I give you one more chance to—”

  Val’s words were cut off as a shadow hex exploded at his feet, sending him flying back. Despite himself, Devan felt a pang of concern as Val’s unmoving form was lost from sight in a cloud of dust and debris. The lad had risen back to his knees, his glare like daggers at the spot where Val had been.

  But Ferrin’s hex had been ill-controlled, splattered halfway around the room. The Temple shook, cracks surging up the walls like rats scurrying for cover. Bladesorrow, who’d been trying to rise, was thrown back to the ground as a large section of roof fell in. The lad watched in wordless horror as the debris crashed upon Jenzara. When the dust settled, she was utterly lost from view, a pile of collapsed beams and stones in the place she’d been. Devan would have thought it a cruel coincidence if he hadn’t witnessed the Path make such corrections so many times before. It was as he’d tried to tell the lad: Not even an Aldur can rewrite time on a whim.

  “No!” Bladesorrow cried, reaching out to where the girl had been, now just a mass of rubble. The Grand Master tried to resume his feet, grabbing at Devan’s robes for support. But he still hadn’t recovered from the peregrination and slid back to his knees. His face was a gaunt horror, reminding Devan of how he’d felt when he’d walked into the scene of Val’s atrocity at the Conclave. (That projection Val had shown him must have been a lie. Must have been.)

  The Parents came flooding over them. It was time to go. Devan ignored the robed men as they began to pummel at him with fists and kicks. He dodged a mace intended for his head, reaching out for more power, sensing the complex stew of elements that made up Bladesorrow and Ferrin. Then, after hesitating for a moment, he sought out the girl as well. She was doomed, probably already dead. But the boy certainly wouldn’t listen to sense if he left her behind. Nor would the Grand Master Keeper for that matter.

  Once he had a sufficient grasp of the elemental makeup of the three, he let power fill him and thought of where they must go.

  He peregrinated them all.

  53

  Taul

  Before the boy’s untimely death, it is said that Agar spent much of his waking hours training his son in the ways of war and the sword. After the tragedy, he dedicated himself to writing his Authorities, to ensure such knowledge was passed on to future Keepers.

  - From the preface to the Millennial Printing of Tragnè’s Oral Histories, written by Rikar Bladesong

  HE SPAT BILE FROM HIS mouth, wiped flecks of sputum from his beard with a suddenly free hand. A moment before he’d been kneeling, being forced down by two Parents who’d been mercilessly digging their boots into his calves, still trying to process how Ferrin had shoved Jenzara from the path of Shinzar’s impaling blow, and trying to shake the shadow of a thought that was telling him he had seen the man run her through.

  Then the Angel had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, Valdin practically at his heels. And the things the man had said. Devan had orchestrated this whole thing, practically inviting the Grand Father to Ral Mok? Taul supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. He’d always known the Angel would stop at nothing to achieve his aims.

  But those concerns were distant thoughts at this exact moment. Now he was inexplicably down on hands and knees across the room next to the Angel, feeling as if someone had ripped his insides out and reassembled them. Some trickery of Devan’s no doubt, though by the looks of the spot where he’d knelt a moment earlier, it was trickery for which he ought to be grateful. Nothing left but a charred patch of tiled floor; the two men who’d held him reduced to ashy outlines. If he ever stopped gagging perhaps he’d actually thank the Angel. Perhaps.

  Still panting, he managed to push himself to his knees. Dozens of Parents h
ad begun streaming into the chamber, directing angered cries in their direction. Instinctively he reached for his blade, which of course wasn’t there. Frowning, he glanced over to Ferrin and Jenzara. The boy was still trying to prop himself up from where he’d fallen after knocking Jenzara out of the path of Shinzar’s killing blow. Jenzara had regained her feet, but she looked awful. Bags beneath her eyes, face pale. Almost as if Shinzar had struck true. Taul’s head spun as his mind once more jumped to the not-memory of Jenzara writhing at the end of the man’s spear.

  And had he seen the aftermath right? Someone had struck down Shinzar with a fire hex, but he was almost certain it hadn’t been Devan, and Ferrin had been rolling on the floor in agony. That left only Valdin, unlikely as it seemed. But why? After all the killing he’d done, all the lies spun, why did he take an effort to save Jenzara?

  He shook his head, trying to clear the disorientation. There was no time. Neither Ferrin nor Jenzara would be able to defend themselves, and he couldn’t allow himself to die here. Not after what he’d seen since coming to Tragnè. Valdin was speaking now, but he ignored it. The Angel would shield him from whatever the man planned. Taul readied a hex to defend against the oncoming Parents and—

  Valdin was suddenly cutoff midsentence, tossed into the air by an eruption of power all about him. Taul had been halfway to standing up, but the violence of the hex threw him to the ground once more. He gasped as the impact knocked the air from his lungs, then choked on the dust it caused him to inhale. There was a snapping sound from somewhere above, followed by a cacophony of falling debris as a section of the roof collapsed. Somewhere in the back of his mind it registered that whoever had channeled that hex possessed immense power. The Temple had been built by Ral himself and no ordinary channel could bring it down.

  He blinked grime from his eyes, searching for the source of the hex. All he saw was Ferrin, who’d risen to his knees. He was gaping at a mountain of rubble before him. An icy hand grabbed Taul by the heart as he realized why the boy was staring so. That pile of rubble lay where Jenzara had been just moments before.