Thornbear (Book 1)

  “I found Lilly,” she said, her voice flat. “She was going to be married. Did you know?”

  He had not known that. It was the sort of thing that had probably been talked about but he wouldn’t have paid much attention. Carissa probably knew.

  “All those years, she spent the best part of her youth taking care of the family. She hardly took any time for herself, but she had found someone, someone patient enough to wait for her. Now she’s dead because I was too busy satisfying my own selfish curiosity instead of being here.” Grace buried her head against his chest. “David—I can’t imagine how much this will hurt him, and Peter. Poor Peter, he doted on his sister.”

  Peter Tucker, Lilly’s brother, was the chamberlain of Castle Cameron, but Gram wasn’t certain which David she meant. David Summerland? He was about the right age, and he was in the castle often enough to know Lilly. He was a tailor in Washbrook. Gram hardly knew him. He was a quiet, gentle man, just the sort to love someone like Lilly. They would have made a good pair.

  His hand twitched, responding to his impulse to stroke the small bear.

  “Your hand moved!”

  It had. It also hurt like hell. With the return of that tiny bit of mobility had come some sensation. His hand ached, and as feeling returned to his arm, the pain spread. His arms and legs felt as though he had been tied down and beaten with clubs. His torso joined the chorus of misery soon after.

  “Ohh,” he groaned.

  Grace patted him, sending waves of agony through him. “You’re getting better. What happened? Can you talk?” She shook him and although her small body couldn’t move him much, it was enough to make him want to scream.

  “By all the dead gods! Please stop!” he tried to yell, but all that came out was a garbled mess. Gram’s ribs spasmed as he tried to talk and his mouth gaped.

  She continued to shake and pat him, making the next quarter of an hour a painful experience. Eventually he regained enough motor control to tell her, “Schtop, pleashh. It hurtsh. Don tousch me.”

  “Oh! Sorry.” Grace stopped. “What did they do to you?”

  “Poishun,” he managed, lifting his wrist briefly to indicate the spot she had found before. The movement sent fiery waves along his arm. “Uhnn!” he gasped. That was a mistake, he told himself.

  The rest of the day was nothing but torture and it was almost nightfall before Gram was able to sit up on his own. Everything hurt. Everything.

  The house had burned until nothing was left of it but ash and a few smoldering timbers. The gate to Castle Cameron was gone and Gram knew that he and Grace were stranded at least a hundred miles from home. Not that he had any intention of returning home.

  He had something more important to attend to, a rescue, and if it proved possible, revenge. He described what had happened to Grace while he recuperated. To put it mildly, the small bear was incensed.

  “I’ll kill that bitch,” she swore.

  Such language seemed out of place for her, but Gram couldn’t fault her for it. “No, Grace. Leave her to me.”

  “Look what she did to you already.”

  Gram nodded tiredly, “I won’t allow her that opportunity again, but I want you to promise not to hurt her.” He couldn’t help but wonder how the bear thought she would effect her revenge.

  “Why?” said Grace fiercely.

  “Because I still love her, despite everything. I don’t know why she’s done this, and I will see Irene returned, but in the end she kept me alive rather than kill me. If anyone kills her, it will be me.” His anger had faded to a dull glow as the day waned. Gram had more questions than answers and he wanted the truth before he decided Alyssa’s fate.

  “What about Lilly?” rebuked Grace.

  Gram winced again, remembering her bloodied form. “There will be a reckoning to pay for that, but I don’t think Alyssa wanted that. In fact, I don’t think she was in charge of this, but she still must bear some responsibility for it.”

  “You’re a fool, Gram. Nothing good will come from showing mercy to that treacherous slattern,” hissed Grace venomously.

  “Slattern?” said Gram curiously. “Really Grace, you have to stop reading those books.”

  “Don’t try to make light of this!”

  “How am I supposed to take you seriously when you use words like ‘slattern’?”

  “It’s a good word,” she insisted.

  “For my grandfather to use. Those books are turning your brain to fluff.”

  “It’s already fluff and it works fine. Besides, I can’t help it. Romance novels speak to me.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d accuse you of reading them for the naughty bits,” he observed.

  “That’s Moira. I read them for the adventure and emotional enlightenment.”

  Gram chuckled, though it sent slivers of pain throughout his body, “Emotional enlightenment? You are a very peculiar bear.”

  She sniffed, “I prefer to think of myself as ‘sophisticated’.”

  “In either case, we may have gotten just what you always wanted.”

  “That isn’t funny, Gram. I never wanted this.”

  He levered himself slowly up, and managed to stand, though his body made every effort to convince him it was a very bad idea. “Think of it from the outside. Put a little distance between yourself and the situation and it looks very much like something out of one of your books. We have love, betrayal, mysterious villains, a fool that needs to atone, and a damsel in distress.”

  “I am not in distress,” huffed the bear.

  “I meant Irene,” he corrected. Technically you aren’t really a damsel either, he thought, but he wouldn’t have dared to say that.

  “If anything, I’m the fool that needs to atone. I should have been here.”

  “That’s me,” said Gram. “I’m the one that trusted her, that gave away the location of this house.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “What would you call me then?”

  Grace straightened up before announcing with great gravity, “You are my bumbling but faithful sidekick. The comic relief of our sordid tale.”

  He stared at the blackened and dirty stuffed animal. She made her pronouncement with such earnest sincerity that he began to laugh despite himself. And then he lost his already unsteady footing and fell over. The pain served to bring his laughter to an abrupt halt. “Ow! Damn! That hurts.”

  She patted his head, “One can’t help but love the bumbling but faithful companion.”

  He laughed again, even as the pain brought tears to his eyes, “Please stop, Grace. It hurts too much to laugh.”

  “Such is your lot, poor wight,” she told him.

  “If you are the hero of our tale, who gets the girl in the end?”

  Grace glared at him, “Don’t even suggest it. If anyone kisses that trollop, it will be me.”

  “Huh?”

  “It won’t be a pleasant thing, dear. You haven’t seen my teeth yet,” she assured him.

  Gram couldn’t make sense of that remark, but he decided not to pursue the matter. Easing himself back to his feet he began to walk.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere yet. We need to survey what’s left, to see if there’s anything we can use,” he explained.

  She followed him as he walked gingerly around the outskirts of the burned husk that remained of the Illeniel cottage. With every step he groaned at the soreness that pervaded every muscle, but he refused to stop. By the time night had fallen he had accepted the fact that there was almost nothing they could use. If there was anything worthwhile left in the ruin it was far too hot for them to recover. The embers of the burned house would probably stay hot for days.

  “Well there’s one bright side,” Gram told her.

  “Such as?”

  “We don’t have to worry about making a fire tonight.”

  Grace chuckled, but his statement was a practical one. Even in spring, the mountain air would be dangerously chilly as th
e night progressed. They could easily stay warm by remaining close to the ruined home.

  “The heat may last us for several nights,” she suggested.

  “We won’t be here tomorrow night,” said Gram.

  “I think you should rest before we try to get home,” said the bear.

  “I’m not going home.”

  Grace punched his leg, though it had little effect. It served to punctuate her anger. “Idiot! You’re half dead. You’ll be lucky to survive the trip back down the valley without proper food and clothing, and you think you can chase after them?”

  He shrugged.

  “They have at least a half day’s head start already, a full day by morning. They probably have horses, and allies, and supplies—and who knows what else?! And you think you can go off by yourself, chasing them through the mountains? How would you even find them, much less catch up to them?!”

  He nodded, acknowledging her points. “That’s true, up to a point, but I will find them. The rocky terrain isn’t ideal, but there are at least three of them, if you count Irene. As you say, they probably have more waiting with horses or mules to carry their supplies, and that will make it far easier for me to track them.”

  “Oh, so you’re a tracker now?!”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing with Master Grayson in the mornings?”

  “Drinking and lazing about in the woods, knowing that drunkard,” she groused.

  Gram sighed, “No. He’s the finest tracker and the best archer in all of Washbrook.”

  “And how will you survive? You’ve no food, no supplies, not even a coat!”

  “I have you.”

  “And that’s what you’re going to take?”

  Gram smiled, “Just the ‘bear’ essentials.”

  Grace groaned at the pun, “You’re not even fit to be the comic relief.”

  Chapter 32

  Despite the easy warmth of the ruined house, Gram had difficulty sleeping. The aftereffects of the poison left his body aching in places that he hadn’t even been aware that he had muscles. The catatonia that the drug had induced had forced every muscle he possessed into a state of maximum tension until it had worn off. It was similar to the pain that followed overexertion and extreme exercise, except that it included virtually all of his muscles.

  Morning found him hungry and exhausted.

  “Are you still sure about this?” asked Grace.

  Deep down he wanted to give up. He knew she was right. Attempting to follow the kidnappers in his current condition, with no food, supplies, or proper clothing, was a fool’s errand. Still, something inside him wouldn’t allow it.

  “This is my only option.”

  “No,” she argued. “We talked about it yesterday, you have at least one other truly sensible option…”

  “For me, this is the only option,” he stressed, and then he began walking. Grace followed in his wake. “Do you want me to carry you?” he asked.

  She laughed, “You can barely walk straight.”

  “You don’t weigh much.”

  “I’ll wait until you’re better. I can keep up with any pace you can set currently.”

  He couldn’t help but agree with that. He thought of mentioning the fact that she would get dirty, but a simple glance reminded him that she was already as filthy as a cloth bear could get. Instead he turned his attention to the surrounding landscape.

  He had made a note of the direction they had gone the day before while he had been surveying the area. Of course, there really weren’t many directions they could go from there. Down was the primary option. The house had been situated on the northern facing side of a mountain, just within the upper end of the tree line. The slope was wooded, with occasional meadows and open areas.

  Near the bottom, where it met the base of the next mountain, was a stone gully that marked the source of the Glenmae River. From there, the logical course would be to follow the river fifty miles through the mountains, until it reached Shepherd’s Rest, a small valley that bordered the main valley of Cameron and Lancaster.

  Gram hoped that was the course they had taken, for it would be the easiest. The only other routes would be to follow a narrow northern pass into the Northern Wastes, or to head south, deeper into the Elentirs. East wasn’t an option at all, for while it led eventually into the western plains of Dunbar, it was guarded by a truly massive rise of interlocking mountains.

  They won’t follow the river, he thought, for that will take them closer to Cameron and Lancaster and they can’t be certain how much time they have. Carissa and Conall would have alerted those at the castle to the kidnapping and once a message reached the Count, he would return at speed. Gram wasn’t sure how fast they could get back, but if they could make a teleportation circle, the speed would be practically instantaneous.

  But they knew that. That’s why they made sure he was far away, so that it would take time to notify him. They probably hoped to accomplish the kidnapping without alerting anyone for at least a day. If Conall and his sister hadn’t escaped, no one would have known for days. They might have knocked on the door and wondered, but no one would have known for sure.

  So they planned ahead, and they hoped to be far enough away to evade capture by the time Mordecai got here.

  If that was the case then it wouldn’t matter if the Count was warned half a day sooner. The captors would be far enough away that it would be impossible to find them. The Elentir Mountains were vast, thousands and thousands of square miles. Even a mage would be hard pressed to find a small group of people in it, once they were far enough away from their last known location.

  But the Count is smart; he’ll probably think to search the most likely routes that people on foot can take. The route to Shepherd’s Rest would cost him at least a half a day to search, even flying.

  “What are you thinking about?” asked Grace.

  “Terrain,” he said curtly.

  “Are you even sure they came this way?”

  He nodded. “They have to go downhill until they reach the river.”

  “Is that just a guess or can you really see a trail?”

  Gram sighed, “Half of tracking is anticipating what the quarry will do; the signs just help by confirming that you haven’t taken a wrong turn. If you go too far without one, you have to reconsider.”

  “But have you actually seen any signs?” she insisted.

  “Yes,” he told her. “Look over there, see that pine?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “The bark has been knocked loose on this side, leaving a darker color exposed. Someone probably brushed up against it.”

  “Or a moose did,” she offered.

  “I haven’t seen any moose, but I do know that several people came this way in a hurry yesterday, and I’ve spotted a number of similar marks as we came down.”

  “But you could be following a moose.”

  Gram took a deep breath. “Theoretically, I suppose that’s possible, but only if it were several moose.”

  “Why several?”

  “The sheer number of signs. See there? Those leaves have been disturbed. I can’t say for certain what did that, but whatever large animal did it, it was likely several or there would be fewer places for me to notice.”

  “So it could be a herd of mooses,” she said, stifling a giggle.

  “The plural of moose is moose,” he corrected.

  Grace agreed, “I knew that would bother you.”

  Stopping, Gram pulled up a small weedy looking bush with white flowers and slender leaves. Resuming his walk he began plucking the leaves and flowers off, eating them as they went.

  “Is that good to eat?”

  Gram made a face. “Yarrow,” he told her. “It tastes awful by itself but you can eat it. It’s better as a tea or added to a stew.”

  “It doesn’t look like enough to keep you going, though,” she commented in a worried voice.

  “It isn’t,” he admitted, continuing to chew the bitter leaves. “But every l
ittle bit helps. If I can’t eat all of it, I can use the rest on my skin. It keeps mosquitos off.”

  “I guess you really weren’t getting drunk and lazing about all those mornings.”

  “Did you really think that?”

  She had known better, but that wasn’t really the point of her conversation. Grace was deeply worried about Gram’s chances of survival. She knew she couldn’t talk him out of his current decision, but she had a feeling that if she didn’t keep his spirits up he would eventually succumb to despair.

  “Oh I didn’t,” she protested, “but your mother will be very relieved to hear that you were actually doing something practical. She and your sister had begun to wonder if you were developing unnatural tendencies with some of the sheep.”

  “What?!” he exclaimed, before giving her a rueful stare. “Now I know you’re making things up. Carissa doesn’t even know about such things.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure. She’s been asking a lot of questions about boys lately.”

  He growled, “What boys?” The thought of boys, in conjunction with his baby sister, was a touchy topic for him.

  Grace laughed, “I’ll never tell.”

  ***

  They reached the bottom by mid-morning. It was easier going there, except for the occasional boulder or other obstacle. Gram gathered more plants that he found growing in a low meadow near the small trickle that would eventually become the Glenmae River.

  “Does that one taste better than the yarrow?”

  Gram smiled, “Much better.” He held up a plant he had just pulled from the ground, the roots showed pink through the earth clinging to them. “This is amaranth. It’s a shame they don’t have seeds yet, those are a good enough to survive on. The leaves are passable as greens, but they won’t be enough by themselves.”

  “The hunter taught you that?”

  “Actually I learned about this from Nana, she used to have me gather them for her. She had a taste for it. She said where she grew up they actually cultivated it for food.”

  “Will we really be able to find enough for you to eat?”

  He grimaced. “The hard part will be collecting enough without stopping. I can probably find pin cherries, dandelions, maybe even some gooseberries, but none of that will be enough. Eventually we’ll have to get meat or fish. This stuff is only going to delay starvation.”