The Blackest Heart

by Brian Lee Durfee

  * * *

  Thus, we three remaining Warrior Angels take up this, an accounting of the life of Laijon, as a reminder to mankind of its own stewardships. And all memory of the Last Demon Lord will vanish into the dusts of time, and those beasts shall remain nameless.

  —THE WAY AND TRUTH OF LAIJON

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  AVA SHAY

  8TH DAY OF THE ANGEL MOON, 999TH YEAR OF LAIJON

  SOUTH OF LOKKENFELL, GUL KANA

  Ava Shay stood before the battlefield carnage, swooning with drink. She stroked the neck of the crimson-eyed stallion named Scowl—something she would likely never do sober. A Bloodeye horse that used to frighten me so, now likely my only friend. . . .

  “In a certain light,” Spiderwood began, “you remind me of Gault’s daughter, Krista. I’m sure Aeros sees that in you too.”

  The Spider’s words captured Ava’s attention and rooted her in place. She could see every detail of the Bloodwood’s fiery eyes, faintly veined with red, serpentlike. Despite the hard, cruel look of the Spider and his Bloodeye horse, Ava had grown used to the man’s company these last three weeks, almost looking forward to their daily talks. He still complimented her on the little beetle carving she had given him.

  “I wonder if that is why Gault took to you so swiftly,” the Spider continued. “He was a simple soul. A romantic in search of love. But it is all an illusion. You. His daughter. The two of you combined were his undoing. I almost feel bad for what I did to him in Ravenker.”

  You betrayed Gault somehow and now he is gone.

  The Spider’s hand touched hers, but briefly. There was no warmth in his touch, as if the gesture was false, calculating, meant to mislead. Does he really like the beetle carving, or is this just some game to him, some road to betrayal?

  She’d been tending to the flogging wounds on the Bloodwood’s back daily, ever amazed at her own skill with the poultices and bandages. The man had been healing fast. So fast, in fact, he had suited up in his black leather armor for the first time today. Though he was still too injured to take part in the slaughter of Doolindal.

  She looked toward the carnage spread out before her. Flies gathered in clouds over it all, seeking the cold, clammy skin of the dead. The sun had gone down more than an hour ago. Torches and bonfires now lit the bloody beach in an orange haze, casting a sickly pall of sorrow and distress over the watery battlefield. Dead knights in both Sør Sevier and Lord’s Point livery lay strewn in the surf. Crows hunted the shallows whilst small kestrels skimmed the water, grabbing scraps of human flesh that had floated out to sea, the bloody remnants of Aeros Raijael’s latest triumph.

  A contingent of several hundred Ocean Guards from Lord’s Point had actually tried protecting Doolindal, the small hamlet resting in the shady dale behind Ava Shay. But they were little match for the nearly thirty-five thousand Sør Sevier knights now in Gul Kana. Still, the Ocean Guards, small group of warriors though they were, had put up a fight defending this hamlet just south of Lokkenfell. The White Prince had lost almost two hundred of his own in the skirmish today, the highest loss he’d suffered thus far. Three weeks ago Ava Shay would have rejoiced at Aeros’ misfortune, but at the moment she was numb to it all, and also currently a little drunk from Aeros’ stash of wines. Have I stopped caring altogether?

  “Why does Aeros do the things he does?” she asked the Bloodwood, her own anger rising, her curiosity, too. She had asked Spades much the same question. She wanted to see if their answers were similar. “Why does it have to be like this? Death? Killing? Torture? Why can’t he just leave Gul Kana alone? Leave me alone? Who am I for the White Prince to torture me so? Why does he do the things he does?”

  “All Aeros does is for the glory of The Chivalric Illuminations of Raijael and for power,” Spiderwood answered. “A power he believes he possesses. A divine calling he believes is his. Or so that is what he has been taught his entire life. And like Gault, Aeros is a simple person, a romantic in search of a destiny he’s long been promised. But it is all an illusion, the power, the romance, the destiny.”

  “He has power over you,” she said pointedly. “He had you flogged.”

  “True.” Spiderwood’s red-streaked eyes pierced hers. “I lost Aeros’ sword, Sky Reaver. And I failed to bring Nail back from Ravenker. Indeed, the Angel Prince had me flogged. But I let him. And so you must realize, Aeros’ reaction to my failings is not what is most important.”

  “And what is most important?”

  “Your reaction.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, drawing back from him a step.

  “What is most important,” he carried on, “is how you overcome those things that hold you back, how you realize your true potential. You must use Aeros as a means to an end. Like the Bloodwoods do, like Dugal’s Caste has always done with the heirs of Raijael. You take the power. Even though Aeros thinks he has it, you must seize it from him.”

  Her head swam with wine, becoming unfocused. “How can I do the impossible?”

  “You know what treasures he hides.”

  She breathed deep, memories clawing at her mind. The odd, salty smell of the sea and burning bodies, stinging to her eyes, reminded her of the day Jenko Bruk and Mancellor Allen had brought the White Prince a huge shiny ax and sparkly blue gem. Jenko claimed he had stolen them both from Nail in Ravenker. Aeros had placed the items in the same chest where he kept the horned helm and the green stone. She desired to look upon those enticing, colorful gems again.

  Every time she drank of Aeros’ wine, the lure of those shiny stones would pull at her mind. Last night, as she’d lain in bed beside the White Prince, she’d inquired whether she could see the stones again. “The stones are cursed and you want no part of them,” he’d said. Cursed? She thought of how she’d asked Gault Aulbrek to steal the helm and green stone and escape with her. Cursed indeed. Now Gault was gone. She felt guilty realizing that was likely the reason he was missing, or worse, dead.

  She found she was still stroking Scowl’s hide.

  The Bloodwood’s eyes bore into hers. “You must learn who you are, Ava Shay, and then use those treasures he holds dear against him.”

  The sound of his words wove in and around the pounding of her own heart. She knew he was trying to tell her something without overtly stating it. He wants to know if I am simple too, like Gault, or if I can figure out his subtlety. Her drunken mind was not allowing her to think clearly. At least it’s not the wraiths anymore, just the spirits of the wine. She had not felt the bitter touch of the wraiths for some time now. When you lay with me, I place into you the healing power of the gods, Aeros had said. She giggled at the thought, heady with wine. She basically attributed most of the Bloodwood’s healing to the myriad of potions he ofttimes drank. But Aeros also claimed to have taken upon himself my sins? Taken upon himself the wraiths that plagued me?

  “You know the real reason why Aeros had me flogged?” he asked. “ ’Twas not to appease some Chivalric Rule of Blood Penance, I assure you. Aeros had Hammerfiss flog me to throw his Knights Archaic off. To keep them unbalanced. You see, they do not trust me, the others. They think Aeros and I are too close. That we conspire against them. That we conspire against King Aevrett and even against Sør Sevier itself. They have heard the rumors that Aeros himself once trained under Black Dugal as a Bloodwood. And they ofttimes believe that their Angel Prince is but a puppet in Dugal’s control. And they believe that I am Dugal’s spy.” His eyes grew hard. “Well, truth is, they are correct in those assumptions.”

  Why is he telling me this? Why do any of them tell me anything?

  The neighing of several horses could be heard in the darkness behind her. The Spider’s cold gaze was now cutting over her shoulder toward those who approached. He dipped his head to her. “We must continue this conversation later, m’lady.”

  Ava turned and saw Mancellor Allen, Jenko Bruk, and Enna Spades draw near, all in full armor. Mancellor was leading two
white stallions by the bit: Spades’ mount, Slaughter, and his own horse, Shine—the stallion bequeathed to him after Beau Stabler’s death. Blood splattered the flanks of both horses. Jenko walked beside Mancellor. Spades’ right arm hung limp in a bloody sling at her side. The top of her crossbow and quiver of thick bolts sprouted from over her shoulder, a longsword dangled from her left hip.

  “Good to see you’re finally up and about,” the red-haired warrior woman said as she stepped up to the Bloodwood, her tone laced with sarcasm. “Indeed, a pleasure to see you finally on your feet again.”

  Spades’ eyes then fell on Ava. “You must truly have the magical healing touch. Hammerfiss flogged him to the bone, and here he stands as if nothing happened. You must realize it is merely out of respect for Black Dugal that Aeros allows the Bloodwood such favor, such a tender healing hand as yours, Ava Shay.”

  “I am sure you are beside yourself with jealousy of what favor Aeros allows me,” the Spider said.

  “Well, perhaps so,” Spades went on, gesturing to her arm in the bloody sling. “I am not quite myself. Took an ax blade to my arm, as you can see. But at least those Lord’s Point knights gave us a bloody good scrape, if only for a glorious moment.” She listed slightly to the left. “Now I wonder if the loss of blood has made me a bit woozy.”

  Mancellor Allen immediately dropped the reins of the two stallions and helped her stand straight. His help seemed genuinely gallant, meant in no way to curry favor. Still, Jenko glared at him. And that stung Ava to the core.

  There was a heavy clomping of hooves and Hammerfiss rode into their midst and drew rein. Like a mountain, the red-haired giant sat high atop his massive white stallion named Battle-Ax. Girt in full Knight Archaic armor, helm on the pommel of his saddle, razor-wire-wrapped mace clinging to the baldric slung over his back, he looked a formidable sight. He let out a hearty bark of laughter as he looked Spades up and down, gleaming eyes lingering on her injured arm. “Ah, didn’t these bastards give us a hardy fight today, Spades? Look at you! Arm’s practically hanging by a thread there.”

  “ ’Tis but a scratch.” Spades winked, adjusting the sling.

  “Well, I ain’t seen you scratched like that since Stabler pulled you out of that mess in Agonmoore. The day he lost his eye.” Hammerfiss glanced at Jenko and Mancellor. “Did either of you sad sacks lose an eye saving her? Looks like you didn’t. ’Course them tattoos under both Mancellor’s eyes are enough to deflect any sword blow.” He bellowed with laughter.

  The ink under Mancellor’s eyes was like two shadows cutting into the night. To his credit, the Wyn Darrè did not rise to the bigger man’s goading. Ava offered her gaze to Mancellor. Is he my savior? Is Jenko? Is anybody. Her heart calmed when Mancellor returned her glance.

  Hammerfiss saw the short exchange between them. His brow rose. “Oh, the needless trouble some folk create for themselves.” Under his shaggy beard curled a mischievous smile.

  He is right. How can I feel jealous of Jenko and Spades, and at the same time have eyes for Mancellor Allen? Ava knew she should leave the man alone. Lest he suffer the same fate as Gault Aulbrek. . . .

  †  †  †  †  †

  Ava was alone in Aeros’ tent. The White Prince had taken Jenko and all of his Knights Archaic but for Spades back to the battlefield, back to slay any injured Ocean Guards who still sought to flee or surrender.

  Enna Spades was left outside the tent to guard Ava.

  Dressed in naught but a light silken shift, Ava stepped softly across the plush rugs and knelt before the gold-filigreed chest in the corner of the partitioned room. It was normally kept locked. But she had been watching the White Prince, and the last time he had opened the chest, she had memorized where its hidden latch was. She felt along the intricately scrollworked edge of the lid, searching until she heard it click, and pulled up gently. The lid swung soundlessly open before her.

  With great care, she reached into the chest and pulled forth the horned helm. She held it up in trembling hands before the candlelight. Shards of yellow flickered off its burnished silver-and-gold surface. The two horns jutting from the helm always captured her gaze. At first she had thought they were ox horns, only to realize they were something else entirely. Up close for the first time, she could tell they were not horns at all, nor bone, but rather fashioned of some shimmering ivory substance not of this world.

  The relic was heavier than she’d imagined it would be; her arms swiftly grew weary. She set the helm on the rug and gazed down into the chest at the sharp double-bladed battle-ax, its twin half-moon-shaped edges gleaming in the faint light. The weapon had a leather-wrapped steel shaft interwoven with Vallè runes. Arms already drained of strength, she did not want to lift it. She left the ax where it lay and picked up the satchel—the leather bag Jenko and Mancellor had taken from Nail in Ravenker when they had stolen the ax. The pouch was made of rough hide, a flap curling over the top and buckling on the side.

  Ava opened the flap and pulled forth a handful of bound scrolls and set them aside next to the helm. At the bottom of the satchel were two swatches of black silk. She snatched one up and unwrapped it. An angel stone!

  Her gaze widened as waves of radiant blue light washed over the stone’s shiny surface. She set the stone on the rug between her knees, marveling at its sheer magnificence. She grabbed the other swatch of silk from the chest and swiftly found the brilliant green stone within. It too shimmered and shone, ghostly tendrils of emerald color swirling just under its polished surface. The angel stones stole her breath.

  “The Bloodwood claimed you tended his wounds with great care.” Spades’ voice cut the silence like a knife. Startled, Ava lurched to her feet, whirling around, the green stone tumbling from her hand to the rug. Enna Spades, standing between the two canvas flaps that made up the door to Aeros’ partitioned room, looked tall and regal in her armor. Her injured right arm was not in a sling but wrapped in a simple clean white bandage. Spades carried My Heart in her good hand, the sword she had gifted Ava. The warrior woman’s glance traveled from the horned helm, up to Ava’s guilt-filled eyes, then swiftly down the length of her silken shift to the two glowing stones on the rug at her feet.

  “What have we here?” Spades cocked her brow, stepping all the way into the room, her leather-booted footsteps creaking as she moved. Her own sword clacked against her armored leggings.

  “The one who snoops finds great treasure.” Spades knelt before the horned helm next to Ava, setting the ruby-hilted sword in front of Ava. She lifted the helm, examining it from all angles before placing it back on the rug. She picked up the blue stone and then the green, held them in the palm of her hand. Ava watched the vibrant spray of blue and green light play over the Sør Sevier woman’s porcelain-colored face, she noticed a slow transformation. Before, there had merely been a look of surprised curiosity fixed to the red-haired woman’s overall features, but now a look of utter shrewdness was growing in her eyes. Indeed, burning beneath that freckled pale skin was something alive, something livid with both cunning and lust.

  “Now that the boys are out at play”—Spades turned to Ava—“looks like you decided to have some fun of your own.”

  Ava could feel her face flushing with red. Fear crept into her gut and stayed.

  “I came in to have you tend to my bandage, perhaps teach you more sword craft,” Spades said. “But I see you have discovered something far more interesting for us to do.”

  Spades was close enough, and the candlelight bright enough, that Ava could study the details of the woman’s eyes for the first time ever. She had deep green irises peppered with a spray of bold gray flecks. As Ava gazed into those two strange orbs, the syrupy gray darkness of those irises struck even more terror in her heart, folded around her and pressed in. For she recognized what she saw in Spades’ hard gaze, and it terrified her.

  Does everyone need look at me this way?

  The red-haired woman gently set the stones back onto the rug and unwrapped th
e bloody bandage from around her arm. She leaned close to Ava, very close. A whisper, barely audible, touched Ava’s ears. “Heal me as you healed the Spider.” Then Spades’ lips brushed her cheek, soft and sensual.

  Ava drew back. Her mind was naught but turmoil, for she knew that every word and touch had a cryptic double meaning with these monsters from Sør Sevier. She shuddered as Spades’ hand was suddenly cupping her breast over her silken shift. Ava’s throat went tight. A soft cry escaped her lips, the hand on her flesh naught but a tepid reminder of all the depravities Aeros had heaped upon her. Is everyone out to defile me, to destroy me?

  She clenched her eyes tight as Spades drew soft fingers up the side of her neck, the back of her hand tracing the outline of her lips. Think of home. Think of love. But it was all so futile. The Grayken Spear Inn. Her first night with Jenko. Some joke. All of it a joke. Pointless nostalgia. A sentimental journey, right? As a young girl, life had been good to Ava, filled with innocence and wonder and normality. Before her father had died. And then her mother. Then came Aeros Raijael and nothing but pain.

  But Spades’ touch was gentle. . . .

  Who was she kidding? They are all monsters!

  Fact was, the world she’d known before was old and laughable, a world so insignificant it could have been rolled up into the world’s smallest scroll and lit afire and smoked during the Mourning Moon Feast.

  And that feast had been the last night of happiness she’d ever had.

  It’s a pretty pickle you’re in now, Ava Shay, spending your days trapped in some tent or covered wagon with nothing to look forward to but the next mysterious conversation with a red-eyed Bloodwood, or doing nothing but awaiting the next fleeting distraction of being fondled and groped and raped by some blond prince with black-pupiled eyes, or a warrior woman who gave you a ruby-hilted sword. . . .

  Ava’s soul was nothingness—an empty place only Laijon could fill. Writhing. Violent. Hopeless. You’re lost and now you need to find yourself. Face it. There’s no hope to come from Jenko Bruk. And Gault isn’t coming back for you. Mancellor Allen won’t do anything. You are only projecting your wants onto him. The Spider betrays, he only pretends. They all only pretend. Even Enna Spades. Truth is, there is nobody. Nothing.