Black Stone Heart (The Obsidian Path Book 1)

by Michael R. Fletcher

  She saw me, screamed utter heart-rending pain, drew her sword, and charged.

  “You killed my sister!”

  Her words froze me for an instant and she damned near ended me with her first frenzied attack. Only instinct, honed over forgotten years, saved me. I defended myself, knocking aside her wild decapitating swing. Sparks and slivers of my crude sword flew as she hacked at me like she meant to chop down a tree.

  She stopped, sword held ready, death in her pale eyes.

  “I didn’t know,” I said. “I thought—”

  She attacked again, this time with finesse. Again, I parried, retreating before her wrath. Eyes narrowed, searching for a weakness or an opening, she followed. Already my sword was nicked and pitted.

  “Tien told me you were dead,” I said, backing away.

  Shalayn’s sword, licked out, snake fast, opening a wound along my left arm. I might be the better sword fighter, with my years of practice, my centuries of war, but she was faster. And my shoddy sword would only take so much abuse.

  “Liar,” she said, feinting, opening a cut along my thigh.

  Wincing in pain, I retreated. Blood ran free, the wounds burning like fire.

  “Kill her!” Screamed Henka from behind me.

  Shalayn saw her and those beautiful blue eyes bled hate. “You abandoned me for her?” she growled.

  “No, I—”

  Shalayn slashed my ribs and I gasped in pain. She followed, blade stabbing and feinting, looking for openings. She meant to bleed me, to see me suffer.

  “I came back to the tower,” I blurted as fast as I could. “You were gone.”

  “Stop talking to her and kill the bitch before she guts you!” yelled Henka.

  It was good advice. It was advice I ignored. I had to explain, to make Shalayn understand.

  “Tien tricked me,” I said. “I—”

  Pain lit my gut as she drew a line across my belly. It was a shallow line, drawn with precision, cascading blood. I was better than this, better than her. But I didn’t want to kill her. I couldn’t.

  “Liar,” Shalayn ground out between clenched teeth. “Tien rescued me and you never came back. She said you abandoned me once you had what you wanted.”

  Of course it looked like that. I get the shard of my heart, I put the ring on, and I’m gone.

  “No, I—”

  This time I blocked her attack, steel singing harsh echoes in the stone alley. The force of the blow bent my blade.

  I saw in her eyes she wanted to believe me. I also saw she could never forgive me for killing her sister. Only one of us would walk away from this fight.

  Fast as Shalayn was, I had years of skill writ deep in every bone and muscle. This time, when she attacked, I riposted, sending her sword skittering away into the filth and detritus littering the alley. My own sword shattered with the manoeuvre and she had a knife drawn, lightning fast, when my left fist clipped her chin.

  She crumpled, unconscious.

  “Kill her,” said Henka, approaching.

  “No.”

  “Do you love her?” she asked, watching my reaction with those knowing eyes.

  She saw inside me, knew me better than I did.

  “I did. She…”

  Shalayn wasn’t dead. Tien lied about that. She wrote ‘I deserve better’ on the table top, the words Shalayn was to use to trigger the magic ring. The thief used me and lied about her sister to separate us, to protect her. I couldn’t even be angry.

  “She betrayed me,” I lied to Henka. “Back in Taramlae.”

  “I want her eyes,” said Henka.

  “No you don’t. You know I love you with dark eyes.”

  “Why won’t you kill her?”

  “Because he wants to, the old me.” It was true. The Demon Emperor knew better than to leave an enemy alive. He railed at me to stab her while she lay helpless. “I need to be different than him. I need to be better.”

  Henka looked thoughtful, staring at the unconscious woman. “Fine. Bring the wizard. She’ll be useful.”

  “No.”

  “Why not? With an enslaved wizard—”

  “No.” This time I offered no explanation. Tien may or may not deserve such a fate, but I could never do that to Shalayn. Raising her sister as an undead slave would forever ruin me in her eyes. Stupid, but the truth.

  Shaking her head in disappointment, Henka said, “Fine.”

  She gave in too easily but I was grateful she didn’t push me to kill Shalayn, to harvest this woman I did, in fact, still love. It felt like my stone heart cracked anew. My chest hurt and I wanted to sit somewhere and cry.

  Tien’s only real crime was trying to save her sister from me. She saw what I was: Evil. She knew Shalayn’s self-destructive bent, the way she was drawn to me. Tien knew I’d eventually either hurt Shalayn or get her killed. Hell, I almost did. Had some wizard other than Tien found her in the tower…

  I had to turn away, to keep moving. If I hesitated, if I stayed here staring at Shalayn, Henka would know the truth. And if I was still here when Shalayn regained consciousness, then I really would have to kill her. Still, I hesitated, not wanting to leave the woman unconscious in this filthy alley. She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve any of this. Her skin glowed pale in the moonlight, that dusting of freckles. She was beautiful, a luminescent ghost. She’d been kind to a stranger. Where everyone loathed me for the colour of my skin, she found something to love. She took dangerous risks to help me. She trusted me.

  And I murdered her sister.

  Taking Henka’s cold hand in mine I pulled her away. “Come, let’s go.”

  “We don’t have what we came for.” She walked, unresisting, at my side.

  More killing. “I can’t. Not now.”

  “I can, I suppose, make do with what’s onboard the Habnikaav,” she said, squeezing my hand.

  “I’ll need blood and souls for the summoning and binding rituals. We’ll harvest some of the crew together. The floating mountain has everything else I need.”

  I wanted to flee there, to escape myself. I needed time and space to think. And I wanted to test the skills I’d learned from the last shard. Anything to distract myself from what I’d done.

  “What,” I said, “is a demonologist without demons?”

  “True,” she said, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek.

  Henka and I returned to the ship.

  The Captain, standing at the rail, watched us ascend the gangplank, eyeing the blood leaking from my many wounds. I nodded as we passed and he said nothing.

  Back in our cramped, stinking cabin, I collapsed onto the bed with a groan, uncaring what insects I shared it with. Light-headed from blood-loss, I was exhausted and shaken with the horror of what I’d done.

  Shalayn was alive.

  I, however, gutted her sister right in front of her. I knew Shalayn; she’d hunt me to the ends of the world and beyond. No hell was safe.

  Part of me hoped she found me. I promised her she could break me back to someone she loved.

  She deserved her vengeance.

  I deserved her wrath.

  I slept.

  When I woke, I found Henka sitting on the edge of my bed, watching me.

  “I returned to town,” she said. “I got the supplies we purchased.” She nodded at the heaped sacks crowding the small room.”

  I wondered how she managed to carry it all back here but didn’t ask. Instead, I kissed her cold cheek and told her, “Thank you.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  For the next two days, I spent my time standing at the bow, feeling the salt wind on my face and in my hair. In the evenings I memorized the cabin we shared. Gods, I missed the ocean. The gentle rise and fall of the ship beneath me, the rhythmic slap slap of the waves against her hull. Gulls followed us, calling and screeching, and fighting over our scraps.

  Henka remained below decks, claiming the salt water and strong winds were murder on her skin. I didn’t argue. I valued my solitude. For year
s it had been just me, alone in my mud shack. I missed the simplicity. I missed being an animal, empty of thought.

  Shalayn.

  I recalled our stay in the tower. Looking back, that was the best time of what little of my life I remembered. While we’d been trapped there, we’d been together. We ate and drank together. We bathed and slept together. She’d been my world. When I thought she died because of me, it broke my heart. The flesh, not the stone.

  I loved her. I loved her and I missed her. I loved her, and if she ever saw me again, she wouldn’t hesitate to kill me.

  I knew I’d see her someday. Or maybe I’d feel her sword in my back as Tien felt mine. Hopefully the latter, for if the former, I’d kill her. I’d have no choice. Though she still lived, I felt the loss of her in my chest. Shame soured my gut. I hadn’t been honest with Henka. Much as I loved her, I saw now that some part of me always held out some impossible hope for Shalayn.

  That hope was dead. The man that held that hope was dead too. I was Khraen. I would be the Demon Emperor once again.

  It was past time to set aside my doubts. It was time to stop allowing myself to be distracted. I needed a demonic host. I needed armies of the dead. Dead wizards. Dead elementalists. Dead shamans. Dead sorcerers. Dead necromancers.

  Frustration ate at me. I wanted it all. I wanted everything, the whole world. I needed the shard of my heart residing in PalTaq. I needed to know what it knew. Summonings. Bindings. My most ancient secrets. My god. My sword, Kantlament. The End of Sorrow.

  On the second day the Captain joined me at the rail, ocean breeze tugging at the thick coils of his black beard. For several minutes we stood in silence.

  Finally, he said, “For over two decades I’ve captained this ship.”

  I grunted something non-committal, waiting for him to get to the point.

  “In all that time, we’ve never taken on passengers.” He turned to face me. “And now I have two berths rented out.”

  “Two?”

  “A young lady joined us the morning we set sail, before you rose.”

  My heart dropped. “A swordswoman?”

  He raised an eyebrow at that. “Hardly. She paid well and said she didn’t want to be bothered.”

  Relief flooded me. It wasn’t Shalayn. She would never travel without her sword.

  “Should I be worried?” asked the Captain.

  Had someone followed us from the town? There’d been the fight with Shalayn, but I hadn’t seen any witnesses. The law would have grabbed us before we set sail.

  “I don’t think it has anything to do with us,” I told the Captain.

  He grunted doubt.

  Leaving the bow, I joined Henka below decks.

  “Apparently a woman took a berth just before we left,” I told her.

  “I saw her.” Unconcerned with the revelation, she studied me with loving eyes. “How are you?”

  I grinned and took her cold, dead body into my arms. “I am good as long as I am with you.”

  She hugged me tight. “I worried I lost you. I know…” She pulled back so she could look me in the eye. “I know you loved her. I know she meant a lot to you.”

  “I killed her sister,” I said, as if that explained anything.

  “You had to. She was a wizard. If not now, then in the war to come.”

  The war to come. And there would be war.

  “The floating mountains have almost everything I need to summon and bind demons. I have souls, but will need blood. I’ll return when I’m ready, and we’ll harvest a few crew members.”

  “We’ll share the blood,” she said. “So I can be warm for you.”

  I nodded agreement. I wanted that more than I could say. I wanted to drown myself in her, forget Shalayn. “I want a demon-bound sword, and demon-bound armour.” Suddenly, I wanted her to meet Nhil, the ancient demon who claimed to be my friend. “Come with me. Escape the harsh sea air and the damp and this insect-infested berth.”

  “No. I have work to do here.”

  Work? I didn’t ask.

  Releasing her, I collected the preserved foods we purchased. Staggering under the weight, I turned to face her. Luckily, as I planned to arrive in the library this time, I wouldn’t have to carry it far.

  “I have enough for maybe three weeks,” I said.

  “If you run out sooner, come back to me. I’ll collect what I can, tell them it’s for our meals.” Her eyes twinkled mischief. “And come back for visits when you need to relax or take a break.”

  I knew then she’d collect blood in my absence. Was the Captain already short one crewman, or had she harvested someone when she returned to collect the food? I decided not to ask.

  “I will,” I promised.

  She kissed me on the cheek. I stood for a long time, envisioning the library in the mountain keep. The weight of the pack faded, forgotten, as my focus became absolute. I saw the library, the thousands of books, the huge leather chair.

  Felkrish, my portal demon, took me there.

  “Welcome back,” said Nhil, standing behind me. He sounded utterly unsurprised.

  Had he known I was coming, or had he simply been waiting there since I left?

  “What kind of demon are you?” I asked.

  “Manifestation.”

  “Obviously. Where are you from, what hell? What is your real name? What purpose do you serve?”

  “I see you have regained some of your memories. Clearly you still lack many.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “No, it isn’t. But it’s the best you’ll get.”

  “Listen, demon—”

  He stalled me with a raised hand. “Fine. My purpose was to provide you with knowledge and information, both magical and mundane. These books,” he gestured at the walls of bookcases, “are but a fraction of my reading. I have unimaginable sources of knowledge. This flesh,” he gestured at himself, “is but a sliver of the being that I, in truth, am. I exist in countless realities, fragments of my soul seeking out information, pursuing ever more convoluted pathways to ultimate wisdom. You can’t command me, and you can’t bind me because you released me over five thousand years ago. Lucky for you, I remain a loyal friend and will always assist you however I can.”

  I gave up. I needed Nhil’s help and antagonizing the demon would get me nowhere. And I believed him.

  “We’ll finish this discussion later,” I said.

  “Perhaps.”

  Another thought occurred to me. “You’re free. Why do you not return home?”

  “I cannot.”

  “You aren’t capable?”

  “It’s gone. Destroyed.” Seeing the question on my lips, he said, “She destroyed it.”

  She. I knew he referred to my god. Dreading the answer, I asked, “Why?”

  “To weaken me. To ensure I had nowhere to escape to.”

  I had the horrible feeling she did this for me, that my god killed Nhil’s world to bind him to me.

  “However,” said Nhil, “you did not come to discuss the ancient past.”

  “No.” I dropped the bag of supplies to the floor and left my questions unasked. “There are three weeks of supplies here. Less, if I don’t feel like going hungry.” My last visit remained fresh in my memories, an experience I didn’t care to repeat. “I need your help. I must summon and bind demons. I need a demonic weapon, and demonic armour. Once I have those things we can discuss next steps.”

  “Your armour is upstairs.”

  I shuddered. “I’m not ready for that.” The thought of touching the red armour terrified me.

  “Probably wise.” Nhil rubbed his chin in thought, did that weird mistimed blink. “How many souls in the Soul Stone?”

  “I can’t be sure, but at least twelve,” I said. “Maybe more.”

  “You don’t have enough for something of real power. I’d suggest prioritizing, weapon or armour.”

  Defence or attack.

  “Can I summon something that will protect me from wizards?”
>
  “Nothing can protect you from everything. A wizard could drop a rock on you, cook you with fire, boil your blood, or a thousand other things.”

  Boil my blood. Tien had threatened me with that. I crushed a pang of guilt.

  Cowering behind demonic protection didn’t seem right. I wanted a weapon. I wanted to kill wizards.

  “A sword then.” A thought occurred to me. “The End of Sorrow.”

  “Kantlament.”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “Of course. It’s in PalTaq, where you left it.”

  Where I left it? Hadn’t I had it at my side during the final battle? But if I left it somewhere, that must have been after the war. Why had I set it aside? Had I surrendered? That definitely didn’t sound like me.

  So many questions and so little time. I had to focus. Once I had a sword, I’d question Nhil at length.

  “Let’s get started,” I said. “Henka is all alone on that ship. I want to get back to her as fast as I can.”

  “Henka,” said Nhil. He sighed and rubbed his face. “I’d worry more about the ship’s crew.”

  His words slammed through me, took my breath. “You know her?”

  “Of course,” said Nhil. “She’s your wife.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  I blinked at him, mouth opening and then closing when it realized it had nothing to say.

  My wife.

  All those times I’d been teased by memories of pale skin and dark hair and there she was, right beside me. So many questions fought for dominance, but one crushed the others with its need for an answer: Why?

  Why hadn’t she told me?

  Did she not know?

  I felt certain she did. Too often she seemed to know me better than I knew myself.

  Pieces fell together.

  The dead man, killed with an arrow, dragged onto my grave, whose blood brought me back. I never questioned how he got there, who killed him. When I first clawed my way free of the earth, a gaunt wolf stood there, its fur hanging in tatters, watching me. The ragged pack I kept seeing in the far north. They never came too close, never stole my kills no matter how starved they looked. They’d been dead. I was positive. I remembered the scream of the Septk man who hunted me after I killed his boy, the trail left as something dragged his corpse away, the lingering taint of rot on the air. Had that been the dead grizzly bear, fleeing with its kill lest I see it? So many times, I saw animals and felt like they were watching me. Those tattered birds circling above Taramlae, had they been spying on me even while I was with Shalayn?