Bladesorrow (The Agarsfar Saga Book 1) Read online

  Devan returned the Grand Master’s taunt with cold resolve.

  “The Seven.”

  Raldon looked as if he might be ill; little better than the dwarf had appeared upon hearing the news. But the Grand Master Keeper, the only one who mattered, merely scoffed again, eyes turning back to the corn from which he was now stripping kernels.

  “You’re speaking nonsense, Angel. I’m not sure I even believe the Seven ever existed. But if they had, all we know of them comes from your people. Nellis has taught me all there is from The Lessons. The Seven have been locked away in the Elsewhere for longer than anyone knows. How could they be at Ral Falar?”

  “I haven’t a clue,” Devan replied. That wasn’t entirely true, but they didn’t need to know that. Not now. Maybe not ever. He commanded himself to breathe deep, avoid raising his voice. “But as I’ve told you before, the rules of the Path have ceased to operate logically in that place. Ever since Stephan rent time open there.”

  Raldon suddenly exclaimed, almost what sounded a sarcastic exhalation. But when Devan turned a glare upon him, he merely cocked a brow.

  “But I’ve no doubt what I say is true,” Devan continued, turning back to Bladesorrow. “I heard the Andstaed speak in seven voices. I don’t understand how, but the Seven have occupied it.”

  The Grand Master ceased picking at the cob and threw it into the fire, where it crackled like crossbow bolts thunking into wood. He kept his head down, but that didn’t stop Devan from seeing his face go pale.

  “So you’ve seen it too. And heard it. I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve a connection with it, after all.”

  “I’ve had a few dreams. Nothing more.”

  Now it was Devan’s turn to scoff. “Call them what you will, Grand Master. But you’re a smart man. Your dreams match my words perfectly.”

  “And so what if they do?

  “So what?” Devan nearly shouted, his deep breathing forgotten. “Existence itself hangs in the balance, man. We must go to Ral Falar. Face it. Them. Destroy the anti-self. The possessed Andstaed. End this threat.”

  “I’ll do no such thing. You’ve told me what destroying the thing would take. I’d have to kill myself. Contact the anti-self so we’d annihilate. Why would I do such a thing? Society has cast me out, even after all I tried to do. They don’t deserve my help now. At least here I’m doing something for people who appreciate it.”

  Devan clenched a fist, holding it to his mouth to keep in a scream. Then Raldon proved that quiet solemnity is often far more effective than outraged eruption.

  “The Northerners will die too if the paradox isn’t resolved.”

  The Grand Master remained silent for a long time before murmuring into the tabletop. “They’re going to die anyway, Raldon. My crops are only delaying the inevitable. The South is starving them to death. All because of my failings. I won’t face the possibility of making matters even worse. My home, my prison, is here now. I won’t leave.”

  Raldon shut his eyes. He looked nearly as exhausted as Devan felt.

  “If only you could see what Valdin has done to Tragnè City.”

  “Well I can’t, Raldon.” Taul slammed the dagger into the tabletop with such ferocity it vibrated in place when he released it. “I step a foot outside this clearing and the Temple will be on me like a pack of wolves, sentencing me to death under the outrageous Edicts the man has passed. Some savior I’d make as a corpse.”

  “Grand Master.” Devan’s voice came out clipped. Pride wouldn’t allow any hint of pleading into his voice, but something that might have been anxiety twisted in his chest. “Annihilating a paradox isn’t the same as dying. I’ve told you before. Resolving a rogue strand means nothing that happened in it ever occurred, including death. Like filling in the tributary of a river. All that’s left is the original waterway.”

  The Grand Master waved a hand at him, then began picking at another ear of corn as he spoke.

  “What does that matter? The Seven are banished to the Elsewhere. So what if they’re able to speak through this anti-self? Clearly they’re unable to leave Ral Falar, otherwise Agarsfar would already be burning.”

  An image of the ever-reddening sky flashed in Devan’s mind.

  “The Seven are trapped in the Elsewhere. Mostly.” A gnawing pit of discomfort was growing within him now. This was a question he’d been considering himself lately. And the possibilities he’d begun to see didn’t sit well.

  “Mostly?” Bladesorrow said with a tone that was equal parts query, demand, and concealed worry.

  Devan looked back and forth between the two men, regretting he’d let that slip. It was a blessing for poor Nellis that he wasn’t present to hear what was about to be said.

  “You must remember, the Seven were once Aldur. Stephan never spoke of it to me, but I know he took his hope to the grave that they would one day repent. So when he banished them, he left open a way for them to return.”

  He looked from one man to the other, waiting for some reply. But the two only looked back in silence. The Grand Master’s typically impassable visage showed undeniable signs of discomfort.

  “Come now,” Devan went on, drumming his fingers on the table. “It’s not like they can do it on their own. I shouldn’t have even mentioned it. It’s nearly an impossible task to accomplish. Purposefully so.”

  “What do you mean, not on their own?” the Grand Master said, staring at him like a general might a scout who’d just returned with news of an ambush.

  “This is a waste of—”

  “Out with it Angel. How could one aid the Seven in returning to the Path?”

  Devan glanced to Raldon for support, but the former Light Master Keeper might as well have had his hands on his hips for all the encouragement his expression gave.

  “Alright, fine. If you want to worry yourselves over it.” He sank into the plush armchair before the fire and leaned his head back, eyes shut.

  “In all likelihood, it would need to be more than one person who helped. The only way for one of the Seven to return is for an artifact of the Elsewhere to be infused with all five of the elements and inserted into a living host body. The Seven could never achieve this on their own because they are creatures of the Elsewhere and, consequently, can only channel shadow. So they’d need to find others on the True Path to not only,” he began counting on his fingers, “one, communicate with them, two, handle an artifact of the Elsewhere, and three, infuse that artifact with all five elements, but then also four, find them a living host, five, who would almost certainly perish once gripped by one of the Seven. And that all assumes, six, that the Seven even know of this, which they don’t. Stephan never told them. And you’re probably the first Linears ever to know of it. So unless the two of you plan to rush north and release the Seven, then it’s nothing to worry about.”

  “What would happen if the Seven returned?” the Grand Master asked, voice quiet.

  Devan responded without thinking. The answer was such a basic one that all Aldur grew up learning. “They’d return to their former status as Aldur, but also with intimate knowledge of the Elsewhere. Who can say for sure what they’d do, but with such power it would almost certainly be disastrous. Time itself would be threatened by the presence of just one of them on the Path. And once one returned, well, the others wouldn’t be far behind, because that one would have power over all five elements and be able to perform the returning ritual without assistance.”

  As soon as he finished speaking, he wished he could stuff the words back into his mouth. Far too much knowledge for Linears to handle. Raldon shot a glance at the Grand Master, a look of dread passing between them.

  “What?” Devan demanded.

  “Did Stephan tell Valdin of this secret?” Raldon asked in a whisper.

  Devan gripped the arms of the chair. “Well, certainly. He was our Master at Elements. Privy to all our people’s secrets. The general of our defenses should the Seven ever have seemed poised to return.”

  Raldon fro
wned. Taul shook his head, swearing under his breath. He’d taken up the dagger again, passing it from hand to hand.

  “I realize you’ve every reason to hate him,” Devan said, knuckles turning white on the chair’s arms. “So do I. But Val would never do something like that.”

  Yet the uncertainty in his words echoed in his ears.

  “He sounds like just the person who would do it,” Bladesorrow said. “Look what he’s done since he came to power here. And he had the opportunity at Riverdale when he—”

  “That’s enough.” Devan shot out of the chair, reaching to all five elements, and peregrinated the dagger right out of the Grand Master’s hands, sending it flying into the dwelling’s far wall. The sheer recklessness of his outburst startled even Devan. He dropped back into the seat, putting his head into one of his hands. Sure, Val must know the Andstaed was at Ral Falar, and what possessed it. But even through all his rage and hate, Val wouldn’t have gone so far as to try and release the Seven. Their people’s blood enemies. No. Val had simply thought Ral Falar the ideal place to conceal the Andstaed from prying eyes, and the rift in time there was large enough to somehow allow the Seven to communicate through its body. That had to be it.

  “I’m sorry, Grand Master. But Val is a sensitive subject for me, as you can well imagine. He has lost his way, committed unforgivable crimes. But a deal with the Seven? Not that. He couldn’t. My people are raised learning of what the Seven did. The magnitude of their atrocities is instilled into us until the shame of them feels like our own.”

  “Maybe so,” Raldon said. “But perhaps it’s time you confront him about it?”

  He’d thought of that, of course. But there were plenty of reasons not to do so. For one, he’d need all the surprise he could muster if he were to defeat Val, even in his injured state.

  “That won’t get us anywhere.”

  “But—”

  “I said no, Master Raldon.” Neither of the men looked convinced. Why did that bother him so? He’d never before cared what Linears thought of his plans. The fact that he had such a reaction now knotted his stomach. Thankfully, the looks on their faces also hinted at an opportunity, allowing him to push worry away.

  “But if you’re that concerned, Grand Master, Master Raldon, the answer is plain: Accompany me to Ral Falar. Help me strike down the Andstaed and restore order to the Path. Besides, I’ve reason to believe you won’t be safe here for much longer any way, Grand Master.”

  Bladesorrow snorted. “You’re getting desperate now, Angel. I thought you said this place,” he spun a finger around in the air to indicate the house and surrounding clearing, “was impregnable.”

  Devan could only shrug. “It should be. But when I,” a laugh slipped through his teeth, “visited with the Seven, they let slip that I’d be facing them again, before long. And that I’d have others with me. I’m certain you will be one of those others. And you won’t be untouchable if you’re not here.”

  They’d also said he would die in that effort. But that hardly seemed a fact that needed disclosing.

  The Grand Master scratched at his beard. It should have shown at least some sign of graying by this time, like Raldon’s hair. But while he may have been living in this clearing for the past ten years, the effect of the time loop had prevented his physical body from aging at all.

  “That’s very clever of you, Angel. Trying to play your desires off as pre-ordained fact.”

  Devan seriously considered strangling the man in that instant. Instead, he inhaled and drew on his memories of Stephan.

  “The future holds what it holds. My job is simply to know it, not make it.” Except when it needed changing, that was. But adding that bit out loud wouldn’t help him now.

  “Fine,” the Grand Master said. “Let’s pretend for a moment I believe your time-traveling riddles. That I’m poised to be in grave danger when I leave this clearing. If so, then I’m actually best off just staying here, which is my intent. So I’m actually doing what needs doing; your urgency is false. Come talk to me if I ever leave. Until then, leave me be.”

  Devan opened his mouth, then shut it. Had the man just beaten him at his own game? He was supposed to be the one using time travel to his advantage, not Bladesorrow. But now that he’d allowed the Grand Master to spring the trap, he saw no way out.

  “Fine. Take more time to think on it. I know you’ll make the right decision.”

  The Grand Master only grunted at him and returned to the vegetables before him, retrieving the dagger, acting as if Devan were no longer there. Devan began to rise from the chair, but paused when Raldon spoke in a hushed tone.

  “Angel Devan,” he said. “I’ve a brief matter to discuss with you, if you’ll listen.”

  Devan kept his eyes (and frown) fixed on the Grand Master, but waved for Raldon to go on.

  “I’ve a new ward at Ral Mok who shows quite a bit of promise with both the blade and fire. He’s about twelve now, at a point where he might benefit from additional training.”

  Devan turned to him. “I’ve no interest in a sword-wielding, flame-spitting young man who thinks he can beat the evils of the world with a sliver of steel and a dream.”

  Raldon seemed taken aback. As well the man should have. Here he was, dealing with the end of time itself and Raldon was wasting breath speaking to him of a meaningless boy who, more likely than not, would live out his days atop the ramparts of Doom’s Keep, guarding the South from the imaginary Northern threat.

  “Respectfully, Angel Devan, I think he’s a little more than that. I see proclivity in him for some of the other elements. He’s duo attuned at the very least. He may even be...” Raldon cutoff abruptly, chewing at his lip, a quite uncharacteristic look on his usually all-knowing face. “Well, perhaps it’s best I say no more for the present. I’ve no definitive answers yet and his guardian asked that I not discuss his training with anyone.”

  “Mmmm,” was all Devan said in reply. Raldon’s voice had seemed to take on a suggestive tone at the word guardian. At perhaps any other moment Devan would have given more heed to the man’s words. Stephan had thought highly of him, after all. But he didn’t have the time. So many variables bounced around his brain it hurt. The way forward, so often clear to him, was a great murk, like swimming through a bog. He closed his eyes once more, thinking in vain of something else he could say to get through to the Grand Master.

  “Yes, well perhaps I’ll go help Nellis with his crops.” Raldon left without saying another word, leaving Devan alone with the man who held the key to the Path’s salvation, but who would rather sit alone in this cottage and die of boredom while the world burned around him. Bladesorrow had lost all hope, cared for nothing now. How could he possibly be motivated to do what was necessary?

  Devan’s eyes shot open. He glanced over at the Grand Master, as if the man may have sensed his thoughts. But he remained focused on his blasphemy of using that ancient dagger as a common chef’s knife.

  It wasn’t true that the Grand Master cared for nothing. He had a friendship with Raldon. The man had looked after Bladesorrow when he’d been a lost orphan at Ral Mok. They’d come up through the ranks of the Symposium together. Trained together. Ruled together. He’d been distressed just minutes earlier when that deflected hex had nearly struck Raldon. There was a bond between them, certain as a lit flame in a hayloft spelled disaster.

  He shut his eyes once more, pressing his body into the chair as if doing so might make him disappear. This was the part of being Master Horologer he’d always hated. But he lived by The Lessons, and the thought that had just occurred to him implicated the Fifth. It was perhaps the cruelest of The Lessons. But he was the last of the Aldur. He would do whatever it took to save the Path.

  33

  Jenzara

  Sometimes I wonder, who am I to choose who lives and who dies? Yet, I would rather assume the responsibility and kill thousands who don’t deserve it than consign such power to a lesser man.

  -Excerpt from Agar’s
Authorities

  FATHER WAS HOLDING her. Her head rested on his shoulder, one hand clutching a wad of the tunic he wore, blue cloth embroidered in yellow with the image of a cat. She liked cats. He held his staff in the hand that wasn’t holding her. Somehow, he seemed to be leaning on it more than usual as he listened to the man standing before them. She wasn’t really paying attention, her mind on simpler things, rather than all the talking father seemed to do these days. Like when father would put her down to nap. And when her mother was coming back.

  “You’re certain that was the Grand Father’s report, Keeper Westcott?” The sharpness of father’s tone caused her to raise her head.

  “Yes, Light Master Raldon. I was at Tarmin when the news came and rode straight here.” Westcott was stuttering. His face was all grime, his clothes wrinkled and torn. A pair of spectacles barely clung to his face, one of the lenses cracked. He wore a tabard similar to father’s, though it was so dirty it was difficult to tell. “All who were at Riverdale perished, the southern side destroyed. My little girl,” he coughed, as if choking, then went on, voice even more unsteady. “She was in the Grand Master’s retinue. I ought to have been there...” He trailed off, eyes drifting off into the distance.

  Riverdale? she thought, trying to rub sleep from her eyes. That sounded familiar.

  “Isn’t that where mama went?” she asked through a yawn.

  “Hush little one,” father said. He tightened his grip on her.

  “What are we going to do?” Keeper Westcott said, voice suddenly shrill. “The Grand Master Keeper is dead, and Valdin said it was he who started the battle at the Dales.”

  When father didn’t answer, Jenzara looked up to his face. The look in his eyes stopped her breath.

  She began to cry.

  “Wake up, Jenzara,” Ferrin said.

  She jolted to alertness, blinking as sunlight glared into her eyes. Evening was nearly upon them, but there was still light left to the day. Ferrin crouched beside her, nudging her gently. There were dark circles beneath his eyes. Outlines of darkening veins were beginning to show on his neck. Erem had checked his wound this morning and it had been all she could do not to cry out at the sight of it.