The Blackest Heart

by Brian Lee Durfee

  She never imagined a darkness like this could even exist. Her surroundings were blacker than the bark of a Bloodwood tree, complete and consuming. She could see nothing, not even her hand before her face, not even different shades of black within the blackness. “May as well be blind,” the bearded man in the cell across from her had said on that first day. Borden Bronachell. A name she knew. The king of Gul Kana. A man long thought dead. And I am supposed to kill him.

  “I can hear you thinking,” the man calling himself Borden Bronachell said, his rich voice cutting through the harsh calm of the dark. He’d scarcely spoken since that first day. His initial efforts to engage her had merely been met by her own silence. But despite her current stillness, he spoke to her now. “It’s a sad state of affairs when I can know which gaoler approaches in the darkness just by the sound of their gait, the click of their shuffling boots on stone, the angle and wobble and shimmer of the light coming from whatever lantern or torch they carry. It is an even sadder state when I can know when my dungeon mates are simply . . . in deep thought.”

  He went quiet, perhaps anticipating a response from her. She did not give one. She sat up, the movement sending a wave of pain through her entire midsection. The Knight Chivalric’s maul had certainly done one its job on her midsection.

  She thought of Dread, wondering about her Bloodeye steed, hoping Dugal or Hans was watching over the mare. She needed her mount’s warm neck to lean into now. Nuzzling my horse. It was one of the few things that ever seemed to calm her. She also mourned the loss of the blue ribbon around her ankle—something small, but something that had been part of her for five years. Who has it? Who took it?

  Borden’s deep voice drifted from out of the blackness again. “I can tell when you are digging around in your cell, fussing with the locking mechanism on your door, when you are lying down on your side or on your back, when you are sitting, like now. And as I said, even when you are thinking . . . even what you are thinking.”

  “You can tell what I am thinking?” Krista asked, her voice cracking, dry.

  “She finally speaks,” he said with genuine pleasure. “Perhaps we will become truest of friends now.”

  Not likely. She wished she’d kept quiet.

  “I know you are here to kill me,” he continued. “I know Aeros Raijael and Black Dugal all too well.”

  He must have seen me swallow the note. The fact that he was so observant made his kingly claim all the more believable. He’d already claimed she reminded him of someone he once knew. Trust no one. Especially in here, of all places. Dugal’s games were meant to test her resolve and intelligence. It very well could be Dugal in disguise sitting across from her.

  “Last I heard, Aeros Raijael is far away, waging war in Gul Kana,” she said. “I do not know the other man, Dugal, nor his name. And I’ve no wish to kill you. I am not even supposed to be here.”

  “Indeed,” he said affably. “We are naught but prisoners, both of us innocent. All in prison are innocent. All you need do is ask us. Yet, perhaps, someday we will all be pulled from this place and our lives ended in some grotesque Sacrament of Souls.”

  A chill froze her spine. Who is this man really? “Some deserve to die,” she said.

  “What, for merely being a prisoner? Do I deserve to die in some Sacrament of Souls? Do you? Does merely being in the dungeons of Rokenwalder make one so callously dispensable, so worthless?”

  She stayed silent. She would offer him no more.

  “They say you killed Aevrett Raijael.” The accuracy of his cold accusation again hit her like a punch to her already sore gut.

  “So you accused me once before.” She felt her stomach churn. “What of it?” She moved her hand gently over the tenderness of her chest and stomach, wondering how bruised and injured her body must look—if there were ever any light.

  “At all times Black Dugal keeps both his friends and enemies off balance,” the man continued. “Guiding them down dark paths, never showing his intentions, even at the end. You must prepare your own defense against the unknown, girl.”

  Like Black Dugal, this man calling himself Borden Bronachell certainly was a cryptic talker. But she would not fall for his bait. She would remain silent.

  “We may never know why Aeros Raijael had you murder his father,” he said. “Or why Dugal agreed to it. Or why either of them wanted Aevrett dead. Or why Dugal sent you, a girl who looks exactly like someone I once knew, to slay me.”

  She wanted no connection to him. She did not want anyone alluding to the mother she had never known. For that was clearly the angle he was playing. At the moment she just wanted the unbearable pain in her gut to go away. She wanted her weapons, her Bloodwood daggers. She would have been out of this cell long ago with just one dagger to work with, or even one small bit of metal. Part of your test is to learn to live without weapons, learn to kill just as thoroughly without them, Dugal had once said. He was a clever master and this was a clever test he had set her too.

  “Are you now fatherless?” the man named Borden asked, unrelenting in his verbal torture of her.

  I should never have engaged him in conversation. She wanted to lie back down. How does he even know of the Sacrament of Souls?

  She thought back on all the ways she had learned to kill. All the ways she had learned to hurt another without killing. All the secrets of the human body. Even how to force a person into silence. If only I could reach him to shut him up . . .

  “Did you ever know your mother?” he asked.

  She stared up into the dark.

  Impervious to her silence, he continued, “I will tell you of my family, if you don’t mind. I’ve four children. Jovan, the oldest, he fought by my side in Adin Wyte. He followed me into war, naught but eighteen at the time. It severely traumatized him. He hadn’t the stomach nor will to fight. And I fear the carnage and savagery he saw changed him. And not for the better. Even down here in the dungeons of Rokenwalder the rumors reach me. Once I was captured, my son pulled the armies of Gul Kana from Wyn Darrè. I imagine the grand vicar put the notion of retreat into his head, and Jovan gladly followed. The vicar and Quorum of Five Archbishops have always wished for the day of Absolution under the Atonement Tree to come. They always wished for the return of the Five Warrior Angels, for the streets of Amadon to run red with blood as it says in The Way and Truth of Laijon. In fact, those snakes have done all they can to usher the prophecies into fruition.”

  Krista detected unbridled disgust in his voice toward the end. She just wished she could block out his voice, no matter what tone it carried.

  Still he talked, tone brightening. “My eldest daughter, Jondralyn, she was always the brave one, chivalrous to a fault. Like her mother, wanting only fairness and equality for all, willing to fight for it. And Tala, she’d be about your age; in fact, she’d be almost exactly one year younger than you, if my math is right. She’d be sixteen now. A simple soul, my sweet Tala. A dreamer. Naught but goodness in her heart. And perhaps a wee bit of mischief and adventure, too.”

  A slight warning wormed its way into Krista’s heart at the mention of Tala’s age. Exactly one year younger than me? This man who called himself Borden Bronachell was as enigmatically cryptic as Black Dugal. How could he know that I’m seventeen?

  “My youngest, Ansel, I scarcely even know,” he went on. “Just a baby last I saw him. Alana died whilst giving birth to him. Died at the hands of a Bloodwood much like yourself. A cruel deceiver named Hawkwood. An evil killer who I fear may have worked his way into my son’s court. But, as you know, everything the Bloodwoods do is a game, right?”

  The man was toying with her. He’d admitted that rumors reached him down here. So he easily could have found out about the attack on Aevrett Raijael. So he could easily assume she was the culprit. And he could easily assume the culprit was a Bloodwood. As to the history and disposition of his family, she couldn’t care less.

  “There are two other children important to me,” Borden went on. “Twin babies.
Not of my blood. A boy and a girl. I first met them when they were but newborns, some seventeen years ago. Met them along the windswept shores of Dead Lake just east of Agonmoore in the company of a man I much admired, Ser Torrence Raybourne, the king of Wyn Darrè. We rode out to meet his brother, an enigmatic fellow by the name of Ser Roderic. A woman was with Roderic. It was this woman who introduced these twin babies to me. Two wee babes wrapped in swaddling, two babes from Sør Sevier.”

  He went silent for time before finishing. “ ’Twas that very woman who looked so much like you.”

  Avril? Her mother? If so, she was a twin. It meant she had a brother. But Gault had never spoken of fathering twins, or spoken of anyone ever stealing her. It didn’t matter anyway. She wouldn’t listen to lies. The man’s story had nothing to do with her. All part of Dugal’s test. Borden had said so himself, Everything the Bloodwoods do is a game. She knew the truthfulness of that statement.

  “I must admit to you now,” the man continued, “crossing paths with that woman has weighed heavy on my mind all these years. And though I helped in guiding the fates of those two babes she carried, I often wondered what happened to her. She weighs heavy on my mind now. Especially after meeting you, one who resembles her so.”

  It was all prattle. Still, anger was growing within Krista. And she didn’t know why. The last man who had talked with such mysterious abandon about her parentage had died at the end of a Bloodwood blade. And that man had also been a king. It seemed every king Dugal put in her path was just asking to be murdered. If that were her task, to murder this man, she would relish it. She could grow used to being a king killer.

  “I have a dwarf friend, name of Ironcloud.” Borden would not stop talking. “The truest of friends. Someday I expect you will soon meet him, if you haven’t already. Regardless, he taught me of a book of scrolls. A very secret book. An ancient book of scrolls written in a lost Vallè language of old by our Blessed Mother Mia. The Moon Scrolls of Mia. I myself have only seen a few pages. But what I read within the pages of these scrolls was a Vallè prophecy. Would you like to hear it?”

  She said nothing, knowing he was going to tell her anyway.

  “You know that the nature of a Vallè maiden is to see into the future?” he asked.

  The only two Vallè she had ever met were Seita and Breita. And they had certainly never prophesied anything to her.

  “A Vallè maiden’s premonitions can be startlingly accurate,” he carried on. “The prophecy I read in the Moon Scrolls was about a fatherless girl, a human girl who becomes a kingslayer, a girl who becomes the deadliest killer the Five Isles has ever seen, a girl who helps bring about the return of the Five Warrior Angels.”

  Krista now had the full measure of the man across from her—he was completely crazy and she wished he would shut up.

  “They are coming,” Borden said ominously, his tone now hushed. “The gaolers. Bogg and Squateye, too. And there is something dreadful in their approach. I can tell by their gait, they bring some foulness with them. Some foulness more than just porridge. Some foulness meant just for you.”

  Krista could hear nothing. But then the faint yellow glow of torchlight eased its way toward them, accompanied by the clink and clank and shuffle of the gaolers. She could also hear the bark and growl of an angry dog. Café Colza Bouledogue.

  She squinted into the yellow glow, braced her eyes against the bright agony of the two advancing torches. Through the haze of stinging pain she saw the familiar face of the one-eyed dwarf, Squateye, along with the warden. Bogg led his horrid bulldog, Café Colza, by a chain tied to an iron collar around its thick neck. They stood before Borden’s cell, all three staring in. Bogg slid him a tray of food.

  “The second time Bogg and his dog have been down here since the unimportant girl arrived,” Borden said nonchalantly, taking the food. “Years without a visit from either of you . . . and now it’s an almost daily occurrence.”

  Café Colza lunged at the bearded man’s cell, barking and snarling. “Leave off, scum!” Bogg yanked harshly on the leash, snapping the dog’s body around. “He ain’t even worth your drool, stupid mutt.”

  Squateye knelt before the bars of Krista’s cell and slipped a flat stone tray of gray porridge to her under the bars. Neither Bogg nor Squateye said a word as they moved on down the passage, the searing glow of their torches fading away into the distance.

  When Krista lifted the tray of food, she noticed the blue ribbon Gault had gifted her on the floor underneath, coiled around a small gold coin. My father’s ribbon! She snatched up the ribbon and coin, fingers curling around both.

  Borden’s voice cut across the distance, soft. “As I said, that gruff old dwarf left you more than just a little porridge, no?” Then the torchlight was gone and all was black.

  * * *

  For surely Laijon will do nothing save he revealeth his secrets unto his humble servants, the quorum of five.

  —THE WAY AND TRUTH OF LAIJON

  * * *

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  TALA BRONACHELL

  13TH DAY OF THE ANGEL MOON, 999TH YEAR OF LAIJON

  AMADON, GUL KANA

  Earlier that evening Leif Chaparral had officially been made Dayknight captain—a ceremony Tala had purposely avoided. Jondralyn had skipped it too. Lawri Le Graven also. Together the three of them stood on the battlements above Tin Man Square looking over Amadon, watching the bulk of the armies of Gul Kana march from the city for Lord’s Point, Leif at the helm.

  “This will only end in disaster for us all.” Jondralyn, dressed in her Silver Guard armor, sword hanging at her hip, was clearly distraught by the entire affair. Whether it was because she herself had not been included in the planning of the battle, or included in the army itself, or because Leif was leading the army, Tala couldn’t tell.

  Either way, her older sister stepped back from the battlements with a disgruntled look and sat down heavily on the nearby stone bench next to Lawri.

  Tala turned her attention back to the vast host filing from the city. Leif’s father, Lord Claybor Chaparral, rode at Leif’s side. Claybor led several thousand gray-and-maroon-clad Wolf Guards from Rivermeade. Lawri’s father, Lord Lott Le Graven, led his black-and-yellow-liveried Lion Guards. Behind Lott and Claybor followed the red-and-white knights of Savon, banners flying above. Next came the forest green and yellow of Crucible, the black and white of Ridliegh, and the purple and blue of Reinhold. It was a colorful procession. Nearly fifty thousand knights streaming from the city astride steeds plumed with the heraldic colors of their lords and lands.

  Knights from the bigger towns of Dires Woad, Wroclaw, Port Follett, Copper, Hopewell, Lusk, Gavryl, Arlish, and hundreds of other smaller villages were still on their way to Amadon. It was rumored that Lord Nolan Darkliegh was leading over twenty thousand Marble Guards from Avlonia, collecting mercenaries and other small-town garrisons along the way. All would eventually arrive in Amadon and follow in Leif’s wake to Lord’s Point.

  Amadon Castle would still be well fortified, or so Jovan promised. At least five thousand Silver Guards and almost nine hundred Dayknights remained to fill the security duties of the court and castle, not to mention the Temple of the Laijon Statue and the Hallowed Grove and slave quarry at Riven Rock, and countless other sundry duties.

  For various reasons, watching Leif’s army march away, colors and banners and glinting armor winding west through the main thoroughfares of Amadon took Tala’s breath away. It was the first time it had really sunk in: her father’s kingdom had truly been invaded and was truly at war. And if Leif Chaparral didn’t stop the White Prince, the glorious city of Amadon could soon be under siege.

  “I must say, I do dream of Squireck nightly.” Lawri Le Graven broke the silence. She sat on the stone bench next to Jondralyn. “Thoughts of him ease my sleep.”

  Tala sighed in exasperation. Her every conversation is about court nobles and knights and who she might marry. Lawri wore a long-sleeved dress laced around the necklin
e and pink lace gloves. She kept her left arm cradled gingerly in her lap.

  Lawri giggled. “At first I hated Squireck because he murdered the archbishop, but he has proven himself so gallant in the arena, absolved of his crimes and all.” She turned to Jondralyn, a dreamy look on her face. “He knelt and kissed the top of my hand when I offered it. Did you see it, Jon, when he kissed me? I could feel his lips right there on the lace of my glove.”

  “I saw it.” There was a trace of annoyance in Jondralyn’s voice. “I was standing right here next to you. And in the five minutes since he’s been gone, you’ve talked of nothing but him and that kiss nonstop.”

  “I know.” Lawri giggled again. “I can sometimes babble on like a love-struck teen, but—”

  “You are a love-struck teen,” Jondralyn cut her off.

  “I know! Isn’t it just so silly?”

  Tala sighed again. Lawri had always been known to get a trifle giddy around the young nobles and knights of the court, but lately it was getting ridiculous. Today her cousin was talking about Squireck so fast she could scarcely breathe.

  It’s just the Bloodwood poisons working inside her. Lawri’s dark-pupiled eyes continually sparkled with green flecks of light. Just Bloodwood poisons and green medicine balls and who knows what else . . .

  . . . nothing to worry about . . .

  “Tala knows about my dreams,” Lawri said. “Weird dreams mostly. Well, aside from the ones I have about Squireck. Those are actually good dreams.” She giggled again. “But the weird dreams are full of weird things buried in cross-shaped altars and skull-faced men and the silver throne. . . .” Lawri trailed off, leaned into Jondralyn conspiratorially. “Did you know I once dreamed Tala and the grand vicar were married? Can you imagine that, Jon? Married.” A shadow passed over her briefly, then her face lit up again. “Things will turn out for the best, though. Squireck will become a great hero. Well, he already is a great hero, if you take my meaning. He will kill Gault Aulbrek. Then he will follow Leif’s army to Lord’s Point and kill Aeros Raijael. And then he shall marry me. Or perhaps he will already be married to me when he kills the White Prince. Either way it always turns out for the best in my dreams. Even Lindholf will be found innocent.”