Miro walked through the corridors. He wasn’t in a particular hurry to reach the stables, but he was in a particular hurry to get some food and perhaps sleep in his bed. His mother had probably already heard that he was back and would be expecting him. She wasn’t a Hunter, nor was his father, but they both felt they owed a debt to the Abbey. So they worked as servants, doing laundry, cleaning corridors, polishing blades, making quarrels, mucking stables, cooking dinner, scrubbing pots, they were basically just Uninitiated without any hope of advancement. That was part of why he was on his path to becoming a Hunter because they felt they owed a debt. Not that he would trade the life he’d lived, the thrill of the chase, the edge of death and he supposed he did help the common people. Even if they still made signs to ward off evil when they figured out what he was. He enjoyed his life, but it might have been nice to choose it. Maybe he would have liked to be a farmer, or a hunter without the capital H. He might have made a fine soldier or a guard, maybe in a different life.

It was with similar musings that he traveled the stone hallways back to the main courtyard. He crossed the courtyard and told himself to grow up. He really couldn’t afford to be so childish, it was as Stoyan had told him, if he wanted to change how people viewed the Abbey, he’d have to change how they saw the Hunters and the only Hunter Miro could show them was himself.

He’d reached the courtyard, he spotted the pack bags piled against the wall of the stable and strode toward them. As he bent down to retrieve them, he heard the shattering of wood from inside the building, followed shortly by the screaming of the stableboy as he came crashing through the front door. Miro dropped the bags and sprinted to the door, only to have to dodge to the side as Jinx bolted from the stable. He could hear the screams of the other horses coming from the inside of the stable, harmonized with shattering wood and a prolonged tearing sound. Several more horses bolted from the stable, guards on the walls were shouting to each other, issuing orders and getting into position. If whatever was in there came out, it would be turned into a pincushion for war-quarrels.

A few moments passed, the horses stopped screaming, the men on the wall were quiet, the sound of breaking wood died down. Fable never came out. As Miro was wondering what the next step was, he heard a footstep behind him. He spun, ready to beat whatever it was, only to realize it was Somov, who silently handed him a bare silver sword and an iron knife. He was carrying an extra set. Miro gave him a hard look, Somov pointedly ignored it. He offered a barely audible whisper, “Must be some kind of shapechanger, could be clever or stupid.” Miro nodded.

“I’ll go in first, I’m betting on silver, “ Miro whispered while fixing the silver blade in his right hand, the iron knife in the other. “You stay here.” Somov nodded. Miro hoped he listened.

He took a deep breath and allowed the silver blade to drink up some of his life, just like Ludomir taught him. He felt heat on his face as sooty flames crept from the sword. This flame was nothing compared to the boiling inside him, which was likewise dwarfed from the memory of the first time he felt this dark power. His blood boiled, hotter than fire, while his bones froze, colder than wintry rivers. Fire hot enough to sear the flesh from him, ice cold enough to turn him brittle. Either one alone would kill him, together they made him alive, a hundred fold. He focused on his breath and tried to keep the war inside him from distracting him, if he lost control of what was happening inside him, he would die; if he lost control of what he was doing with his body, he would die. No matter what he did, one day, he would die. If today was that day, then so be it. He sharpened his mind, as Stoyan taught him, distancing himself from his body while being perfectly aware of it.

He moved into the stable, blade held to the side, sooty flames illuminating the interior. The lantern had been extinguished and was broken on the ground. There was a clicking, the sort of omnidirectional clicking which when heard in darkened rooms where monsters are known to be lurking sets men’s hearts racing. His focus slipped for a moment. He needed to control his mind and body. He drew a breath and fed the furnace of his blood and exhaled and added icy wind to the winter in his bones. The clicking ceased.

He saw a flash of movement on his left and felt a pain in his left arm as he dodged to the right. He growled in his throat as his blood burned hotter for a moment, Venom, came a thought from outside the calm in his mind. All he caught was a blur of milky white, about two fingers thick, retreating into the heavy shadows. A new pinpoint of light fell through the stone wall beside him where whatever the creature was, put a hole in the side of the stable. He edged closer to where the attack came from. Two more blurs flew from the dark, drilling holes into the pillar and ground beside him as he danced out of the way. He caught a vague shape this time, they seemed to be tendrils of some kind. Several tentacles whipped at him, he slashed at two of them with the sword and blocked one with the iron knife. The sword felt like he was chopping at a stone wall, it didn’t seem to cut right, rebounding against the flesh of the aberration. When the tentacle impacted knife, however, it’s skin screamed like grease in a hot pan. He eyed the still-black corner warily, “Use iron, not silver!” he shouted. He heard Somov shout his message to the courtyard. He grimaced as the tentacles began questing toward the door, where Somov called out his warning.

“Oi” he barked, trying to draw its attention and immediately had to dodge out of the way as four of the toothy limbs snapped at him, one catching his calf. As he recovered, his eyes snapped to the wall beside the door, there were three holes about the thickness of his first two fingers, through which light poured through, catching floating dust motes. He heard more shouting outside, but nothing he could identify as Somov. He cursed to himself, Somov would be fine. Probably. Even if he was hit, it couldn’t be that bad and Mauser could cure the venom, right? Right.

He nearly fainted with relief when he saw a head of shaggy brown hair peer around the corner of the doorway, he nearly cursed again. Then a voice said a syllable in a language no human mouth was meant to speak, one which he had heard many times, had said dozens, but couldn’t ever quite make out exactly what it sounded like. The stable flooded with light as Somov released his spell. In the corner of the stable was a sight not meant to be seen and one which would never be unseen.

It was the back half of a horse, but ripped open from the inside by about a dozen limbs. Most of them were pale semi-translucent tendrils with razor-like teeth embedded in them, a few were more like corpse-gray, emaciated human arms with black claws at the end of the digits. The tendrils moved fluidly, almost like seaweed, while the other, more human limbs looked like they were powered by heavy springs, jerkily moving one direction and then slamming around in another. The entire assemblage of grotesque extremities was trying to finish extracting itself from the bowels of the horse. He heard vomiting from the doorway.

He wasn’t sure what this monster was and though it was dangerous it would likely be more so after it extracted itself from the horse. Mauser would be coming to take care of Somov, Stoyan and Leski would be on their way here as well. Probably. He just had to keep it occupied until they showed up and finished it. He could do that. He took another deep breath to calm his raging mind.

He switched the knife and sword in his hands. He wished he had steel, it wouldn’t do to ruin another silver sword. Not that there was anything for it now. He then had to duck out of the way of a pair of tendrils, as he recovered he beat another one away and frisked closer to the horse carcass. He managed to cut a tendril with his knife and shortened it by a foot or so, the thing screeched. As the end fell off it writhed on the ground. He ignored it, it was much less of a threat without length or an anchor.

Still screeching the monstrosity lashed out with all its limbs. Fortunately, the arms were too short. Unfortunately, that was only three of the twelve and nine tendrils were still difficult to dodge. He managed to catch three or four (he wasn’t sure which) with the silver sword, twist away from a few more, slash one and get his thigh stabbed. He gritted his teeth as his blood scorched the venom away.

He was fairly close to the main body now. It looked like a thrashing mass of entrails glistening in the horse’s blood. He couldn’t find an opening to swing, the slashing tendrils wouldn’t give him a chance to swing the iron knife. Then the barn went dark, his burning sword the only illumination. Somov must have lost control of his spell, that was unlike him. In the flickering ambiance, it became even harder to follow the flurry of attacks. He chopped another tendril and received another minor wound, this one a graze on his right shoulder. The knife, though large, was still a knife and not designed for defense. He was slowing down, he wouldn’t be able to keep trading like this, he didn’t have enough arms. The monstrosity was still focusing on extracting itself from the guts of the horse, which gave him the chance to retreat. He decided not to take it.

"Go get Somov! We’ll take care of this.” He heard Ludomir bellow from behind him. Miro kept his eyes on the tentacles as he backed away. When he was clear, he darted for the exit. Stoyan and Ludomir each had a pair of iron knives. Ludomir’s spat oily flames, Stoyan’s exhaled a cold mist which boiled to the ground. The pair of seasoned Hunters separated and stalked toward the aberration.

Outside, three guards were positioned with crossbows and quarrels with rags on the end, one was calming down the other horses. Leski stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his face was calm. Somov was on the flagstones, ash-faced and convulsing. Apparently, the venom was bad. Iryna Mauser crouched over him, cursing loudly. Miro maintained the burning sword and his connection to the well of blood-magic in his bones. If he let it go, he wasn’t sure he could get it back and Mistress Mauser might need it.

"Get over here!"she snapped. Miro sprinted over and offered his head. She mimicked Kurdin’s earlier gesture, touching two fingers to his forehead. He felt her Dredging for a mere instant, she was much more skilled than Kurdin. "Good, you’ve still some spirit left in you. He’ll need it.”

She left her hand on his forehead and placed the other on Somov’s chest. Miro felt his blood cool, his bones ceased their icy throbbing and the pure energy he’d felt was replaced by deep weariness and an ache in his joints. She pulled his life essence, his source of magic from him and was now forcing it into Somov’s body. It would give his vitality a boost for a time before it faded, hopefully allowing him to pull through whatever ailed him unless the jolt to his system killed him first. Healing was a crude and violent work.

Somov stopped convulsing. Miro’s knees almost betrayed him, but he forced himself to remain upright. Mistress Mauser looked almost as bad as he felt, which meant she felt worse. She sighed. Miro hadn’t heard her sigh like that since he’d tried to put half-dozen rabbits in Stoyan’s chamber. They ended up roaming the halls. It wasn’t long before there were rather more than six rabbits. He spent a week chasing them. She was exasperated and disappointed. "I guess that’s all we can give,” she grunted and stood up. “Just as well, any more would probably kill him anyway.”

"Will he be okay?”

"I don’t know, not as he is. I have an idea, but we’ll see.” she turned as Stoyan and Ludomir left the stable.

"We’ll have to burn everything that’s left. The limbs don’t die when disconnected.” Ludomir rumbled.

"I surmised so when I Dredged Somov."

"What happened to the boy?” Stoyan inquired.

"It seems that the parasite implants itself in the victim’s body, where it will spread until it is ready to burst forth and implant itself in a new host.”

"But you got rid of it? You’ve cleansed him?”

"No.” she replied. Miro clenched his teeth, Stoyan looked openly concerned, Ludomir just pursed his lips.

Leski Mikolov walked toward the group. “What needs to be done now, Hunters?” he asked calmly.

“The interior of the stable needs to be cleansed with fire, we didn’t want to set fire to your abbey without…” Ludomir’s gravelly voice was cut off as the stable behind them burst into violent, sooty, red flames. The entire room was immediately engulfed, transformed into the heart of the furnace.

“What else?” the Headmaster asked, just as calm as before.

“Somov’s injury is beyond my ability to heal. He has perhaps a day before he will die.” Mistress Mauser paused for a moment to let this sink in. “I believe we must Lustrate him, or he will die.” Stoyan still looked mildly stunned, Ludomir looked angry, Mauser was cool, Mikolov nodded.

“If he wakes before midnight we’ll ask his permission, else we will Initiate him at midnight, agreed?” Mauser nodded. After a glance at Stoyan, Ludomir did the same.

Next Chapter: Chapter 3