Bladesorrow (The Agarsfar Saga Book 1)

by D. T. Kane

“Are you ready?”

  Bladesorrow gave a slight frown, though his countenance quickly returned to its typically implacable slate. He could have been carved from granite.

  “Ready to either kill myself or be killed by myself?” He paused, seeming to realize how ridiculous that sounded. “I’ll do what must be done.”

  Devan clapped him on the back, a smile breaching his face. He turned to Ferrin. “That was quite the earth channel earlier, my lad.”

  Ferrin narrowed his eyes, angry that he felt a surge of pride.

  “I don’t want your flattery, Angel. We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t betrayed Ral Mok to Valdin in the first place.”

  “That’s enough, Ferrin,” Bladesorrow said. “We’re all here for the same purpose, if not the same reasons. Keep that in your mind.”

  Ferrin wanted to snap a retort back, but the quiet confidence in Bladesorrow’s voice restrained him. The Grand Master had made a mess of things, for both Ferrin personally and the whole country. But now he sought to atone. What was more, his desire to help Jenzara seemed genuine, as if he truly cared what happened to her. That, at least, they could agree on.

  “Let’s go,” Ferrin finally said.

  Devan gave them each a final apprising look, arrogant self-confidence flowing from him as always. Then he turned to face the arched entrance to the central tower. The keystone was fashioned in the likeness of a soaring bird, wings wide, talons bared. The Angel’s shoulders rose, then dropped, and he strode forward, into the tower. Ferrin followed him, striding alongside Bladesorrow. The darkness within enveloped them like they’d stepped into the Elsewhere itself.

  DESPITE THE LARGE ENTRYWAY, the outside light didn’t spill into the tower, seemingly refracted by whatever evil lay within. Ferrin peered about. He could see nothing save for a set of stairs several paces before them, climbing upwards into the dark as far as he could see. Though Nellis and the remaining Northerners were still only paces away, he could hear nothing. The silence was so oppressive he was afraid to speak, nearly afraid to draw breath. He jumped when Bladesorrow murmured for the Angel to proceed. The pair exchanged nods before Devan moved forward, beginning his ascent. Bladesorrow followed, Ferrin close behind him.

  He liked to think himself relatively fit, but by the twelfth flight of stairs he was panting. He noted with a juvenile satisfaction that Bladesorrow was also breathing hard, though Devan, Terrors take him, might as well have been strolling through the Blissful Glades, his breaths even as ever.

  Soon, however, Ferrin had far more to worry over than his companions’ breathing. The further they ascended, the fewer railings there were. The patchwork of stairs seemed to crisscross about the Tower at random. Sheer drops into its yawning emptiness awaited to reward a single misstep. At one point they climbed a flight that had no supports on either side. Ferrin had to stick his arms out for balance and shout in his head not to look down. And more than once he would have sworn he heard mutterings coming from beyond the stairs’ edge, willing that he follow them to his doom.

  “Ignore the voices, lad,” Devan said in a low tone, not turning to look at him. “It’s just Stephan’s rift playing tricks. Nothing works quite right this close to it. Note for instance, the conspicuous lack of an echo.”

  Devan paused and stamped a foot down on the stair before him. The sound reverberated not at all despite the vastness about them. Bladesorrow gave a disconcerted growl. The Angel smiled.

  “We’ve also climbed this same set of stairs seven times now,” Devan continued. “See our footprints up ahead?”

  Ferrin glanced around. The imprints of their prior passing were clear in the dust.

  “You’re leading us in circles?”

  The Angel shook his head. “Certainly not. It might be the same set of stairs, but that doesn’t mean it leads to the same place each time we climb it. As I said, nothing works quite right here. I’m leading according to my sense of the Path, not physical laws. I’ve had my eyes closed most of the time since we entered.”

  Bladesorrow made that sound of incredulity he so often made in the back of his throat. Ferrin unconsciously opened his eyes even wider, as if that would somehow compensate for the Angel’s madness.

  “It was the perfect place to hide the Andstaed, really,” Devan went on as he resumed the ascent. “No Linear could ever hope to find his way to the top. It’s amazing that Val was able to, given his disability.”

  The Angel almost sounded regretful at mention of the man who was trying to kill them all. Then he reverted back to silence. Ordinarily, this would have been welcome. Yet this time Ferrin found himself wishing Devan would continue his banter. The Angel’s silence was as unnatural as their surroundings.

  The higher they went, the thicker the lump in Ferrin’s throat became. An incessant pounding began over his left eye. His innards twisted with the uncertainty of what awaited them.

  Up and up. Then up some more. The voices continued to whisper; the sound of their footsteps continued to die on arrival, swallowed by the dark. Ferrin found himself wanting to shout out just to make sure he still lived.

  Finally, after what could have been hours, but possibly only minutes, they reached yet another landing. Devan turned left and led them up a short set of stairs. Then there was light spilling from a window above them onto a set of double doors. This ought to have been a relief, but the first thought it brought to mind was that, despite all the windows he’d seen on the outside of the tower, this was the first one he’d seen within. Ferrin’s stomach sickened even further. The Quintile senses to which the Angel had introduced him were spinning and he had to place a hand upon the wall to keep himself upright.

  As he tried to control the madness in his mind, he realized the stained glass set into the windows depicted scenes. One showed a man in multi-colored robes handing a small child to another man, the latter standing before a village gate. Another showed a young man reaching across a gaping chasm, crying into the night. A third showed...

  Fear washed over him like a bath of ice. The third depicted a woman with purple eyes on her knees, a man clothed all in white thrusting a spear through her chest.

  Ferrin turned away from the image, barely containing terrified spasms from overtaking his muscles. He looked for anything to take his mind away from the implications of what the window showed.

  His eyes landed on Bladesorrow, who had approached the doors at the landing’s far end. The man was running his hands over their bronzed handles, carved to resemble bellowing panthers. Or were they lions? As Ferrin stared at them, he heard a roaring echo in his head. It must have been coming from the mounts outside. Right? He hurried to stand beside the Grand Master.

  “I have seen these doors before,” Bladesorrow murmured. Devan placed a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder, then turned to Ferrin.

  “Remember what I told you of these.” Devan poked at his father’s necklace.

  Ferrin only nodded, mind still numb from what he’d seen in the stained glass.

  “Good,” Devan said. “And both of you remember the plan. Herd the Andstaed towards the Grand Master Keeper. Whatever you do, don’t kill it. You might as well slit your wrists here and now if you do that.”

  Devan paused, as if remembering back to some past event. “And don’t let its words distract you. It—they—may try to invade your minds. Messorem and the rest of the Seven will seek to drown you in hopelessness. Don’t let them.”

  “Yes, yes,” Ferrin muttered, finally having regained some semblance of composure from the horror that had filled him. They’d gone over this at least half-a-dozen times already, though he still couldn’t fathom the idea of one being speaking with the voices of seven people, much less who the speakers would be.

  “There’s much riding on what we do beyond these doors,” Bladesorrow said, eyes not leaving the sculpted handles. “The Angel is right to be certain we know what to do.”

  There was just the slightest quaver in Bladesorrow’s voice. Ferrin’s stomach twisted as if he�
�d never eat again. Were they really about to step into a room occupied by the Seven? The monsters of children’s bedtime stories? He grasped his father’s necklace for luck, imagining himself victorious in combat, a shining blade in hand.

  He yelped in pain as a confused shock of power surged into his hand.

  Devan flinched as if punched in the gut.

  “What was that, lad?”

  Ferrin shook his hand. There was a bloody line across his palm where he’d grasped the necklace.

  “Nothing,” he replied. The lie was doubtless obvious in his tone, but Devan was focused on the double doors before them and seemed to have already forgotten his outcry.

  “I can feel it,” Bladesorrow said, an odd edge to his tone, as if half asleep. “Striding about. Blade drawn. My blade.” His eyes were shut, shoulders quivering. “It’s like I’m in two places at once.”

  Flaming fury, Ferrin thought, the pain in his hand forgotten. Was the man going to fail them again?

  “Steady, Grand Master,” Devan said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “All you have to do is touch it and this will all be over. And though my connection with the Path continues to falter in this place, I do see bits and silvs of the future. There is light there. We shall succeed.”

  Ferrin suspected that was a bald lie, but realized he didn’t want to know. He remained silent.

  Bladesorrow opened his eyes and nodded. He exhaled, drew his blade.

  “I’m ready.”

  The Angel didn’t wait. He clapped Bladesorrow on the back, then in one motion threw the double doors open with both hands and strode forward.

  The chamber beyond seemed impossibly long judging by the circumference of the tower as viewed from outside. Pairs of columns stretched into the darkness, torches hanging from each glowed a dim purple. They did little to reveal the depths of the immense hall, and the silence that pervaded the rest of the spire was even worse here. Perhaps it would be nice to just sit down for a while and let the Angel take care of things on his own. Ferrin’s knees began to buckle.

  He shook his head, reaching out to steady himself on the doorframe, realizing his eyes had gone out of focus. There was a familiar tugging at his mind, similar to what he’d experienced that night at the waytower, facing the Lesser Terror. It wasn’t as strong, but still seductive enough that he hadn’t immediately realized what was happening. Whatever was in the chamber, it wasn’t of this world. Or of the Path, as the Angel would have said.

  He glanced at Bladesorrow, who seemed to be fighting a similar internal battle. The man returned Ferrin’s look.

  “Remember what you saw in my testimony, boy. That monster is what awaits beyond the seductive whispers of the Elsewhere’s darkness. Succumbing to it will only spell doom for us, and perhaps all the Path. Including Jenzara. Steel yourself.” To emphasize the admonition, Bladesorrow lifted his sword, causing its elemental hues to glint off his dark eyes.

  Ferrin set his jaw. That might well have been subtle manipulation, but that didn’t keep it from being true. Whatever lay beyond these doors, he wouldn’t let it keep him from saving Jenzara.

  The Angel had not slowed his pace and was already well into the room before Ferrin and Bladesorrow followed. Ferrin drew his own weapon as he hurried after Devan. The sound it made upon exiting the scabbard was a small victory, beating back the oppressive silence, the elemental steel giving off an amber hue. Together with Bladesorrow, they lit the way forward. The carpet underfoot was plush, a deep red, and seemed entirely out of place with the otherwise bowel-constricting darkness about them. The air of the room tasted old and spoiled, as if passed through the lungs of too many dead men.

  A dais appeared ahead of them. Ferrin was certain it hadn’t been there a moment before. Atop it sat a high-backed stone seat. A terrible throne. His sword hand shook as he realized the chair was carved in the likeness of a Terror.

  It was empty.

  Devan stomped right up onto the dais, Bladesorrow pausing at its base. The Angel looked from side to side, then made as if to proceed to the rear of the platform. He stopped in midstep, recoiled, and spun to face them.

  “Messorem,” Devan called out, an uncharacteristic timbre of authority coloring his typically flippant demeanor. The name hit Ferrin’s ears like a curse, worming through his mind like an infection.

  “This is bad,” the Angel said after a minute. Ferrin’s chest tightened at the absence of any hint of sarcasm in the statement.

  “What’s wrong?” he said, hoping the panic he felt didn’t come through in his voice.

  “The Andstaed,” Bladesorrow replied. “The Seven’s host. It isn’t here.”

  “If it’s not here,” Devan said, words trailing off. Ferrin couldn’t see his face, but he knew it had gone pale all the same.

  “Ruts in a muddy path. It can move further from the rift than I thought. Which means—”

  The Angel was cut off by a booming cackle. An all-too familiar voice.

  “It means, old friend, that Messorem is down below with your allies.” The voice rang with mania. “It’s quite the spectacle, rest assured.”

  A door’s hinges creaked open somewhere to the right and the vast hall was flooded with blinding light. Ferrin flinched back, raising a forearm to the assault on his vision. A doorway leading out to the balcony he’d observed from the ground gaped open. Framed in the agonizing glare stood a man holding a torch of mortal flame.

  The hairs on Ferrin’s arms rose. He thought it merely a reaction to the realization of who the man was. Too late he sensed the hex flying towards him like a comet across the night sky.

  Bladesorrow slammed into him, sending him staggering, then sprawling a dozen paces away. The hex crashed into the Grand Master’s chest. But rather than incinerate him, it deflected away into a pillar. The support collapsed into rubble. Bladesorrow grunted and took half a step back, but seemed otherwise unharmed. In that instant, Ferrin saw the man as he had been, a lone figure standing without fear before the terrible might of a Lesser Terror on the Unity Bridge, fifteen years prior.

  The figure who’d channeled the hex moved forward out of the glare. He strode with a heavy limp, one leg dragging behind the other. His white robes were wrinkled and sullied, any color that had once remained in his hair now gone. White strands hung askew all about his face, the left side of which drooped like he’d suffered a brain bleed. The eye lolled and seemed to move independent of the other.

  “This is a first,” Valdin shrilled, as if some madness had gripped him. “The great Devan. The Conclave’s Virtuo Timi. Speechless.”

  The Angel’s face showed a dismayed grimace. He flexed his fingers, the chained rings upon them singing tragedies.

  “Your presence here is impossible.”

  “And yet, here I am.” Valdin ran a hand before himself in mock presentment. “So kind of you to peregrinate so near me.”

  Devan’s grimace deepened, as if he caught some hidden meaning in Valdin’s words. The pair locked eyes in a battle of wills no less violent than if they’d drawn swords. Then, without taking his eyes off Devan, Valdin lobbed another hex at Ferrin. This time he was prepared, deflecting it, though his shield was shaky. The Angel had only just taught him the skill. It left his hands buzzing, as if he’d swung his sword into a brick wall.

  “So Devan has begun to teach you,” Valdin sneered. “No matter, you won’t be able to withstand many more of those.” As he spoke, Valdin turned his back to them and touched the torch to draperies that hung beside the doors he’d thrown open. They erupted into billows of orange flame, casting his deformed face in bloody shadows.

  “Val,” Devan whispered. “What have they done to you?”

  He spun back towards them. “They?” He spat. “Say it Devan. Name them.”

  Devan’s face hardened and he took several steps forward, placing himself between Bladesorrow and the crazed man.

  “The Seven,” he grated out, as if each letter of the word caused him great pain. “Surely you can see they use yo
u? That you’re just a pawn to them?”

  Valdin’s grotesque scowl wavered for a moment. He put a hand to his head, as if in pain. But the crazed anger quickly returned to his eyes, his words piercing the air like knives into flesh.

  “Just as you were a tool at Stephan’s disposal, yes? We’re all being used by someone. You’re more of a blind fool than I thought if you haven’t realized that by now.”

  “You’re the one blinded, Val,” Devan replied, seeming on the brink of an enraged outburst of his own. “By grief. By hate. But battling injustice with even greater injustice won’t heal you. Your acts lack the very empathy you begged of the others.” Devan’s words were bitter. The now raging flames reflected off his eyes. They glistened with tears.

  “She was my friend too,” the Angel went on. “My student. The first Quintis in a generation that showed true promise, destined to be an Aldur of unmatched strength. And above all, my best friend’s companion.”

  The ensuing silence between them roared louder than the fiercest of storms. Valdin’s expression was hard to make out through the desolation of his face, but Ferrin thought it held more pain than could be explained just by the deformities.

  “Perhaps it’s not too late for you,” Devan entreated, almost in a whisper. “Cease this madness. I’ll protect you from the Seven.”

  For just a moment Valdin’s face softened, hand returning to an unseen pain in his head. But then his lips curled and he snarled. “I don’t need your protection. And if you think I could just walk away from the Seven now that we’re this close to the rift you’ve not the faintest idea of their power.”

  The sound of screams and worse began to stream into the chamber from down below. Devan glanced over Valdin’s shoulder, face pained.

  “Unleashing that on the Path is not going to bring her back,” the Angel said.

  Valdin’s eyes seemed ready to pop from his skull, so enraged was the look he cast upon Devan. He looked a demon, shrouded in the smoke and flame of the inferno at his back.

  “You’re wrong,” he raved. “This will work. The Path as we know it will collapse, bringing an unknown future. And then I’ll go back and save her. My beloved. My world.”