A Blade of Black Steel

by Alex Marshall

  “Of course, of course, Keun-ju,” said Hoartrap, outpacing Sullen’s faltering steps and putting himself between them. He almost got a face full of Sullen’s forehead when he said, “With my aid he’ll recover, Sullen, I checked to make certain the matter wasn’t too urgent before coming to rescue my fairest Flintlander.”

  “What?” Sullen couldn’t believe it, but squinting ahead he saw the broken blade in Keun-ju’s chest rocking back and forth as the Immaculate took shallow breaths. “He… he’s alive? He’s going to be okay?”

  “With a bit of elbow grease on my part, yes, though he’ll be changed by the experience.” Hoartrap picked his nose and rubbed something between his fingers. “But who doesn’t undergo a little transformation after a brush with death, hmmm? I know I’m a new Touch after you and Zosia and that Purna girl all helped me out so much during that unfortunate incident with the mother of all opossums.”

  “Let’s help him, then,” said Sullen, noticing for the first time that Hoartrap’s heavy wicker pack was set against a tree next to Keun-ju, and a black hafted Flintland spear leaned against it. For the first time since they’d met, Sullen had a powerful thirst to hear any songs Hoartrap cared to sing, about how Ji-hyeon fared and where he’d come from and how he’d found them, but first they badly needed to see to Keun-ju. Giving Hoartrap a genuine smile, Sullen raised his fist for the Touch to bump. “Thanks, Hoartrap.”

  “Anytime, my boy.” Hoartrap was positively beaming, and happily knocked Sullen’s fist. “Now, the first thing we do is vomit up vipers.”

  Typical Hoartrap. But before Sullen could register just how girly and unnatural these last words had sounded, Hoartrap’s eyes bulged and he slapped a hand to his potbelly, then doubled over and did exactly as promised. Sullen had seen plenty of bizarre, gross shit since leaving the Savannahs, and definitely since meeting the Touch, but this might’ve been the worst thing he’d ever seen in his life. He staggered back from the loosely knotted ball of bile-slick snakes that the witch hawked up into the leaves, a fat indigo serpent hanging halfway out of Hoartrap’s mouth and striking him repeatedly in the bruise-yellowed nose. The Touch might have been trying to scream or might have been trying to pass another mass of adders, but whatever the sloppy sound was it signaled that something very, very wrong was happening, and then it got a lot worse.

  Sullen had always wondered if he’d ever see a real live horned wolf, and what he’d do if he did. Obviously in the old days warriors of the clan had to kill one to prove their worth, maybe earn a better name, but even as a young daydreamer Sullen had preferred thoughts of taming one and keeping it as a pet. Now that he had finally seen one in the fur, and was seeing it again, at the back of his mind he realized just how absurd a fantasy that had been—the enormous white beast that bolted out of the darkness at them was a thing of pure horror, and thus not exactly domesticable. It went straight for the doubled-over wizard, its long muzzle snapping shut around one of Hoartrap’s legs with a nasty-sounding crunch. Big as Hoartrap was, the horned wolf was far, far bigger, and began dragging him off into the dark forest. Hoartrap clutched vainly at cypress knees and saplings, his face darkening as he choked on the scaly coils hanging from his distended jaw. Sullen stared, and Sullen saw, and Sullen couldn’t fucking believe it. Whatever was happening with the snakes notwithstanding, if it wasn’t one devildamned Horned Wolf ruining his night it was another devildamned horned wolf ruining his night.

  Then Hoartrap and the monster were enveloped by the shadows of the Haunted Forest, and the shock wore off and the panic set in. He needed Hoartrap or Keun-ju would die—the wound that hadn’t much troubled the Touch looked pretty fucking mortal to Sullen, and he had no idea what to do to help him. At least the venomous snakes Hoartrap had produced were no longer an issue; the mess of vipers had stopped writhing and begun sizzling and smoking, dissolving into grey cords of slime. Whether this was the result of the deviltry that had summoned them or being soaked in Hoartrap’s stomach acid didn’t make much difference, so long as they all melted into the earth. Sullen hadn’t been sure what to do about a nest of deadly serpents materializing a dozen feet from Keun-ju, but with that final concern assuaged he went to his injured friend. The man looked even worse up close, bubbles forming in the wide pool of blood that surrounded the blade with each ragged breath. It was lodged in his shoulder just above his right armpit, and so deep it probably pinned him to the earth, but at least he wasn’t awake to feel it.

  “I’m gonna fix this,” he promised his friend, then left his side, as hard a course as he’d ever set himself on, but it had to happen. There was no way this ended well unless he rescued Hoartrap from whatever fell witchcraft had summoned the snakes of the earth and the wolves of the fjords down upon him. Fortunately, the Touch had inexplicably brought him just the thing to help. He snatched up the black spear leaning against Hoartrap’s pack, the steel blade even darker than the perfectly balanced shaft, and then Sullen set off to do something a member of his clan hadn’t done since his mother’s time—he was going to hunt a horned wolf.

  CHAPTER

  26

  What’s she doing?” Digs asked, as if Purna somehow comprehended the weird girl’s actions. “Is that an egg?”

  It sure looked like it, the witchy woman raising up the pale oval she had removed from one of her belt pouches, and completing whatever incantation she had been uttering, she dropped the unbroken egg into her mouth. The girl was clearly trying to swallow it whole, but struggling, and Purna made her move, scrambling out from behind the log where they’d taken cover and creeping up behind her. If you were going to roll up on a witch, waiting until their mouth was full was one of Maroto’s many, many rules for throwing down on magic users; made it harder for them to spit spells or eat devils, and besides that, most people will choke if you swing on them when they’re chewing.

  This chippie was going to regret bowing up on them, even if she had brusquely turned and fled through the forest just when things looked dire, her horned wolf overtaking her in three strides and then shooting off through the trees. Digs hadn’t been hot on the idea of following, but had agreed on the condition that Purna do the first stupid thing that was required of them. When they’d found the girl but not the wolf and watched her carry out her strange dance beneath an unseasonably flowering rowan tree it had gone without saying that the required stupid thing was taking her hostage before her pet monster returned. And now the dummy had an egg in her mouth, and Purna was only five steps away from seeing that it ended up all over her smug face.

  Four.

  Three.

  Two.

  Annnnnnnd…

  One.

  “Move and you’re dead,” Purna hissed, rising up on her toes so her lips almost brushed the taller woman’s iron-cluttered ear, the keen edge of her kukri kissing the front of the witch’s neck. The curve of the knife fit the curve of the girl’s throat perfectly, resting just above the wide crescent of her necklace, and this close to her Purna smelled stale tubāq, wet dog, and a pinch of sulfur. The witch swallowed, and Purna relaxed the blade just in time to not nick her as the bulge of the egg finally cleared her esophagus. Then, in an intense voice, the girl said:

  “Vomit up vipers.”

  Not a bad cuss, all things considered, but certainly not one that would enter Purna’s rotation—too disgusting an image.

  “Do it on your own time, missy,” said Purna, realizing with a shiver that by standing on her toes and pressing this close to the witch she could see down the front of the girl’s lacy dress to the bulge of her breasts. Damn but it had been too long and too lonely a dry spell, when even the egg-sucking sorceresses started looking good.

  “Hmmm?” The girl sounded sleepy, her warm body relaxing back into Purna’s arms, which certainly wasn’t helping things. But then she went totally stiff, sucking in air through her teeth and, sounding far more alert, said, “Whoever you are, we can work something out.”

  “Whoever I am?” said Purna. “And here I tho
ught we were such fast friends. But now that you mention it, whoever are you? Let’s get a name to go with that pretty face, and then you can tell me allllll about your interest in Hoartrap, horned wolves, and anything else I might ask.”

  “I am Nemi of the Bitter Sighs,” said the girl, “and I seek to stop Hoartrap from destroying our world.”

  “A noble quest,” said Purna. “But what makes you think he’s out to do that?”

  “I thought you said you’d met him,” said Nemi. “Does it sound so far-fetched?”

  “Well, no, not entirely,” Purna admitted. “But the last time I saw him he was working with our friends to save the Star from the Burnished Chain. Whatever else Hoartrap is up to, I don’t see him buddying up with the church. Lucky for us, or they’d probably have raised Jex Toth a long time ago.”

  The girl tensed up even more. “What do you know of the Sunken Kingdom?”

  “Plenty,” said Purna, which was a bit of a fib but so what? “I’m Ugrakari so I’ve got the ancient blood of Jex Toth in me. More recently, though, I hear it’s not so sunk, courtesy of a Chainite ritual that killed a bunch of my friends and opened up a brand-new Gate.”

  “No,” said Nemi, as though Purna hadn’t been there to see it all go down herself. “Hoartrap brought back the Sunken Kingdom with his deviltry. I don’t know why, or how, but it scarcely matters, for the result is the same. He must be serving some power of the First Dark, conspiring to sell our world for his own ends.”

  “Hmmm,” said Purna, thinking it over. “I’m hardly Hoartrap’s biggest fangirl, but I think you’re fingering the wrong guy this time. I was there when the Chain did their ritual—it made all the Crimson soldiers go blood simple, and then poof, Gate underneath their feet. We captured the enemy colonel, and the word that trickled back to me is he confirmed everything I already told you: the Chain carried out some stupid-ass ceremony, his regiment was a sacrifice big enough to bring back the Sunken Kingdom, blah blah blah. When it all went down Hoartrap was clear up the side of the mountain intercepting an Imperial ambush, but Chainwitches were all over that battlefield—I almost bought the yak shack from one of their war monks.”

  “The Burnished Chain…” Now Nemi sounded just plain confused, and Purna couldn’t blame her—it was a lot to live through, let alone accept secondhand. “But why would they seek to bring back the Sunken Kingdom?”

  “Something something crazy prophecy?” Purna’s arm was sooooo tired of holding her knife and her calves were aching from staying up on her toes, but she wasn’t convinced letting the taller girl go was such a brilliant plan. “Say, I know someone who can shed some light on this—Digs, what are you waiting for, a monogrammed invitation? Shake it but don’t break it.”

  A barren yew thicket ahead of them rattled, but instead of Digs that damn overgrown horned wolf came barreling out into the clearing in front of the rowan tree. It dragged something big and gross in its mouth, but as soon as it caught sight of its mistress being held at knife’s edge it dropped its meaty prize with a growl. Its hackles flew up as it slowly stalked toward them through the moonlight-striped forest.

  “Here’s where you tell your pet to cool it,” said Purna. “My hand gets shaky when I’m nervous.”

  “Well, I have a hard time sounding authoritative with something sharp against my windpipe,” replied Nemi.

  “Uhhhhhh,” groaned the yellow-wrapped meatsack the horned wolf had deposited on the ground. “Nemmmmmi.”

  “Oh sugar,” said the witch, trying to take a step back and grinding into Purna instead. She had a rump on her, this girl, but Purna stayed strong, not letting the power of the bottom distract her. Much, anyway. “Hark, stranger: you don’t know me and I don’t know you, but surely we can agree whatever role he played in calling back Jex Toth, the Star will be a safer, saner place without Hoartrap the Touch. If you met the devil-eater but once you’d know that’s true.”

  “Hoartrap?” Tearing her eyes away from the approaching horned wolf, Purna did think the large, ugly shape it had deposited in the shadows looked familiar. A little louder now, she called, “Hoartrap, you old so-and-so, is that really you? What the deuce are you doing here?”

  “Nemi Ilstrix.” He sounded hoarse but a lot more awake now, and his bulk shuddered as he rolled onto his side.

  “Ill’s tricks?” Purna asked her captive as the witch flinched with a hiss. “What’s that mean? Some kind of incantation?”

  “My old name,” growled Nemi, and the horned wolf made a similar sound, the creature getting perilously close for Purna’s comfort. “The one he gave me when I became his apprentice.”

  “Well, listen, Nemi Ilstrix of the Bitter Biscuits, you better tell your mutt—” Purna began, but the witch interrupted her, as though she were the one holding a blade to Purna’s throat.

  “No, you listen, and listen carefully, stranger, for we are all on the cusp of ruin,” said Nemi, sounding about as rattled as Purna had felt when the girl had first threatened her with the big beast. She sympathized a little, but not a lot. “Whatever you were planning to do with me is now irrelevant. If I am harmed my familiar will tear you all apart, and if Hoartrap is allowed to further recover he will most certainly harm me. It is as simple as that—if you let him live, we all die; me first, then you. Understand?”

  “Now I know I saw you admiring my mantle back when we first met,” said Purna, repaying the girl’s fronting with some of her own—not only was this beastie way bigger than any of the specimens they’d seen back in the Kutumbans, but her knife was all she had to work with, since her pistol was clogged with swamp slime and her black powder had turned into black mud. Still, what people didn’t know and all that… “I eat horned wolves for breakfast, and that’s without Hoartrap’s help. You’re going to have to do better than threatening me with the same monster twice, and you better hurry, because I think he’s about to sit up. Murdering Hoartrap’s off the table, so let’s get creative.”

  Nemi shivered against Purna, as if she were the one with a queen-sized horned wolf impatiently watching her. It was blocking Hoartrap entirely now, so they couldn’t see what progress the injured Touch was making with his supposed recovery.

  “Make him swear,” said Nemi suddenly. “Make him swear on every devil he ever ate to do no harm to Nemi of the Bitter Sighs or her familiars, from this day to his last. Do that, and we’ll all be safe.”

  “From him, maybe,” said Purna, marveling at how much stock some people put in an oath. “But what about from you? What’s to stop you from siccing your sidekick on us as soon as Hoartrap’s promised to play nice?”

  “I swear on every egg I ever ate and every devil I ever loosed not to harm you or your friends, not even Hoartrap the Touch, so long as you first make Hoartrap swear the same for me and mine,” said Nemi, sounding relieved even though nobody had sworn boo yet.

  “Hey Hoartrap!” Purna shouted. “You up yet?”

  “Nemi… did… this,” his voice rasped from behind the wall of white fur and tense muscle, and the witch fairly melted into Purna’s chest to put even another inch between her and her nemesis. “Vengeance.”

  “Nuts to vengeance,” called Purna. “Swear on all the devils you ever noshed not to harm Nemi of the Bitter Sighs or her chums or pets or whatever, from this day to forever.”

  The throaty chuckle did not bode well for negotiations, and Purna was stumped, when Nemi piped up with surprising clarity.

  “Hoartrap! I’m counting to three, and if you haven’t given your oath Myrkur is going to eat you alive!” That did not provoke a chuckle or anything else from the far side of the horned wolf, and the witch must have been in an awful hurry to get dead, because in a breathless rush she cried, “One two three!”

  And as if it had understood everything its mistress had promised, the great horned wolf slowly turned back around, swishing its bushy tail at Purna as it faced the Touch. Now that the beast was no longer directly in the way, she saw he hadn’t even made it onto his elbows. Maybe thi
s witch wasn’t so crazy after all, forcing the issue the way she had, maybe everything was going to be okay, maybe Hoartrap would swear the damn oath and—

  “To borrow a turn of the tongue from my dear friend Purna—nuts to your oath,” said Hoartrap, jerking abruptly and unnaturally to his feet, like a marionette at the hands of an overzealous puppeteer. Purna scarcely recognized him as he took a swaying step forward and the moonlight caught his face, his features contorted by massive pulsing tumors that wept luminescent slime. “I am literally going to turn you inside out, Nemi, and I am going to keep you awake the whole… bloody… time.”

  Nobody had anything clever to say to that, which was fine because there wasn’t time for quips, anyway, as the enormous horned wolf lunged forward to carry out the will of her mistress. Purna didn’t want to watch but it all happened so quickly she couldn’t avert her eyes fast enough. It was too bad for Hoartrap but he’d brought it on himself, so—

  As the horned wolf bit Hoartrap there was a flash of white light so brilliant it probably would’ve fried Purna’s eyes, if the bulky monster hadn’t shielded her and Nemi from the worst of it. Even still, she was blind for a moment, pressing the blade flat against Nemi’s throat lest the witch get any smart ideas about squirming away. As Purna blinked away tears the moonlit forest slowly came back into focus, but even as it did will-o’-the-wisps danced through her vision, strobing orbs that gave off pulses of light as they bobbed through the trees… and only when one hovered over the prone mountain of fur at Hoartrap’s feet and reflected off its gnarled horns and the wetness covering its face did Purna realize the bright, blinking specters were really there and not a residual trick of her eyes.

  “Wooooo!” Deformed and leaking as his face was, Hoartrap was obviously smiling as he rocked back and forth, flickering in the inconstant light of the strange bubbles as he vigorously shook out his right hand. Black smoke rose from his wiggling fingers. “That’s why they call me the Touch! And that’s why you don’t flex with the Touch!”