Blackthorne

by Stina Leicht

  “Good,” Reini said. “I can’t wait to tell you about the amazing stag night I’ve planned.”

  Hännenen asked, “Why am I suddenly afraid?”

  Reini said something in Eledorean.

  “I don’t think Ilta will care much for that,” Hännenen said.

  The pair switched entirely to Eledorean at that point, and Blackthorne ignored the rest of the conversation in spite of hearing Ilta’s name repeated. He concentrated on the buck and tried not to think about the sinking ache in his chest. All a true Retainer requires is the discipline of one’s own mind.

  He found the animal on its side, twitching. Warm blood melted the snow in bright crimson pits. The right half of the reindeer’s head was a gory mess.

  Reini whistled.

  “In the eye,” Hännenen said, holding out his hand. “Like I said I would.”

  “I don’t know,” Viktor said. “Ball looks like it hit the outer edge of the eye—”

  “It’s close enough to count, and you know it,” Hännenen said. He wiggled his fingers. “Pay up.”

  Reini shook his head, reached into a pocket, and slapped the coin into the Ghost’s outstretched palm. “How many times is this?”

  “Twenty-two,” Hännenen said. “Haven’t missed once since the new smith replaced the barrel. Rifling, he calls it.”

  “We should have the other guns updated,” Reini said.

  Hännenen said, “I’ll only lose my marksmanship ranking to one of the others next spring.”

  “I doubt that,” Reini said. “You’re the best shot in the regiment. Always were. I hate being forever second place. Why must the advantage go to you?”

  Blackthorne attempted to not interpret that as a subtle threat.

  “You’ll have your own soon enough,” Hännenen said. “Joking aside, the work of replacing the others has already begun. Toby will make as many as he can with the steel we have on hand. Should make more progress when Nickols brings in more next spring.”

  The three of them cut a sapling and lashed the reindeer to it. By the time they were finished, the clouds had gathered force, dimming an already ailing sun.

  It will snow again soon. Blackthorne began to worry if they’d get back before dark after all. Bending at the knees, he picked up his end of the heavy reindeer carcass and then balanced the stripped sapling on his shoulder. Reini did the same.

  The scent of fresh blood, reindeer musk, and death wafted up Blackthorne’s nose. There was something both attractive and disturbing about the smell. It brought to mind the gore-filled nightmares and the entity that had haunted his dreams that morning. He mused again upon the Eledorean private’s question, Are the malorum here because of you?

  It’s not possible. Couldn’t be.

  But Blackthorne didn’t know for sure. And because he didn’t, he was determined not to dwell on it. Unfortunately, the Hold didn’t provide as many distractions as Novus Salernum had. Other than the one. And that one distraction was something he could never afford. Not here. He found it ironic that no woman would’ve had him in Acrasia had they known what he really was, and now no woman would have him because of who he’d pretended to be.

  Having taken on the rear of the load, he was happy that he wouldn’t have to worry about walking with his back to Reini and Hännenen on the return journey. Shaking hair from his face, Blackthorne settled into a steady pace. Trudging through the snow, he fought to keep his mind blank. The reindeer carcass weighed heavy and awkward on him. He focused on not dropping his part of the burden and keeping the sharp knot on the sapling from digging into his neck and right shoulder. They hadn’t gotten far before a foul taste flooded the back of his throat, and he was brought up short by a long, unusual howl.

  Reini stopped too, and Blackthorne nearly dropped his burden into the snow when the sapling slipped off his shoulder.

  That’s close. Too close.

  Reini turned toward the second howl. His head tilted as if focused on listening.

  “What was that?” Hännenen asked.

  Blackthorne felt Reini’s shudder of revulsion through the sapling’s length. “Malorum.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t a wolf?” Hännenen asked.

  “I’ve not seen any wolf tracks in at least a week,” Blackthorne said. “Have you?”

  “He’s right,” Reini said. “We need to get home. Now.”

  “We can’t move fast enough. Not like this,” Blackthorne said. He checked the sky again. “We must make a decision. Abandon the kill or find a defensible position for the night.”

  “What makes you say that?” Hännenen asked.

  “Malorum may seem slow, but they can move very fast.” Blackthorne pointed to the reindeer. “Particularly when they smell fresh blood.”

  Hännenen took off his hat, shoved hair out of his eyes, and then blew air out of his cheeks. “Swiving hells.”

  “Which is it to be?” Blackthorne said, leaving the decision to Hännenen.

  “We can’t abandon the kill,” Reini said, speaking to Hännenen. “Who knows when we’ll be able to get another? It’s almost dark all day as it is.”

  “Where can we go, then?” Hännenen asked, angry.

  Blackthorne pointed. “There’s a place to the north of here. A recess in a canyon wall a half-mile away. Could be difficult to get the kill to safety. The base is eroding, but the ledge itself is stable. There are three of us. It won’t be impossible. It has the benefit of high ground. Good defence. Room enough for a fire. Some shelter from the wind. It’s where I’d go.”

  “How do you know about it?” Hännenen asked.

  “Spotted it on one of my walks before winter set in,” Blackthorne said. He didn’t mention that he’d mapped the area. Although Slate hadn’t asked him to do so, it had given him something constructive to do and kept him out of trouble while the weather held. Blackthorne couldn’t help seeing the irony of it. Such a thing was what he would’ve once considered “busy work”. His former self would never have voluntarily done it.

  Another call shuddered through the trees in a fractured harmonic—one part whistle, one part low, shuddering wail. The sound set his teeth against one another.

  “It’s getting closer,” Reini said.

  No. They are, Blackthorne thought. He didn’t want to think about why he knew the difference between one malorum’s voice and another’s. A bolt of terror shot him through the chest. They don’t hunt together. You know this.

  A series of hollow calls originated from different directions. Five of them. There are five of them out there. Hunting together.

  That’s impossible.

  Hännenen laid a hand on the stripped sapling. “All right. You’ve another chance to prove yourself, Warden. Don’t swive us. Do so, and I’ll make sure you eat your own liver.”

  Ex-Warden. Heart pounding, Blackthorne handed off his half of the burden. The terrain was rough and the incline grew steeper as they went. The snow was deeper too, and all three were out of breath by the time they came within sight of their destination. The canyon face, like most rock formations in the area around the Hold, was comprised of layers of sandstone and limestone. Some rock formations were more stable than others. Unfortunately, getting the dead reindeer up the fragile slope was difficult, frustrating work.

  First to make his way to the top, Blackthorne accepted the packs and other equipment he was handed and then began loading muskets with silver shot. Hännenen’s gun was already loaded. Blackthorne dealt with the other two weapons. When that was done, he began inventorying his personal supply of sterling. Hännenen pulled himself up the steep slope and then turned to offer Reini a hand up.

  Checking the woods, Blackthorne spied the first malorum. A second one arrived about twenty feet away from their sheltering ledge. With that, it was plain that Reini wasn’t going to make it to safety.

  Blackthorne made a decision. First, he shoved the dead reindeer to the farthest side of the outcropping—as far away from Reini as he could get it on his own.


  “Come on, Viktor,” Hännenen said. “Get your ass up here already.”

  “This would’ve been a lot easier if your swiving boots hadn’t gouged out the toeholds,” Reini said.

  “And it would be less slippery if you had had the common sense to wear hobnails in the snow and ice,” Hännenen said with a grunt.

  Grabbing a musket, Blackthorne tracked the malorum using the gun’s sight. The barrel was much longer than he was used to—and he now understood he’d picked up Hännenen’s gun. The metal worked into the stock had a greasy, unpleasant feel against his cheek. Magic? It was also heavier, and the balance was different. He made the necessary adjustments to his aim while counting the enemy. Six malorum lurked in the shadows now.

  Six? Something was very wrong. The darkness under the trees seemed thicker. He closed his eyes and concentrated on listening. His skin tingled, and with that sensation came the knowledge that there were seven total malorum, all waiting for their moment to strike.

  That’s bad. He couldn’t take on all of them at once. And Hännenen and Reini didn’t have the experience with malorum that he did. There was only enough silver shot for twenty rounds. He could cast more. He had the equipment, but that would take too much time.

  He heard the abrupt crack of crumbling stone. His eyelids snapped open. Hännenen’s curse and Reini’s scream accompanied the sound of breaking bone. Lying at the bottom of the incline on his back, Reini clutched at his right leg. It was covered in dirt and rock from the collapsed portion of the ledge. Reini’s face contorted in agony.

  One hundred feet away, the first malorum emerged. The creature was all odd angles and sharp edges with spiny fur. It wore the remnants of an Eledorean uniform and glided toward Reini on uneven, backward-bending legs. Its alien grace reminded him of a huge long-limbed insect, and yet there was something mammalian about the creature. Blackthorne had long decided that this was what made malorum so disturbing—they were neither one thing nor the other but an unwholesome combination of many, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say the northern malorum patterned themselves upon whatever creature they first fed upon. Or creatures.

  The monster sniffed as it crept along, drawn by the scent of blood. It moved in the light like a blind thing.

  Blackthorne’s heart slammed a rapid drumbeat against his breastbone. He hoped it wouldn’t affect his aim. The taste of dusty tin in the back of his throat got worse. He spat to keep from choking and then took a deep, slow breath, sighting along the musket’s exaggerated barrel. He didn’t know for certain what Hännenen had loaded the barrel with—chances were the ball was lead. Therefore, Blackthorne had to hit the creature in the head. He wasn’t as accurate a shot as Hännenen. If he missed—

  “This isn’t a good time for a nap, Viktor,” Hännenen said. “Get the hells up here! Now!”

  Reini dragged himself from under the largest rock. “Oh, shit! Oh, gods! I think it’s broken.” Glancing up, he saw Blackthorne with the gun and held up his hands in defence. “Wait! Don’t shoot!”

  Hännenen whirled. A shocked expression flashed across his face before it transformed into betrayed fury. “Wha—”

  Blackthorne slowly squeezed the trigger. The butt of the rifled musket rammed his right shoulder, numbing it. Powder smoke filled his nose and dusted his lips with spent powder. The heat of the explosion warmed his bare cheeks, and he tasted gunpowder grit. The explosion muffled the sound of the malorum falling—thrown onto its back by the force of the hit. He paused just long enough to be certain it wasn’t moving. Then he discarded the musket and drew his black-handled Warden’s knife. He rushed to the other side of the ledge. Yanking the reindeer’s skull up and back, he cut its throat and let the head drop so that cooling crimson dripped over the far side of the frozen ledge.

  With no beating heart to pump it, he wasn’t sure if the blood would draw the malorum off. His fears proved to be in vain. The instant the blood began its sluggish flow, a chorus of piercing shrieks split the air. The malorum grew frantic. They began to fight among themselves as if to determine who would have the right to approach first.

  “Stay here,” Blackthorne said to Hännenen, and pointed to the reindeer’s legs still tied to the sapling. “Throw me the rope. I’ll tie it around Reini. Together, we’ll get him up. As soon as he’s safe, pull the reindeer from the ledge. If you don’t, they’ll get it. Understood?”

  Hännenen nodded.

  “Once it’s moved, get a fire started,” Blackthorne said. “There’s a cache of wood in the crevice. There.”

  “You left a stash of cut wood here?” Hännenen asked with a frown.

  Blackthorne sheathed his knife and went over the side after Reini. The journey down was even more dangerous and tricky than the way up had been. Sandstone, rock, dead roots, and dirt crumbled under his feet as he went, and he landed with a bone-jarring thump that caused his still-healing leg to ache.

  Reini’s face was set in a grimace of agonized determination. “I can’t climb. Leave me.”

  Blackthorne lifted Reini, shoved his shoulder under Reini’s arm, and half-dragged him to the bottom of the ledge. Risking a glance over his shoulder, Blackthorne saw the malorum he’d shot twitch. Across the clearing, two malorum broke free of the squabble and skittered to where the reindeer carcass lay. Both plunged their faces into the bloodstained snow. Other malorum arrived. Another violent dispute started only thirty feet away from where he and Reini were. The ancient death stench of the creatures filled Blackthorne’s nose and clogged his throat. He coughed.

  The end of a rope slapped him in the side of the face. Grabbing it, he spoke to Reini. “You’ve got to stand long enough for me to get this around you. Can you do it?”

  Reini answered by raising his arms and balancing his weight on one leg. The slightest movement clearly pained him.

  “Hurry up, damn you,” Hännenen said. “That thing you shot isn’t staying down.”

  Blackthorne secured the rope with a knot and tugged. “Ready.”

  Together, they guided Reini up the crumbling incline. Blackthorne did what he could to avoid jostling him, but the awkwardness of the angle made it impossible. Reini’s mouth was set in a tight line the whole way, and by the time Hännenen dragged him to safety, Reini’s skin nearly matched the snow. The effort of keeping from screaming showed on his face. Once it looked like Hännenen had most of Reini’s weight, Blackthorne began to follow.

  Reini shouted and pointed.

  Something heavy smashed into the ledge-wall next to Blackthorne’s head. It caused yet another small avalanche, sending frozen gravel down the front of Blackthorne’s collar. Reini cursed. Turning, Blackthorne drew his knife.

  The wounded malorum made another unbalanced, clumsy attack. The gaping wound in its bulb-like head oozed dark ichor the color of old blood. The gunshot had torn the skin from its right cheek, and half its ruined nose was gone. White bone and flecks of fractured teeth were steeped in the gore. The malorum’s features grew blurry. It began to change form, but for whatever reason, it failed to complete the transformation. Its countenance became an amalgamation of the familiar and strange. The monster’s sour breath filled Blackthorne’s nose as the creature hissed and bubbled. The stench of it was overpowering.

  Loud howls punched the air. Bickering malorum renewed their frenzied fight to get at the reindeer. One of the weaker creatures’ arms was ripped from its body. The limb slapped another in the chest before landing on the ground. Losing all reason, they began feasting upon one another.

  The malorum Blackthorne shot attacked again, swiping at his stomach. He twisted out of the way. His return blow was more reflex than planned attack. The black-handled blade pierced the malorum’s skin but skipped across its ribs. It grimaced and screamed. The sound filled Blackthorne’s skull. Revulsion pierced deep into his bones. The urge to rip and tear at the creature was overwhelming. The malorum slammed him against the incline. The back of his head was hammered against rock, and he was stunned. A claw c
lamped down on his left wrist. The pain flashed up his arm and through his spine, knocking him back to himself.

  “Blackthorne! Stop playing with that thing!”

  Remembering his knife, Blackthorne shoved the blade into the malorum’s gut. Flames blossomed from behind and above him as if in response. Someone—either Hännenen or Reini—had lit the fire.

  “Blackthorne?!”

  He wrenched his dagger free with a twist of the wrist and a kick. Gasping for air, he watched the monster drop. The fingers of his right hand were now numb, and his glove had been shredded. He switched the knife to his left hand. He needed to get back up the ledge, but he couldn’t do it without turning his back on the malorum, and he wasn’t about to do that until he was certain the thing was down for good. He kicked the monster a second time, rolling it onto its back. Then he cut its throat.

  Rage took control, and he followed a powerful impulse to stab it twice more.

  “It’s dead, damn you,” Hännenen said. “Get up here!”

  A musket went off, sending a gout of powder smoke into the air. Another frenzied malorum fell, its skull shattered. Ichor and brain matter splashed a second monster. A third tackled the wounded creature.

  Caught up in his rage, Blackthorne took two steps toward the crazed group before he stopped himself and backed up to the ledge. Once again, the length of knotted rope slapped him in the face.

  “You can’t stay down there,” Hännenen said. “Grab it.”

  Blinking, Blackthorne put away his blade, and Hännenen pulled him to safety. Blackthorne got both legs up just as two malorum reached his former position. They sniffed the air and then fell upon their stricken friend with wild abandon. Reini sat with his back against the rock wall, reloading one of the three muskets. Four pistols lay on the rock next to his injured leg.

  Hännenen squatted nearby. “Were you bitten?”

  Blackthorne felt Hännenen grab his right arm. Blackthorne winced and shook it free. Standing, he didn’t look Hännenen in the eye.

  What did I just do? Blackthorne said, “Thank you. I’ll—I’ll take care of it.” He still had a small amount of antivenom in his pack.