The Blackest Heart

by Brian Lee Durfee

  †  †  †  †  †

  Not long after Val-Draekin took his leave, Tala entered the room briskly, her features composed. She was wearing a striking dark-umber dress flowing to the floor. She’s grown into such beautiful young woman. Jondralyn felt almost like a proud mother and it warmed her heart to see her sister.

  “They should let you stay in your own chamber,” Tala said in an unnatural rush. “I begged Jovan. But he insisted you remain here.”

  Jondralyn smiled faintly—it was all she could manage under the bandages. Tala’s cool composure seemed to melt at her smile. There was a hollow look in Tala’s eyes as she stepped up to the side of the bed. Then her young features hardened with determination again. “Why has this happened, Jon?” She seemed on the verge of saying more, but didn’t, her gaze roaming over the bandages.

  “I too wish it didn’t have to be like this,” Jondralyn said.

  “They say Denarius is on his way here.” Tala set her jaw firmly. “But I won’t let him be alone with you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jondralyn grabbed her younger sister’s hand in her own, held it close to her chest. She’s having a harder time grasping her emotions than I.

  The transformation from grim determination to utter fright came quickly to Tala’s features. “I won’t let the vicar minister to you. I won’t leave you alone with him.” Tala then climbed onto the bed and lay down next to her. Jondralyn hesitated, then took a deep breath and draped her arm protectively around her younger sister, pulling her close.

  Still, her own heart beat with panic at Tala’s concern.

  * * *

  Lest faith be lost, man’s search for solace in the world around him began anew. Some believed that only those who worshipped the sea were blessed with freedom from the wraiths.

  —THE WAY AND TRUTH OF LAIJON

  * * *

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AVA SHAY

  15TH DAY OF THE ETHIC MOON, 999TH YEAR OF LAIJON

  BETWEEN BEDFORD AND BAINBRIDGE, GUL KANA

  Hammerfiss towered over Ava Shay to the left, Mancellor Allen to her right. Jenko Bruk knelt with Enna Spades. He was in full Sør Sevier armor. And though he smiled up at Aeros Raijael, no warmth reached his amber-colored eyes. Aeros nodded, and Jenko and Spades rose to their feet and donned their helms in one seamless motion. All three mounted their horses and charged down the hill toward the circle of Leifid wagons, swords drawn, hooves of their mounts kicking up clods of peat. Fifty more mounted Knights of the Blue Sword followed on their heels. Near a hundred other knights standing at attention on the grassy hill behind Ava readied their longbows.

  Once again Aeros Raijael has trotted me out to watch the horror. Ava wished she was drunk. Spirits were the only comfort she found anymore. She stood in silence next to Hammerfiss and Mancellor; her simple woolen shift, tied at the waist with a strip of leather, rippled in the breeze.

  The fugitives from Leifid had set up camp—a protective circle of wagons—in a meadow just under the Autumn Range, their oxen grazing near a gurgling stream. From her viewpoint on the hill above, Ava counted more than sixty scared women and children huddled together inside that wagon circle.

  Seventy or so ill-equipped men and boys charged out from the circle of wagons to meet Aeros’ attack. Some carried swords, but most were armed with naught but rakes and hoes and grayken harpoons. None wore armor of any kind. Some wore heavy cloaks and jackets as protection. They shouted oaths and curses as they bravely charged. The bowmen standing behind Ava fired, arrows stirring the air above. Within the span of a heartbeat the first row of men and boys rushing toward Aeros toppled. The second volley of arrows sent the remaining men and boys reeling back, retreating to the safety of the wagons.

  The war whoops of Aeros’ mounted knights filled the air, their cries hollow and hideous and loud and meant to frighten. The terrified screams of the Leifid fugitives rose in pitch, and within the circle of wagons mayhem suddenly broke loose. What men remained scattered for cover under the wagons, behind barrels or braying mules.

  A third hail of arrows rained down into their midst. One arrow tore the ear off a little boy who clung quietly to his father’s lap. A woman in the center of the circle of wagons took an arrow to the face and fell into one of the campfires, sending up a blaze of sparks and billowing smoke. Blood blossomed from the stomach of an infant girl with brown hair; she slumped against a wagon wheel and closed her eyes, the tip of the arrow protruding from her back. A crying woman rushed to her aid. Yet before she could reach the girl, the ground was a swirl of dust and blood as Aeros’ charging knights tore into the circle of wagons. The wave of destruction that followed was almost too much for Ava to bear. She wanted to run straight for the Autumn Range and hide.

  She could tell which knight was Aeros by his glittering armor and Spades by her dark blue cape and pure white stallion, Slaughter. The Sør Sevier warrior woman fought as one possessed, her gleaming sword a bloody whirl of lightning and destruction. She could not make out which knight was Jenko Bruk in the tumult, the Knights of the Blue Sword all looking so similar.

  She remained rooted in place, focusing on the face of one Leifid boy no more than eleven. The boy had hair so blond it almost glowed in the moonlight. Amidst the screams and chaos, her eyes couldn’t help but follow him. The heavy-armored haunches of a whirling Sør Sevier destrier struck the boy from behind, forcing him face-first to the dirt. A woman, the side of her head a cavern of jagged bones and blood, fell dead on the boy. He squirmed from under the woman’s weight, and ran toward a small girl who clung to her father’s leg. The father was begging for mercy, waving a white kerchief of truce. He was run through with a sword, his daughter also slain. The blond boy saw their deaths and fell back on his butt, scrambling frantically away, trying to regain his feet. Before he could stand, he was bludgeoned back to the ground by the blunt end of a flashing Sør Sevier spear. He crawled to one of the wagons, hiding under it, just as its canvas top was torn away by several of Aeros’ knights.

  Inside the wagon, mothers clung to their babies, shielding the blows of ax and sword. One woman was speared clear through, the merciless weapon piercing her and her baby both. Ava Shay’s stomach jumped and whirled at the sight.

  The blond boy crawled out from under the wagon, looking as stunned and shaken as Ava felt, knights on horseback a swirling clamor all around. Ava prayed for the boy’s safety, hoping Laijon would see this one innocent soul live out the night. The sound of battle raging below was like that of a thunderstorm, the thudding of heavy horse, the shouts of the knights, the screams and crying of the fearful and the groans of the dying—a primitive dance of rage and slaughter.

  When the battle died down, and most from Leifid lay dead, only the moans of the injured could still be heard. Ava was relieved to see that the blond boy still lived. She thanked Laijon for that, then grew angry with her Lord for not sparing the rest. One girl, probably not much older than Ava, was on her knees, begging for mercy. Her faint pleas tugged at Ava’s heart. Standing over the girl was a blood-splattered Sør Sevier knight with a dripping red longsword. When the knight removed his helm, Ava could see that it was Jenko Bruk. He reached for the girl’s hand, helping her up. As the girl stood, she did so with a certain bravery that kept Ava spellbound. The girl’s delicate skin and curly hair appeared as soft and white as new-fallen snow, and not a spot of blood blemished a pleat of her sun-colored dress. Enna Spades, sword in hand, helm in the crook of her arm, walked up casually and stabbed the girl in the heart. She fell dead at Jenko’s feet.

  Spades sheathed her bloody sword and slapped Jenko across the face, the chastising tone of her voice carrying up the hill. The result of her lecture—Jenko turned and stomped on the head of the dead girl. A foam of scarlet bubbled from her skull, spread over her snowy curls, and soaked into her yellow dress.

  And with that final act of brutality, the battle was over.

  Next to Ava, Hammerfiss’ shoulders shook, belly rum
bling with laughter. His teeth flashed a violent grin down at her. “Bloody good slaughter, that.”

  Ava looked at the passive face of Mancellor Allen, reading nothing in the former Wyn Darrè man’s dark, stiff countenance. The black tattoos under his eyes added to his mystery and shadow. He finally noticed her gaze and gave her a nod of sadness. She felt a sudden comfort in having him near. His silent manner and rigid poise reminded her of Gault.

  Ava looked toward the circle of wagons again. Some twenty-odd survivors were all that was left, mostly children, all dirt-covered and scared. They groveled at the feet of the murderous Sør Sevier knights who rounded them up, begging and crying. Spades and Jenko gathered the captives together in a line at the behest of Aeros.

  One teenage girl broke from the line and ran for one of the coverless wagons, prying a wailing baby from a dead woman’s arms. The girl was dragged away from the wagon by Spades, managing to clutch the baby to her chest as she was pulled along the ground. The baby screamed. The girl tried to muffle its cries.

  The line of captives was marched up the hill, led by Aeros, Spades, and Jenko. The remaining Knights of the Blue Sword began piling up the dead for burning, gathering what mules and horses still lived, scavenging what wagons were still of use.

  Once the prisoners stood on the grassy knoll, they were forced to stand in a row directly before Ava, Hammerfiss, and Mancellor. Ava’s eyes quickly found the blond boy. An arrow had gouged a raw trail through his scalp, peeling away a furrow of hair and skin. Blood was running down the back of his neck under his mop of blond hair. He scratched at the wound and mop of blond hair with dirty, trembling fingers.

  “Everyone’s dead,” one of the prisoners muttered. “Who will save us now?”

  “There are no saviors in Gul Kana!” Spades wasted no time in answering, strutting before the captives. “We’re the most battle-hardened sons of bitches who’ve ever stepped foot on these shores!”

  Ava had seen it all before. The entire group of prisoners shrank away from the red-haired woman as she strode up and down the line, flipping a copper coin over and over in her hand. She was intimidating in her blood-splattered battle armor. The bloodied longsword at her hip and crossbow and quiver of bolts strapped to the leather baldric over her shoulder only added to her danger and threat. Like all in Gul Kana, these children had never seen a woman knight before, especially not a savage like Enna Spades.

  “What we’ve got here is a rather wretched situation.” Spades spoke loud enough that all could hear. “It does seem a horrible crime that you have all been saddled to such feeble company as ourselves. I’m sorry to burden you with formalities of warfare, but we need to discuss some issues without rancor.” She paused, as she always paused in this very part of her speech. “We can either put you to death or—”

  “Not.” Hammerfiss finished the sentence for her. All the captives’ eyes fell on the massive man who now commanded their attention, the largest, scariest man any of them had likely ever seen. Stout of girth and broad of shoulders, the red-haired giant had two meaty fists seemingly as big and hard-looking as boulders. The bones, fetishes, and bangles tied into his hair and beard along with the sharp blue tattoos covering his face only made him all the more frightening to behold. He wore a leather shoulder harness over his silver armor, bearing a spiked mace as big and round as an ox head.

  Spades shrugged. “So you feel there must indeed be some divine purpose to this madness, Hammerfiss?”

  “I don’t claim any divine purpose,” he said. “Nor do I think their situation is entirely hopeless, Spades.”

  It was the same speech these two gave every group of survivors. Ava had heard it many times.

  “Indeed, nothing is hopeless.” Spades’ eyes roamed over the group of prisoners. “Since we’ve already established that we have no qualms about speaking frankly, what say you of their fate?”

  Hammerfiss’ mouth, as it always did, spread into a mad grin. “I’ve always felt that some previously useless lives can be converted to a better purpose. That being said, I say that any children of Leifid younger than ten are now property of Sør Sevier! You are to be adopted into the covenant of Raijael and raised up in true righteousness and faith as citizens of Sør Sevier and believers in Aeros Raijael, your true One and Only!”

  As always, the prisoners looked baffled, relieved, and scared all at once.

  Spades motioned for Mancellor Allen. He stepped from Ava’s side and made his way toward the warrior woman. Spades nodded at Jenko. He swiftly pulled a knife from the sheath at his belt.

  “Be mindful of what age they give,” Spades admonished him, then put her copper coin away and began her interrogation—an interrogation that Ava knew would not end well for a handful of these captives. Jenko and Mancellor followed the red-haired woman to the end of the line. Just answer younger than whatever Spades’ arbitrary cutoff age is this time, Ava silently implored the line of prisoners.

  Spades stood before the teenage girl who had snatched the crying baby from the wagon. The baby still whimpered in her arms. “Name and age?” Spades asked.

  The Leifid girl answered, “Shanin. Nineteen.”

  Jenko stabbed her through the eye. As nineteen-year-old Shanin crumpled to the dirt, the baby tumbled from her arms. Mancellor Allen picked the baby up from off the ground, cradled it in his arms. It squalled and shrieked.

  Aeros marched forward and snatched the child from Mancellor. He wended his way down the hill toward the meadow where the oxen still grazed, baby in his arms.

  The rest of the children were asked their names and ages. Spades did the asking. Any who answered older than ten had their throats swiftly cut by Jenko. It was a grim and bloody repeat of the aftermath of the sacking of Gallows Haven, Ravenker, and several other hamlets between. Ava had always believed in the mercy of Laijon and also believed that the torments of the underworld were reserved for those like Spades, and now Jenko Bruk. Hammerfiss too. The Spider also. Aeros most of all.

  Near the end of the line was a girl with hair the color of corn silk. She had a blood-crusted hole in her neck, and her arm was mostly severed. It hung there by a thread of muscle. Yet she didn’t cry or seem to be affected by the injury at all. She just stood there in an ever-growing pool of blood at her feet. Either the girl was the most courageous creature Ava had ever seen, or the most traumatized. When asked her name and age, the injured girl answered, “Tomasina, age seven and three months. My arm is hurt.”

  “Your arm is more than just hurt, sweetie.” Spades nodded to Jenko. He sliced open the small girl’s throat. The girl just stood there until she bled out, emotionless eyes draining of all life as she gazed straight at Jenko. Then she toppled over dead.

  Spades moved on to the dark-haired boy next in line. “Name and age.”

  “I’m Thaddeus Jonas, ten years old, but my pa calls me Thad.”

  Jenko held the bloody knife up to Thad’s throat.

  “You look older than ten, boy,” Spades said.

  “He is ten, you pig,” the tall girl next to him blurted. “He’s my brother. Leave him be!”

  Spades appraised her. “And how old are you?” she demanded.

  “My name is Sophia. I’m only thirteen and I wager I’m more smarter and more mature than you . . . and you can’t hurt me, you pig-fucking bitch—”

  Jenko slashed Sophia’s throat. The girl’s brother was splattered with her blood. It was too much. Ava’s entire body was racked with anguish; everything Jenko did knifed across her own heart too. How can this still be happening? Is there no Laijon above to stop it?

  Spades turned to Thad. “Were your folks part of this group of blasphemous Laijon worshippers?”

  “My ma and pa were killed,” Thad answered, shaking, his sister’s blood running down his face. He started crying uncontrollably.

  “You’ll warm to us soon.” Spades patted Thad on the cheek. Then she and Jenko moved to the blond boy Ava had watched throughout the battle. He was the last in line and appeared so
petrified with fear his skin seemed nearly as pale and translucent as the White Prince’s. His eyes were wide and round, his features almost perfect; graceful chin and cheekbones, thin nose, sharp eyes and brows under stark-white hair. There was something in the way he looked that reminded Ava of the Vallè woman on the black horse she’d seen on the trail above Gallows Haven with Nail and Stefan.

  “Name and age?” Spades asked him.

  “I’m ten,” he answered. “I haven’t a name.”

  “You’re lying.” Spades reached out and pushed the boy’s hair away from his ears. “About a number of things.” The blond boy had the sharp, pointed ears of a Vallè. Ava’s eyes widened at the sight.

  “A Vallè mutt,” Hammerfiss chortled, amused.

  Spades studied the boy. “You realize my lord Aeros will most definitely not want one like you around.”

  Spades beckoned Ava Shay. “Come.”

  Ava stayed rooted in place.

  “Come here,” Spades again commanded. “Time I taught you what killing is like. Time I taught you the power of a blade in your hand.”

  Ava felt her face fall, hoping Spades was not in any way serious. But there was no jest in the woman’s eyes. There was naught but cold determination.

  “Come here,” Spades repeated with strained patience.

  Repulsed, Ava moved forward, hesitation in each step.

  “Give her the knife,” Spades ordered Jenko.

  His face tightened as he held out the blade for her.

  Ava’s mind was suddenly shrouded in disbelief at what was being asked. But if I take that knife I may just . . .

  She met Jenko’s amber eyes—and those eyes, at the moment, were filled with such a tenderness it nearly shattered her already fatigued mind. He knows what is in my heart! He doesn’t want to watch me do this any more than I want to do it. . . .