Blackthorne

by Stina Leicht

  Hännenen scowled. “You don’t have to tell me—”

  “Just … send someone back with a report about what’s happening at the docks as soon as you can,” Slate said.

  Hännenen nodded at some signal from his sister and then said, “I will.” The Ghost’s mouth was set in a rigid line as he turned away.

  With Hännenen gone and the hall emptied, Slate turned and sped through the passages. It didn’t take long for Blackthorne to lose his bearings.

  “Where are we going?” Blackthorne asked.

  “Where we’ll have the best view,” Slate said. “The Lookout.”

  TWO

  The Lookout was little more than a wide ledge positioned high above the ship access to the dock with an excellent view of the river and a large part of the surrounding ravine. There was space enough to shelter three or four guards and a grate for a small fire. The fire in question was out, presumably due to having been forgotten. Blackthorne shivered. His breath formed clouds. A guard was always posted at the Lookout, and the floor was kept clear of snow. At the moment, three of Hännenen’s troops crowded the ledge, each armed with blunderbusses. Slate entered with no trouble. Blackthorne hung back. Should the guns need to be employed, things might prove a little too interesting for comfort.

  All three soldiers scanned the area below. Shouts echoed off rock walls. Someone below was screaming.

  “What’s going on?” Slate asked.

  “I don’t know. I can’t see,” one of the men said. He was about fifty years old with greying hair, short and stocky for a kainen. It wasn’t until he turned that Blackthorne recognized Captain Sebastian Moller by the deep scar on his left cheek partially covered by a beard.

  “Who sounded the alarm?” Slate asked.

  “I did, sir,” one of the others said without turning away from the scene below. The voice indicated the bundled corporal was a woman. She sounded frightened. “Thought I saw movement. Heard a cry. Thought it might be someone who left the party for air and got lost. Sent the privates down to investigate. Lenkkeri was to stay at the door while Jauho was to check. I heard Jauho call the all clear. He said it was someone he knew from Rehn. The next thing I heard was the screaming. And that was when I rang the alarm.”

  “You didn’t go down to help?” Slate asked.

  “No, sir,” the corporal said with a guilty look. “Lenkkeri went after him against orders. After that, I couldn’t leave my post without endangering the Hold.”

  Blackthorne got the impression she yearned to be out there now, searching for the missing Lenkkeri and Jauho.

  Slate nodded. “Can you see anything yet?”

  A piercing animal cry sliced through the frozen air, and the skin along Blackthorne’s arms bunched up in gooseflesh. The sound was at once high-pitched and low-pitched—hollow, shuddering, and altogether haunting. He recognized its otherworldly harmonics with a start.

  “What in the abyss was that?” Moller asked.

  Weaponless, Blackthorne bolted for his room. The Eledoreans are facing a malorum unprepared.

  “Blackthorne? Where are you going?” Slate’s question followed him down the passage. “Blackthorne?”

  “I’ll explain later, sir.” Blackthorne shouted as he ran. This is my purpose. This is why Slate saved me. It was unfortunate that his vision was temporarily impaired. It would make fighting to the best of his abilities difficult. He cursed himself for allowing Underlieutenant Nurvi to injure him and thus limit his usefulness.

  One’s life belongs only to one’s Master.

  No one loitered in the passageways to slow him down. Throwing open the door, Blackthorne grabbed everything he’d need—musket, pistols, silver shot, and the ebony-handled Warden’s knife. He checked his pockets for silver, grabbed the last of the coins he had stored in his footlocker, and then fled. When he reached the outermost exit, he paused. No moon tonight. It will be very dark. He spied the hooded lantern in a nearby wall niche and checked its oil reservoir before he stole it, closing the shutter out of concern for his night vision. He made for the river dock and hoped he wouldn’t be too late. The lone malorum would lure the Eledoreans into the dark, split them up, and pick them off one by one. It’s what malorum did.

  Why didn’t I warn them sooner? For that matter, why didn’t Slate or one of the others? As much as Slate preferred to act as though the community was tight-knit, the reality was that there existed a dangerous rift between the Eledoreans and Acrasian refugees.

  We depend upon one another for survival. We have to. No one can do everything. Suddenly, Slate’s words took on another, more personal, meaning.

  One’s life belongs only to one’s Master.

  The first body Blackthorne came to had been drained and was little more than a shrunken husk. It wore an Eledorean private’s insignia. Lenkkeri or Jauho. Probably Jauho. From there, the trail split off in several directions; one set of footprints led deeper into the woods while another went down the river path. He estimated there were eleven individuals patrolling the ravine. He glanced down at the corpse. The profane spice scent of the desiccated private made Blackthorne a little sick.

  Turning away from the smell, he decided with some reluctance to take the time to concentrate on listening. He didn’t like the way listening with intent made him feel, but tracks alone weren’t going to be enough. He only had the use of one eye; the other was too swollen. It would be too easy to miss an important detail, and time was running out for the living. Gritting his teeth against the anticipated nausea, he closed his eyes and focused his will.

  Knowledge came to him with an anxious, queasy twist in his gut. Three surviving Eledoreans were grouped together to the west. He opened his good eye and began following the tracks leading westward. It wasn’t long before he discovered two more Eledorean dead—each had fallen about fifty feet from the other. Both had been caught fleeing. One of the victims hadn’t been completely drained.

  That’s curious, Blackthorne thought. Malorum were crafty, careful, and exacting in their attacks. They were known to be vulnerable during feeding because they focused on their kill to the exclusion of all else. They never left a body undrained. This one appeared to have been in some sort of frenzy, as if it were brain-damaged or diseased. During his years at the Academy, no one had ever documented an instance of illness among the malorum. He wasn’t sure what to make of what he saw. Is it because it’s feeding on kainen?

  No time. Think about it later.

  He paused again to listen. The survivors’ location was more difficult to discern now. At least they’re learning to stay quiet and in a group. That was good. A malorum could only successfully glamour one victim at a time. However, without silver, the Eledoreans were still at a terrible disadvantage.

  The trail led Blackthorne to a huge, jagged boulder in a clearing. Colonel Hännenen and two other Eledorean soldiers had taken up positions with their backs against the stone. Blackthorne recognized one of them, a lieutenant, as a close associate of Hännenen’s but couldn’t remember his name. Relieved to find survivors, Blackthorne took a moment to check the area again. The malorum wasn’t in sight. That didn’t mean it wasn’t nearby. The Eledoreans had but one functioning lantern. Its light shone feebly against the darkness. The use of light and keeping the boulder at their backs was smart. The only problem was that it wouldn’t take long before the malorum climbed up the dark side of the boulder. With that in mind, Blackthorne decided to circle the clearing.

  “Who is there?” the lieutenant asked, and swung the end of his musket so that it pointed at him. “I hear you. Identify yourself.”

  That one has very sensitive ears, Blackthorne thought. He decided it would be best not to risk being shot. “It’s Blackthorne.” His jaw still ached, and his teeth felt a bit loose where Underlieutenant Nurvi’s blows had landed. “Stay where you are. I must make sure of something.” Not all malorum were capable of understanding speech. However, enough were that he decided to be cautious and not reveal details.

  M
oving silently, he left them to argue about the quality of their single reinforcement and made his way to the opposite side of the boulder. The rock appeared easily scalable. Unfortunately, climbing it while carrying a lantern wasn’t possible. He didn’t taste tin and grave dust in the back of his throat, not yet. The malorum still isn’t that close. He tried not to think about what might be keeping it busy. With that, he placed two silver coins to make climbing the rock less attractive. Then he made note of their location for daylight retrieval and went to join the others.

  He was halted by the lieutenant at the edge of the clearing.

  Very good ears indeed, Blackthorne thought, and raised one hand to demonstrate he intended no harm.

  “What are you doing here?” the lieutenant asked, not lowering his musket.

  “Saving you,” Blackthorne said. He slowly opened the shutters on the lantern. His night vision had been ruined, anyway. Not that he was that much use. The swollen eye was watering and painful. He resisted an urge to wipe it dry. With his good eye, he watched the others closely for signs of flinching from the light. It never hurts to be doubly sure. The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed, and he looked away with a scowl. No one else reacted.

  Frowning, Colonel Hännenen said, “We don’t need your help.”

  “I believe the dead I passed on my way to you would testify otherwise,” Blackthorne said. The words were slurred as he forced them past his swollen lips and aching jaw.

  “The others are dead?” Hännenen asked.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “I’m to believe you got here by yourself?” Hännenen asked.

  Blackthorne shrugged and answered before giving it much thought. “It is what Wardens are trained to do.”

  The third Eledorean muttered something in her own language with a sneer.

  The lieutenant said, “Retired or not, he has more experience with these creatures. In this case, it’s best to focus on the pragmatic.”

  “That swiving thing changes form at will. How do we know you are who you claim to be?” Hännenen asked.

  You’re learning. Blackthorne paused while he thought of a sign Hännenen might accept. “Underlieutenant Nurvi lowers his guard when he punches with his left.”

  Hännenen’s frown deepened. “What?”

  “He’s right,” the lieutenant said. “He does.”

  “Oh.”

  The lieutenant pointed the muzzle of his gun at the ground.

  Setting down the lantern, Blackthorne laid out an arc of silver coins on the icy ground. He was careful to clear away the snow with his boot first for maximum exposure. He also made the circle as wide as possible for maneuverability. Without silver shot, the muskets wouldn’t do much, but the noise might serve to startle it—particularly since he did have silver. The creature wouldn’t know which gun would be harmful and which wouldn’t. He straightened after placing the last coin and spied the others looking on, confused.

  “What are you doing?” Hännenen asked.

  “It takes silver to kill malorum,” Blackthorne said.

  Hännenen blinked.

  “Well, there’s a sound argument against debasing currency if I’ve ever heard one,” Viktor said.

  Blackthorne thought it best not to bring up that Acrasian sterling dollars weren’t in public circulation and that most sterling coins hung in the windows of the poorer areas of Novus Salernum were largely comprised of nickel. It was a level of detail that the Eledoreans didn’t need. Not now, he mentally added with no small amount of guilt. “In the future, it would be best to keep silver on your person. Even a small amount will give them pause, and that may provide time you need to escape.”

  “You’re assuming there are more of those things,” Hännenen said. “As far as we know, there is only the one.”

  “Where one is seen, others are most certainly in hiding,” Blackthorne said.

  Hännenen scanned the tree line.

  “The naturalists say that malorum do not cooperate in groups,” Blackthorne said. “They are competitive hunters with overlapping territories, much like felines. They also prefer darkness and are more active in the winter months.” He didn’t feel the need to add And Eledorean winters are especially long and dark.

  “Those things never crossed the Kylmapuro before,” Viktor said. “Why are they here now?”

  “Is it because of the Acrasians? Did you bring them here?” the private asked.

  Uncomfortable with the private’s question, Blackthorne left them without answering. The truth was, he didn’t know. He thought again about his nightmares and dismissed them. Don’t be ridiculous. If that were a connection, then I would’ve seen evidence of it when I was in Novus Salernum. He started climbing.

  Hännenen said, “Blackthorne, where did you go?”

  Upon reaching the top of the boulder, Blackthorne searched the shadows. Was that movement out there? “Are we staying until light, or are you willing to risk the trip back?”

  “We’re killing that thing. And then we’re returning,” Hännenen said. “Not before.”

  “All right,” Blackthorne said. “Hand up my lantern.”

  “Why?” Hännenen asked.

  Attempting not to show his frustration, Blackthorne said, “To prevent the malorum from using higher ground for an attack. They are quite capable of climbing.”

  “Oh.”

  Once the lantern was in place, Blackthorne scrambled back down. The taste of old death and tin filled his mouth the moment he joined the Eledoreans. He glanced up in time to see the malorum rush the light.

  That’s not right, Blackthorne thought. He had time to draw his Warden’s knife.

  Viktor’s gun fired. The creature didn’t so much as pause. It bore down on them with a single-minded determination. One of the Eledoreans cursed, another screamed. Lantern light revealed the malorum’s true form—or what Blackthorne had come to believe was such.

  Its uneven arms and legs were bent at unnatural angles, and it moved with a rapid, otherworldly grace that reminded him of an insect. It had sharp, matted fur and spiny claws. These things he’d come to expect. The main difference between this malorum and the others he’d seen was that it was twice the size of a man. In addition, it hadn’t attempted to clothe itself. Flat black multi-faceted eyes took up a large part of its face. They reflected no light. The thing had reindeer antlers weighing down its wolf-shaped skull. Its feet were bare of fur. That was when he saw they were fashioned like a human’s. The creature reminded him of a newborn colt only now learning how to stand on its legs.

  He registered all these differences in the instant before the creature’s foot landed on top of one of the silver coins. The malorum leapt into the air backward, away from the silver, and crashed into a tree trunk. The monster thrashed and bellowed in agony as snow dropped from the shaken tree’s limbs. Stench-filled smoke erupted at the point of contact.

  Blackthorne put away his knife and loaded his musket with a silver ball. He took careful aim, using his good eye. At this angle, there was no way of hitting the thing in the skull. He pulled the trigger anyway. The butt of the musket slammed into his shoulder, and the explosion echoed through the forest. He tasted the grit of spent powder. Smoke filled the air. Temporarily deafened, he didn’t wait to see if his shot hit. Instead, he went through the well-practiced motions of reloading. By the time he’d raised his weapon for a second shot, the smoke had dissipated.

  The malorum had stopped moving.

  “Stay here,” Blackthorne said, handing his musket to Hännenen and then drawing his knife. “That’s loaded with silver shot. Shoot the thing if it moves again.” Blackthorne tried not to think about being shot in the back as he approached the twitching body. He inched closer. “I think it’s dead.” He stooped to cut its throat.

  Something clamped down on his right leg. Turning to see, he spied the claw locked onto his thigh. The malorum’s grip closed impossibly tight, and Blackthorne was yanked off his feet before he could shout a warning. The ground came up
to meet him. He tasted snow in addition to the creature’s taint. He spat.

  The malorum righted itself. Its maw loomed huge above him. The interior of its mouth was fish-belly white. Poison oozed from its fangs. The smell was horrible. Gagging, he swiped at the malorum’s neck with his knife, but its elongated jaw was in the way. The silver blade sliced across the malorum’s chin and up to the snout. Cut by the silver-laced blade, it roared. A shot went off. The thing jerked and then slumped, landing on top of him. Suddenly overwhelmed with pain and the malorum’s weight, Blackthorne’s vision dimmed. The sound of his own heartbeat filled his ears. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. Soon, he was too tired to care.

  “He’s dead. Okay? We should get back now.”

  “Help me get it off him.” It was Hännenen.

  “But what if he’s right and there are more of those things?”

  “Don’t argue, Private.”

  The weight was lifted. Blackthorne was able to gasp once for air before a wrenching pain exploded in his leg. He could feel blood and melting snow soaking into his clothes. His face was sticky with venom and grit. He made to wipe it away but couldn’t move his hand. Where’s my knife?

  “He’s alive. But I think he’s been bitten.”

  “Get him out from under it, Viktor. I can’t hold this thing forever. Filppula, bring that lantern over here.”

  Blackthorne felt himself dragged. White-hot agony blotted out the rest. When he came to, he was being carried with Hännenen’s shoulder under him on one side and the private’s on the other. A white linen tourniquet was tied tight around his thigh. His leg throbbed with the beat of his heart. The pain had been blunted by the venom but was no less awful.

  “Can you walk?”

  Unsure of his voice, Blackthorne nodded. I’ll damned well try. He tilted his head to search with his good eye for his knife. A bout of dizzying nausea slammed him. He fought it, blinking back pain and tears. His vision cleared and he saw Viktor pull the blade from the malorum’s throat.