Thornbear (Book 1)

  Matthew patted his shoulder. “You aren’t dead. So far everything is going according to plan, it’s just taking me longer than I anticipated.”

  Gram shrugged off his friend’s gesture, “This was your plan?! To cut it up into a thousand-thousand little pieces? If you had told me that, I would never have agreed to this!”

  The wizard nodded, “Well, that’s why I didn’t tell you, of course, but just wait till it’s finished. You’ll never be able to tell when you look at it.”

  “I very much doubt that.”

  “Look,” said Matthew, reaching down and holding up two nearly identical pieces of metal. Holding them together with his fingers, he mumbled a few words and then handed them to Gram. “Can you tell where they are joined?”

  Gram’s eyes were sharp, but he couldn’t find a seam. “No,” he admitted grudgingly.

  “This will be like that, times a million,” explained Matthew. “Trust me.”

  “How much longer before it’s finished?” said Gram, daring to hope that his friend could do what he said.

  “Three or four months at least,” said Matthew.

  “Months?!” exclaimed Gram. “You realize my mother is bound to visit within that time, or even finish and return for good. How long do you think I can fool her?”

  His friend gave him a stubborn look. “You’ll thank me when this is over, and no matter what happens, I swear to you that this will be worth it.”

  “I’ll be the world’s happiest man, living alone, just me and my fantastic sword—in Dunbar!”

  Matthew rubbed his chin, imitating his father who frequently rubbed his beard when he was thinking. “You know, my friend, you are learning faster than I expected. I think you’ll master the art of sarcasm soon if you keep progressing at this rate.”

  Gram growled and struggled to keep from pummeling his friend.

  Chapter 11

  The next morning Gram took Pebble out for a ride. His tutor had left to return home for a month, and that left him with an abundance of free time between breakfast and lunch each day. He didn’t mind, though, geography and history were not something he would miss. When he was younger he had also been forced to spend his afternoons learning arithmetic and studying literature, but Rose had relented on the math front once he had demonstrated enough skill to balance an account book.

  Literature was something she had hoped he would grow to love, but by the time he was fourteen she had finally given up on that as well. History and geography were non-negotiable, however, as she felt no nobleman could get by without both knowledge of where his enemies and allies lived and an intimate understanding of everything that had gone before.

  He was looking forward to a month without supervision.

  Pebble tossed her head, looking back at him sideways from one of her big brown eyes.

  “I don’t care,” he told her blithely, leaving the reins slack and letting her have her head. “You’re in charge today, Pebble.

  Pebble chuffed loudly, blowing out a lungful of air and easing to the right. She meandered easily, taking a comfortable pace that wouldn’t tire her and stopping frequently to munch on particularly sweet looking patches of clover or grass.

  Gram leaned back and watched the world slowly pass. The sky was blue and the air still warm with the last of summer’s heat. It would begin to get cool in a few more weeks, but for now it was perfect. White clouds drifted by, undisturbed in their course by anything other than the occasional hawk flying across the vaulted skies.

  His horse had been wandering across a wide pasture, following a short wicker fence that was more of a suggestion than a real border. The grass grew taller close to the places where the posts were set, and Pebble took her time stopping at each to nibble at the tender greenery.

  It was a moment before he became aware of the noise that was disturbing his peaceful reverie. What was that? Now that he was listening, he heard nothing. He pulled on Pebble’s reins, so that she would stop, and the gentle mare patiently waited while he listened.

  There. It was a grunt, followed by a deeper sound, coming from his left. That direction led away from the farmer’s cot and into a vast pasture, one only interrupted by a thin stream that wandered through it. Gram gave a tug on the reins, nudged Pebble with his heels, and the mare began walking, heading to the left.

  A loud bleating noise helped him to identify the source of the original sound. One of the farmer’s sheep must be in trouble. He urged Pebble forward, and she increased her pace. Soon he could hear the light burbling of the stream. It must have fallen into the brook.

  The land rose gently in front of him, disguising the fact that the stream bank was close by, but Gram was familiar with the area. He slowed Pebble down before they reached the edge. The small stream had cut the earth away there, leaving a steep bank that led down on this side, before gently sloping up on the other. An unsuspecting animal, particularly one moving at a run, might easily slip and hurt itself there.

  Dismounting, he dropped the reins, giving Pebble a familiar look. “Pretend I just tied them to a stump,” he told her.

  She gave him a steady look that he took to indicate agreement. She wouldn’t wander far. The grass was tall, and she had plenty to occupy her anyway.

  Gram waded through the waist high grass until he could look over the edge. Sure enough a large ewe was there, lying on a large boulder. From the look of things he guessed she had stumbled over the edge and tumbled down the five or six feet to land on the hard stone. It was a bit of bad luck since such a short drop probably wouldn’t have injured her if she hadn’t landed badly.

  Damn stupid sheep, he thought. She should know this pasture well enough to remember where the stream is.

  There were plenty of easy places to walk down, so he had little difficulty reaching her. The ewe was bleating at him regularly now, crying in pain and fear. “Easy girl,” he told her. “Just rest easy, we’ll have you safe in a minute. Let me see where you’re hurt.” Carefully, he lifted her body so that he could slide her away from the rock, checking first to make certain she wasn’t caught somehow.

  There was blood on the stone, but her legs were free, so he eased her away to set her on the smooth ground beside the water. He examined her there, feeling her legs to see if they were broken. “You might have broken something when you fell,” he suggested aloud, talking softly to calm her. “Don’t worry, though. If you can’t walk, I can carry you home. We’ll make sure you’re alright.” Unless the bone’s come through, the farmer will probably put you down if that’s the case.

  Her legs seemed intact, and he found no broken bones, but the blood puzzled him. The wind shifted, blowing in his face. It had been at his back before. Pebble gave a loud whinny, sounding fearful.

  “Hold on, Pebble!” he called, hoping his mare wouldn’t turn skittish and leave him to walk. “I’ll be back up there in a second.” Searching through the thick wool for the source of the blood he found three long gashes.

  That’s the problem, he noted silently, her muscle’s torn. His subconscious mind was nagging at him then, trying to tell him something, but he couldn’t quite bring the thought fully into the light of his consciousness.

  The light flickered, a shadow passing across the sun for a split second.

  Gram dropped down on all fours above the ewe and then rolled to the left across the damp sand as a giant cat sailed through the air above him. He had acted without thought, before his mind could even register the meaning of the signs, the claw marks on the ewe, Pebble’s warning when the wind shifted, or the change in light. His body had moved on its own.

  The panther looked to weigh almost as much as he did, a monster that was probably over a hundred and fifty pounds. It had landed gracefully, twisting before it had even reached the ground, preparing to spring again.

  Shit!

  He had brought a falchion with him, but it was tied to Pebble’s saddle. All he had on him was his belt knife, a four inch straight bladed item better suited for minor tasks. T
he cat was in the air before he could gather his wits to draw it.

  He was still on the ground when the cat sprang, so it was impossible to drop beneath it and he was nowhere near fast enough to push himself up and over it. Instead he rolled back to his right, and he almost made it, but the panther lashed out with one paw, catching the side of his head as it passed. The curved claws caught in the skin of his cheek, and the beast twisted, using the attachment to arrest its motion and swing its body around to reach him.

  The other foreleg was moving toward his head, and once it had him between the two he knew the rear legs would come up to rake his belly.

  Gram’s conscious mind wasn’t operating, though. Like his body, it was nowhere near fast enough to process everything that was happening in time to make good choices. His answers came from the empty place, the place where he ceased to exist.

  He caught the paw that was ripping through his face with his right hand, gripping it tightly as he continued to roll, drawing the cat with him. Its other foreleg hit the sand as it desperately sought to maintain its balance, but he was having none of that. The momentum of his roll pulled it off balance, and his left arm circled around the beast as it twisted beneath him in the sand.

  It was strong. If he had been thinking, his mind would have told him that pound for pound cats are much stronger than humans, but that thought would have done little more than slow him down.

  Tightening his arm, he pulled the panther into a headlock, his elbow close against its bottom jaw. The cat screamed as he clung to it, keeping its head in the clench. Driving forward with powerful legs, it forced him up, despite the fact that it had to lift both their bodies. Unable to control its movement, he fell, and the beast’s body twisted with incredible flexibility. Claws ripped into his trousers as it thrashed, but he held on.

  It surged up again, trying to throw him off, but this time he used his own legs to aid its push, and they both left the ground for a moment, to fall a few feet closer to the water’s edge. As they flew, he brought his feet up and wrapped his legs around the cat’s muscular mid-body, just ahead of its rear limbs.

  Now it could no longer twist its lower body to rake him with its hind legs, and the cat began to thrash violently within his arms, making it difficult to hold on. Gram managed to bring his right arm up, using it to lock his left forearm in place. Using all four of his limbs to grapple the panther, he was no longer able to control their movement. The cat’s mouth was snapping and yowling as it struggled, trying to move its head enough to get a bite on him.

  The bite is the worst. Those jaws are strong enough to break bones or anything else that comes between them, said his inner voice, choosing that moment to speak up.

  He ignored it, and as the cat pushed away from the ground again he tried to aid its motion, twisting his torso to throw it off balance. The two of them rolled into the water.

  Gram took a deep breath before his head went under the green water. The cat wasn’t happy about their abrupt bath, and it redoubled its efforts to shake him off, but he wasn’t letting up. He could feel the muscles rippling beneath the skin of the panther’s neck as he tightened his headlock. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t get the position or the leverage to crush its throat, but then, he no longer needed too.

  It fought him as he kept it under, using his weight to keep them both from surfacing. It was kicking wildly, but the soft mud gave it little to push against. They sank deeper into the water and farther from the shore.

  His head was pounding, and there were spots in his vision. How long he had held on he couldn’t be sure, but his lungs were screaming for air. He had gotten a good lungful of air before they went in, and he thought the cat had sucked in some water already, but he couldn’t be sure. It still struggled. Clenching his teeth, he refused to give up, until at last the great cat’s body relaxed, going limp in the water.

  Letting go, he got his head above the surface just as he lost control, choking as he got a little water in with his first breath. He flailed for a moment, fighting to orient himself as he stood in the soft mud. He was only seven feet from the shore, and he was standing in water that came up to his chest. The cat floated beside him.

  Coughing and hacking he reached out with one hand to push its head beneath the water. Just to be sure. He remained there for several moments, clearing his lungs and catching his breath before he began making his way to the shore. He drew the lifeless body of the drowned cat along with him, rolling it onto the sand bar before climbing out himself.

  Gram was shaking from a combination of the wind on his wet skin and the aftereffects of adrenaline. Exhausted, he lay down on his back. He stared up at the sky, wondering at its crystalline blue color, interrupted only by impossibly white clouds. He breathed deeply.

  I’m alive.

  He heard steps coming through the grass, but he didn’t bother rising. Whoever it was wouldn’t be a threat. Still, he was surprised when he saw Chad Grayson’s face appear above the grass on the opposite side of the brook.

  “It’s a bit too late in the season to be swimming,” remarked the hunter as he saw Gram’s wet and bedraggled form.

  Gram chuckled and then, unable to help himself, he fell to laughing loudly. It felt good after such a close brush with death.

  “I can see it’s no use tryin’ to give ye advice. Ye’re touched,” added Chad. His eyes had picked out the form of the big cat and now they were searching the ground around Gram. He noted the wounded ewe lying close by. “I been lookin’ fer that pussy.”

  Gram laughed harder at that. It was a minute or more before he finally managed to calm himself. “You’re welcome to it. It’s certainly done me no good.”

  “Hang on, I’ll be right there,” said the huntsman before he disappeared back into the tall grass. Gram could hear him moving south for a short distance until he found a narrower place to cross the stream. A few minutes later he had joined the young man, none the worse for his crossing, other than wet boots.

  “Ye’re a right mess,” observed Chad.

  Gram nodded. “Heh, I bet.”

  The hunter leaned in, using his hand to tilt Gram’s face to one side. He hissed when he saw the claw marks there. “Oooh, that’s gonna leave a mark, boy. Someone’ll need to sew that up fer ye.”

  “Got any thread?” asked Gram.

  “Ye don’t want me doin’ it. Needs to be cleaned first anyway.”

  “They always said panthers don’t attack people, that they look for easier prey,” Gram wondered, sitting up.

  “Usually they don’t,” agreed the hunter. “But last year we didn’t get much rain, and then we followed it with a cold winter.”

  “Huh?” Gram couldn’t seem to form a better sentence for his question just then.

  “Food,” explained Chad. “The bigger predators, wolves and such, they’ve had it hard cuz of a lack of small game. This one had taken to raiding farms. It managed to kill the Adams’ milk cow two weeks back. He was huntin’ Mr. McDermott’s sheep today. You jus’ had the misfortune of tryin’ to steal his lunch.”

  “Is that why you’re here?”

  “Yeh, I was hopin’ te ketch him layin’ up after his next kill. Never thought it would be you.”

  “Me either.”

  “Yer damn lucky to be alive. Like ye say, they don’ often attack people, but when they do, it’s nothin’ to laugh about. What did ye kill him with?”

  Gram held up two shaky hands. “I never got a chance to pull my knife.”

  Chad let out a long whistle. “Damn, boy! My hat’s off to ye,” he said, though he didn’t actually doff his cap.

  Gram stood. He was mostly recovered from the effects of his fight, and he felt uncommonly good, other than a faint pain burning the skin along the left side of his face. “Do you want the cat?” he asked.

  “Nah, that’s yer kill, boy,” said the hunter.

  Gram thought for a moment, “Well, I’d like to get this ewe back to her owner. Would you mind taking the panther back for me? Yo
u can keep whatever you want from it.” His ears picked up the sound of riders coming from the distance.

  “I can probably do that fer ye,” said the hunter with a nod. Taking out his knife, he gutted the cat by the water’s edge. He did it with practiced ease and within minutes he had field dressed the animal and had wrapped it in a wide cloth before draping it across his shoulders.

  Gram watched with admiration for his skill. “Listen, Master Grayson, about our fight…”

  The hunter focused on him then, meeting his eyes, “Yeh?”

  “I’d like to apologize. I shouldn’t have lost my temper…”

  “…that’s fine, boy,” interrupted the huntsman. “No harm done, though I appreciate that ye’ve thought on it.” He began walking back along the edge of the stream, heading toward his previous crossing point. “One o’ these days you’ll have to come out with me. Mebbe I’ll teach ye a thing or two.” He disappeared from view after that.

  Gram stared after him bemused. He’s harder to figure out than Sir Cyhan. The ewe took the opportunity to issue another loud series of bleats.

  “I’m coming, girl,” said Gram reassuringly. Kneeling, he slipped his arms beneath her shoulder and hindquarters. She was heavy, but he thought he could manage her weight. The farmer’s cot was only a half-mile to the east of him. He felt sure he could carry her at least that far.

  Putting her across Pebble’s back would be even easier, but he would have to tie her in place and he worried that he might injure her more by putting her in such a position. First he had to get her up the embankment and onto level ground, though.

  His muscles grew taut as he slowly straightened his knees to lift her, keeping her body close against his chest. The ewe’s weight was considerably greater than he had anticipated. “Damn girl, there’s more to you than just wool,” he noted in a soothing voice. The ewe began to kick with her forelegs, threatening his equilibrium, but he kept talking until she settled down quietly.