Blackthorne

by Stina Leicht

  Nels didn’t take his gaze from Slate. “Dylan, what was the first language you learned?”

  Dylan said, “Ocealandic. North Aegrerian dialect.”

  “What is the language you speak on board your ship among your family?” Nels asked.

  “Ocealandic,” Dylan said. “North Aegrerian dialect.”

  “I’ll go farther and ask one last question,” Nels said. “Dylan, how often have the Waterborne Nations been conquered?”

  “Never,” Dylan said.

  Nels turned to Slate. “Your example doesn’t correlate.”

  “Ah.” Slate sighed, and his face reddened. His shoulders dropped. “I … begin to understand your perspective. The implication was unintentional. I needed to—to prioritize.”

  “And that was the right decision,” Nels said. “The safety of those remaining had to come first. It’s still the case. But if we lose our identity, ourselves, what is the point in surviving?” From the corner of his eye, he sensed a powerful emotional reaction from the ex-Warden, but before he could understand what it was, it was gone. Interesting.

  Nels went back to his argument. “We cannot permit Acrasian to be established as the dominant language. If we do, New Eledore becomes a mere territory of Acrasia.”

  Suvi frowned. “I’m inclined to side with Nels in this,” she said. “We will meet again tomorrow and discuss what actions should be taken.”

  “Speaking of, I need to draw attention to a small matter,” Ilta said.

  Suvi motioned for her to continue.

  “It’s obvious that Nels has valuable contributions to make,” Ilta said. “And our Council could use more members.”

  Oh, shit, Nels thought.

  Raising an eyebrow, Suvi said, “Isn’t he already on the Council?”

  Ilta shook her head. “We asked him, but …”

  “I see,” Suvi said. “Nels, is there a reason you rejected the invitation?”

  Of course there is. Nels shifted in his chair, uneasy about where the conversation was now going. “I wouldn’t be of use.”

  “Really?” Suvi’s eyes narrowed.

  “I spend most of my time away from the Hold,” Nels said.

  Suvi said, “Absence didn’t make Father any less responsible. Ruling was his duty.”

  “My duty is to lead your army, gather supplies, and harass the Regnum as long as they live on our land,” Nels said. “Isn’t that responsibility enough?”

  Suvi said, “And what if I told you that I need you to serve on the Council, too?”

  “I’d still say no,” Nels said.

  “Why?” Suvi asked.

  “You know perfectly well why,” Nels said. “I’m a soldier. Killers do not hold government power in Eledore.”

  “Are you going to pretend that Uncle Sakari was innocent of murder simply because he didn’t shed blood?” Suvi said. Now her face was red. “There was more to blood custom than the literal meaning, and far too many nobles trod that crooked line in whatever way suited them. They abused the law, and that was a big part of what was wrong with Old Eledore.”

  Suvi spoke to Slate. “Did you know that there were very few criminals in Old Eledore?”

  “I had heard that, Your Highness,” Slate said.

  “Eledore wasn’t morally superior, I assure you,” Suvi said. “It was due to the fact that the accused was given a choice between a dungeon or the military. And if Eledore’s nobility hadn’t spent a great deal of lives on frivolous infighting, we would’ve had a very large military.”

  “Interesting,” Slate said.

  Nels’s face grew hot.

  “It’s also no coincidence that soldiers were ostracized,” Suvi said. “That they lived in walled-off communities, not entirely different from prisons. And they did so without the full rights of other Eledorean citizens.” She paused before continuing. “Blood Custom will not be practiced in New Eledore, Nels. I won’t allow it.”

  By now, Nels was certain that even the tips of his ears were red. He glanced at Ilta and saw what he thought was the hint of a smile. She’s enjoying this.

  Ilta said, “You bet I am.”

  A bolt of frozen panic burst in his chest.

  Ilta put a hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”

  “Perhaps the matter of Council membership should be tabled until tomorrow,” Slate said.

  “There will be no debate,” Suvi said. “As its commander, Nels will represent the military on the Council.”

  With that, Nels resigned himself to doing what she wanted. For now.

  An uncomfortable silence stretched out before Slate said, “Returning to the subject of assumed names … No one here is required to give information that might prove dangerous to their person. Blackthorne is no exception.”

  “So you’re protecting him,” Nels said.

  “No more than I am anyone else in this room,” Slate said.

  “Yet he has our identities—mine and my sister’s,” Nels said. “I would hardly call the situation equitable. Both of us have a rather large price on our heads.”

  “As does Blackthorne,” Slate said.

  Nels said, “I hardly think his danger is the same as—”

  Blackthorne’s voice was quiet. “Aurelius Aureus Severus, recognized bastard of Duke Aurelius Aureus Corvinus.”

  Ilta started at the word “bastard.”

  “Do you need more?” Blackthorne asked. “I can name the estate where I was born.” It was clear by his posture that he was holding strong emotions in check. Yet he kept the heat of his gaze directed at the floor in subservience.

  It was at odds with everything Nels knew of Wardens. “I—I suppose that will do.”

  Placing a hand to his injured leg, Blackthorne winced.

  “You’re a duke?” Ilta asked. She went to him and began checking the bandage.

  For reasons Nels didn’t want to think about, the action sent a surge of rage through him.

  “I didn’t say that,” Blackthorne said.

  “This place is for Eledorean refugees, not the Acrasian nobility’s castoffs.” Nels saw Blackthorne’s hand twitch into a fist and knew he’d hit a nerve.

  Ilta’s shocked expression made Nels feel like a bully.

  Nels asked, “Why is he here?”

  “In the Hold?” Slate asked. “The time for that debate is past.”

  “What is the purpose of this meeting?” Nels asked.

  “I wished to begin plans for a certain venture,” Suvi said. “This spring I will send a small group to Novus Salernum to retrieve a cache of weapons. A large number of highly valuable Eledorean water steel swords were stolen by the Acrasian Regnum during the war. And I want them back.”

  “I can inform Nickols,” James Slate said. His quill scratched against the page in the ledger laid open on his writing desk. “When do you need him to leave?”

  Suvi paused. “I would rather not give this to Nickols.”

  “Why not?” James Slate asked, looking up from his notes.

  “Because Nickols, while useful, is a blunt instrument,” Suvi said. “I need someone more … discreet.”

  “Do you have someone in mind?” James Slate asked.

  Suvi said, “I do.”

  Nels prepared himself to hear that he was to be sent into the heart of the Regnum. It’s suicide, he thought. But she knows I’ll go anyway. He swallowed.

  “Blackthorne?” Suvi asked. “Would you go—”

  “Why him?” Nels asked.

  “Because he knows Novus Salernum better than anyone,” Suvi said. “Because he has proven that he can get in and out of the city safely and quietly.”

  “I will go,” Blackthorne said. He looked like he was going to be sick. “Although I do not want to, but if it’s what you require of me, I will.”

  Slate asked, “Where are the swords being kept? Do we know?”

  “They’re being stored in a secured military depot maintained by the Emperor,” Dylan said.

  Blackthorne choked.

&nb
sp; “I made an agreement with Clan Kask, and I intend to honor it,” Suvi said. “The Waterborne have need of them to combat malorum. Therefore, one hundred of the blades will be given to Clan Kask to distribute as they will. The rest, we will keep.”

  Suddenly, Nels began to understand that this portion of the conversation had, in part, been staged for his benefit, and he wasn’t the only one. He turned to Blackthorne. The Warden looked downright ashen.

  Suvi didn’t invite him here for an apology, Nels thought.

  “Councilor Slate,” Suvi said. “I would like a detailed report involving the layout of the depot and its security—anything Blackthorne will need to know in order to plan his assignment.”

  Slate nodded. “I will send messages to my contacts in Novus Salernum.”

  “Actually,” Darius said, “I would like to volunteer my services, if Your Grace approves. I can ensure that Councilor Slate’s messages get to their intended recipients safely, as well as their replies.”

  “Do it,” Suvi said. “Mr. Blackthorne? I assume you won’t be able to move several hundred swords alone. Once you have what you need from Councilor Slate, I want to see your proposal. I want your recommendations on who you’ll need to go to Novus Salernum with you. My only requirement is that my brother be involved and consulted. Understood?”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Blackthorne said.

  “Good,” Suvi said. “Now—”

  Nels turned when a loud commotion erupted in the hallway outside. The door swung open, and Corporal Eriksson pushed past a still-protesting Lucy Mayfair, Ilta’s apprentice.

  “Mr. Slate?! Colonel Hännenen?!”

  Nels jumped to his feet, and Viktor followed him across the room.

  “What is it?” Slate asked.

  Corporal Eriksson was hatless and there was snow in his hair. “It’s Private Oramo. She’s dead, sir. Risku and that new korva are both missing.”

  “Annikki?” Buttoning his jacket, Nels asked, “Is it an … attack?” He was reluctant to name the creatures from the night before.

  “I don’t think so, sir. Looks like a fight. They found Oramo’s body in the barn. Tracks lead into the woods.” Out of breath, Eriksson added, “No one has gone out to look for Annikki. Your orders. But Lieutenant Sundstet sent me for you, sir.”

  “What happened?” Slate asked.

  “Did Annikki kill Oramo?” Nels asked. He hoped not. Such a thing hadn’t happened before under his command, but that didn’t mean he didn’t live in fear of recruiting the wrong person at the wrong time. He hadn’t been too exacting in accepting volunteers. It wasn’t as if the army had ever been comprised of Eledore’s best.

  “No one knows,” Eriksson said. “That’s why Lieutenant Sundstet sent me for you and Captain Reini, sir.”

  Nels moved to the exit. “Come on, Eriksson. We’ll stop by my rooms. I’ll need my all-weather.”

  Blackthorne struggled to get to his feet.

  “Blackthorne, exactly where do you think you’re going?” Slate asked.

  “If it’s a malorum, they’ll need me, sir.”

  “Stay where you are,” Slate said.

  “Colonel Hännenen?” Blackthorne asked.

  Nels turned. “What is it?”

  “Malorum move fast. You won’t know what you’re dealing with until it’s too close. Arm with blunderbusses,” Blackthorne said. “And load them with the silver shot from my pack. Wherever that ended up.”

  “The infirmary,” Ilta said.

  “The infirmary,” Blackthorne said.

  “All right,” Nels said. “Viktor, stop by the infirmary and get the silver shot. Eriksson, grab a couple of blunderbusses from the armory and then meet me in the barn.”

  “Yes, sir,” Eriksson said.

  The scent of animal dung and hay reached Nels’s nose long before he arrived at his destination. The barn wasn’t a separate building, not technically. It was, like most of the Hold, hidden inside the mountain and connected with winding tunnels. Also, like the rest of the Hold, it’d been built by Eledoreans centuries before Suvi had leased it to Clan Kask for a warehouse. There were quite a few such sites long abandoned in the mountain ranges of Eledore, and not all of them had remained burial mounds—evidence that the people had survived contact with the Old Ones in the past.

  An outward-facing chamber on the ground floor, the barn was what Nels considered one of the Hold’s few defensive weak spots. Horses, cows, goats, sheep, and reindeer needed access to grazing areas. They were an important part of the Hold’s food supply. Unfortunately, large groups of domestic animals in one place were also a problem. Wardens are trackers, after all. Farm animals were also attractive targets for wolves and mountain lions. For that reason, he kept guards stationed in the barn. His troops viewed the task as the most boring and pointless of all possible assignments.

  He rounded the corner and was brought up short by what he saw.

  A harsh wind lashed the dim interior of the barn, and half the lanterns were out. The barn doors swung half off their hinges, creaking and banging against stone. Snow poured in. A wagon and several storage crates had been damaged. Three of the wooden stalls closest to the exit had been ripped apart. The sheep huddled inside their pen, but the goats roamed free. A dead mare and quite a few cattle lay in the debris. The living animals were terrified, and their panicked attempts at freedom echoed inside the room. The noise was deafening.

  “Get some light in here!” Loimuta? Is he safe? Nels searched for a sign in the semidarkness but returned his attention to more important things.

  He approached the first dead animal and knelt. The wound at the mare’s throat looked far too familiar. They now had even bigger problems to hand. Winter, even in southern Eledore, is going to be very dark indeed. “Where’s Oramo?”

  Corporal Eriksson said, “Here, sir.” He crouched in the snow near the door.

  Kneeling next to Oramo’s body, Nels spotted the knife wound in her throat with some relief. He checked for a pulse out of habit and then gazed into the blustery night. Pelted with snow and ice, he stood. Then he yanked the lapel of his all-weather coat up and buttoned it so that it covered both nose and mouth. “Viktor?” Nels asked. “What’s the news?”

  “Hard to say in all this,” Viktor said. “There are three sets of tracks. Oramo, Annikki, and Risku. Risku is the only one who wears hobnails no matter the occasion. Like you do.”

  “But that was done by a malorum,” Nels said, motioning to the mare. “Surely it left some sign?”

  “The one we saw?” Viktor’s question was more like a statement. “It had feet. If there was a malorum in this barn, it had hooves.”

  Nels nodded. Viktor gave him a look that was easy to read. He wanted permission to go out into the storm.

  Risku and Annikki are out there. Viktor can handle himself, Nels thought. That only brought up images from the night before. He’d lost eight before he’d known it. It’ll be daylight soon.

  And exactly how bright is it going to get in this storm?

  “I must go now while there’s a chance of finding them,” Viktor whispered. “I won’t go far. Neither will they, I’m thinking. Not in this.”

  “How will you even know where to look?” Nels asked.

  Viktor winked. “You’re cute when you worry.”

  “Sod off,” Nels said, and then whispered. “There’s a malorum out there. It won’t be friendly.”

  “And I have silver shot and a very nasty disposition,” Viktor said, and then grew serious. “You have to let me go. This is what I do. I’ll bring back Annikki and Risku. Alive. I’m the only one who can, and you know it.”

  At that moment, Nels knew that Viktor was terrified. Nels said, “I’ll go with you.”

  Viktor gazed through the gaping barn doors. “If this situation required a sharpshooter, I’d be glad of the company. But out there? In that? You’ll only slow me down.”

  “All right,” Nels said. He paused. Reaching inside his coat and jacket, he found the s
ilver medallion he wore under his shirt. It’d been a gift from his real father. “Put this on.”

  Viktor’s eyes widened as he watched the medal swing on its chain. “I can’t. That’s yours. You know I—”

  “It’s silver,” Nels said. “Do not argue with me. Put it on.”

  Nodding, Viktor accepted it and then looped it around his neck.

  “When you return, give it back,” Nels said. “Now go.” He stood up and dusted the snow and dirt off his already-soggy trousers. He tried not to watch Viktor vanish into the swirling dark.

  Hasta’s blessing go with you, my friend, Nels thought. “Let’s clean this mess and get that door barred.”

  Viktor returned an hour later with Annikki. Risku was lost in the storm.

  DRAKE

  NOVUS SALERNUM

  THE REGNUM OF ACRASIA

  2 DECEMBER

  THE TWENTY-FIRST YEAR IN THE SACRED REIGN OF EMPEROR HERMINIUS

  For the third time that day, Captain Drake stared at a license card and compared it to the man sitting opposite her, with suppressed revulsion. Happily, this was the final interview and marked the last of the trophy checks. She’d had her fill after the first foul-smelling storeroom and wished she could send Benbow alone for the next inspection but knew that wasn’t an option. It was simply too dangerous. She remembered well the Warden’s warnings. After what she’d seen, they’d be impossible to forget.

  Remember what you are. Remember who you are. And never be alone with a hunter if you can help it—not if you expect to live through this.

  The current hunter perched on the hard chair opposite her appeared to be an ordinary citizen—perhaps too ordinary. His scant black hair had been worked into a tiny queue-braid at the nape of his neck. He had heavy eyelids, thin lips, and no visible scars. Oddly, his clothes were unremarkable for someone of his social stature, and his posture was submissive to the point of cowering. Nothing about him drew attention or revealed his status. More importantly, nothing outward indicated the monstrous thoughts that lurked inside his head.

  She let the prepared speech roll off her tongue. “My Lord Baron, you’ve been summoned to my office for proof of hunting regulation compliance. This is a random check, and I am to inform you that your residence will be searched after this interview. As you know, you are required to retain a tag for all trophies per regulations. And you are to provide proper documentation of said trophies upon inspection.”