Thornbear (Book 1)

  “It would be a useless tactic if one of the wizards was with us,” she said.

  “But none of them are, and Celior is waiting for them if they come. This is just a precaution I think, and a lucky one for us,” said Gram.

  “Lucky?”

  “Look at my shoes.” Gram had left the castle wearing soft cloth shoes. They were well suited to smooth stone corridors but they were quickly disintegrating on the sharp, rocky terrain. Another day and his feet would be essentially bare.

  “Two men are waiting to kill you and you want to steal their shoes?”

  “A bedroll, food, heavy clothing, and a bow would be welcome too,” he added.

  She thought about it for a moment, realizing he was right. “Let me do it,” she offered.

  The thought of a small stuffed bear attacking two grown men threatened to make him lose control and laugh out loud. He squeezed her for a second, “No, this is a job for your comic companion.”

  “Let me help then,” she insisted.

  “What can you do?”

  A lot more than you realize, she thought. “I can choose how I sound, for one thing,” she told him. “I can sound like a real bear. They might run if they thought a brown bear was coming after them.”

  “Hmmm,” said Gram thinking. “That gives me an excellent idea.” He began outlining his plan.

  They waited another quarter of an hour before they moved, making sure that the men were truly asleep. When it was clear that the men weren’t just pretending they began to move, Grace guiding him slowly and carefully up and over the rocks on the right hand side. Despite their care there were still several scary moments when a rock was displaced or unnoticed dead leaves rustled underfoot.

  Each time they made a noise they would stop and wait, making sure they hadn’t alerted their prey. It took nearly an hour before Gram was in position, crouching silently some thirty feet from where the strangers slept.

  He would have liked to get closer. Ideally he would have preferred to be able to attack them in their sleep, but one of the men had woken, alerted by the sound of a rock falling. The intervening distance was open and sparsely covered with dry grass and rocks. Once he left the cover of the rock that hid him he would be easily seen, even in the dim starlight, and the ground ahead was sure to make noise.

  Grace separated from him then, moving down the rocks and working her way along the gully before climbing up again on the other side. Her soft lightweight body made stealth easy, but her short limbs were a serious hindrance. Some places were simply impossible for her to climb over. She was forced to take a long circuitous route. It was another hour before she had picked her way around to a position on the other side of the men, sixty or seventy feet on the other side of their camp.

  The one that had woken was already asleep again, but she doubted Gram knew that, and fortunately their plan didn’t require such knowledge. She began with a low growl that mounted in volume until it was a frightening roar.

  Gram had been waiting patiently for that signal but he didn’t start forward until he saw the blurry shadows of the men begin to move. They were scrambling in alarm, sitting up and staring into the darkness in Grace’s direction.

  The noise she made only grew louder, and she didn’t pause. They needed to make sure it would cover any sound his approach would make.

  “We have to move!” said one of the men. “It’s getting closer.”

  “I can’t see anything,” hissed his companion. They were snatching up their bedrolls and packs, gathering everything into their arms as they prepared to make a hasty retreat. “What is that?”

  “It’s a fuckin’ bear, idiot. Grab your bow,” said the other. “No, don’t try to string it. That’d just piss it off. We have to run.”

  Unfortunately one of them spotted Gram as he ran forward. Frightened by the sound of the bear he dropped everything in his arms as he saw the dark figure charging at him from the darkness. His friend stumbled and fell sideways, unsure what was going on.

  Gram’s knife took that one in the back, and then he was after the one that had just dropped his gear.

  The man had already put his sword belt on, though, and while the rest of his belongings were scattered around him he retained the wit to draw his blade. Shaking with fear and adrenaline he pointed it in Gram’s direction. “You ain’t no bear!”

  Grace continued to roar from the darkness behind him, but the man ignored it and leapt forward, thrusting at Gram with his weapon.

  Shit, thought Gram, retreating hastily to avoid being skewered. He held only a four inch knife, and while one of the men was down for good, he was at a serious disadvantage. Worse, the shadow of the rock overhanging the men’s camp made it even harder to see.

  Stepping on a rock he stumbled, but rather than try to keep his feet he let himself fall. He remembered the stone from his advance a moment before, even though he had failed to take it into account during his withdrawal. It was a modest stone, about a foot across. He fell over it and rolled into a crouch beside it as his opponent came on.

  Dropping his knife he hefted the stone with all the speed his muscles could provide. It might have weighed thirty or forty pounds, but he flung it up and forward as though it weighed nothing, striking the swordsman in the legs.

  The other man stumbled, but didn’t fall, his sword arm shooting out to his right in case he had to catch himself. Gram surged up and into him as the sword went out of line, striking the man in the chin with the top of his head and driving him from his feet.

  They struggled in the darkness for a few seconds, but Gram was already on top of his foe and once he had his hands on the man’s face he shoved it downward, slamming his skull into the stony ground. He repeated the brutal action several more times, until his enemy’s body had gone limp and the back of his head had become a soft wet ruin.

  The stillness of the night returned and Gram stared at the man underneath him. A few minutes ago he was sleeping peacefully. His hands were wet and sticky. A sudden noise to his right made him realize that the man he had stabbed was still alive.

  Standing, he walked over, looking down on the one that had taken his knife in the back. The wound had been high up, but the blade hadn’t struck his heart. From the wet sound of the fellow’s labored breathing it had probably punctured one of his lungs. He was a dead man, but he might last for hours.

  I’m sorry.

  That’s what he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out. The man he was looking at had been planning to kill him, or whoever followed. He was part of the band that had taken Irene, that had killed Lilly. He didn’t deserve an apology, and yet, watching him die made Gram’s stomach twist.

  “Why?” he asked, addressing the dying man. “Why did you do it?”

  The man’s eyes rolled in his head, staring fearfully at Gram. He knew he was dying, but he yet feared the final blow. His lips opened and he struggled to speak, but the words came out wet and garbled. Something dark ran from his mouth. In the daylight Gram was sure it would have been red.

  Is this what he felt? Gram thought of his father. How many times did he experience this? Dorian Thornbear was said to have killed hundreds, if not more, in both times of war, and in smaller personal conflicts. It should have driven him mad—unless, he enjoyed it.

  But Gram’s memories of his father didn’t depict a madman. His father had been kind and patient. His mother had said so as well. Gram wished his father was alive, so he could ask him. How do you get past this pain, this guilt? There is blood on my hands now.

  The man on the ground tried to speak again, and this time his words were clear enough to understand, “They paid—me.”

  He was a mercenary soldier. Had he had a family? Were there people waiting for him to return?

  “You picked the wrong job, my friend,” said Gram. “Who paid you?” The words sounded calm, almost casual coming from his lips. Who is this passionless killer? thought Gram, it can’t be me.

  But it was.

  “Pleas
e…” begged the mercenary, unable to finish his sentence.

  Gram went back to the other and retrieved the sword. It would be easier to use. The knife was too close, too personal. Standing over the dying man again he held the sword up, trying to decide the best place to put the blade, to end his suffering. The man’s eyes bored into his own, begging and accusing with the same stare.

  He dropped the weapon. It was too cold. If he was going to do this, he would take the full weight of it. He took out his knife instead, and knelt beside the figure. “I’m sorry,” he said then, and plunged the blade into the man’s heart.

  The stranger jerked once, and then died, a last wet breath leaving his mouth. His eyes never left Gram’s.

  Though his stomach was empty, Gram began to heave, vomiting onto the ground. A small amount of fluid came up, and after that it only dry heaves that shook him. Grace stood close by now, gently patting his back, but she said nothing.

  Chapter 34

  Gram moved the bodies, dragging them some twenty yards from the camp before stripping both of them of their clothing and boots. In the dark it was hard to say what might fit and what wouldn’t. The tunic and coat of the one he had stabbed were ruined, but his boots, belt and trousers were probably still good. The belongings of the one whose head he had smashed were probably fine. He would sort through them in the morning.

  Laying one bedroll on top of the other he curled up inside it and hoped he could get warm. He didn’t expect sleep. His conscience wouldn’t allow that, surely, but when he closed his eyes and opened them again he found the morning sun shining down on him. His body’s exhaustion had taken precedence over his moral confusion.

  He lay quietly for a few minutes, enjoying the sound of birdsong and the play of sunlight on the rocks nearby. His mind was still, at peace. He had done terrible things the night before, but he was careful not to look at them directly. In the light of day they seemed like nightmares, terrible indeed, but unreal.

  “You’re awake,” noted Grace.

  “Seems like it,” he replied, sitting up.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Later,” he told her. “There are things to be done.” He stood and began sifting through the chaotic remains of the camp, making a small pile of the things he would keep.

  There were two packs and within them were enough bread, dried meat, and hard cheese to last the two men for several days. He ate a modest breakfast and packed the rest of the food into one of the packs. He rolled up one of the bedrolls and tied it onto the pack as well and then he examined the clothing.

  Most of it was too small, and his own doublet and trousers were far better, despite being made for a more civilized environment. He counted himself fortunate that one of the men had had big feet, his boots were a bit tight, but they fit. Gram made two small cuts in them, in the front and along the outer edge, giving his feet enough room to be more comfortable. He couldn’t afford blisters.

  He belted on one of the sword belts and chose the better of the two swords, then he did the same with the bows, pulling them to a full draw to test their strength. He collected the arrows from both their quivers and counted them. Twenty three.

  Glancing at the sun he decided it was probably close to nine o’clock. Picking up Grace, he put her on his shoulder and began picking his way down.

  “Focus on the sides, in case there are any other ambushes set,” he told her. “I’ll worry about finding their trail.”

  “Sure,” said Grace. “How are you…?”

  “Later,” he interrupted. “Much later.”

  “Alright,” she said, accepting his reluctance.

  They reached the rising ground that formed the base of the mountain that divided the wash by noon. Gram was far from anything he was remotely familiar with now and he couldn’t be sure of the merits of either path, so he had no way to judge which direction their quarry might have gone. Either way might lead to a dead end, or both might be viable.

  He spent an hour checking the eastern side without luck before he tried the western path. Within minutes he discovered several signs, a bit of disturbed soil and some trampled grass. The clincher was a small piece of leather, probably a bit of harness that someone had trimmed for some reason.

  They traveled along, climbing over and around increasingly difficult terrain. Gram might have worried that the way would become completely impassable but he knew that those he followed had taken their pack animals through once already and they had to have mapped their route beforehand. He kept his eyes on the ground, trusting Grace to alert them if there were any hidden traps.

  A strange noise began growing in his ears sometime around midafternoon. It wasn’t a sound he was familiar with, a distant rushing sound, as if there were river rapids nearby. But there was no water. The low rocky valley they followed was dry, and the sound seemed to come from above, as if the sky itself was making the sound.

  “What is that?” he wondered aloud.

  “I don’t know.”

  The mountain to their left was dipping low and a gentle slope led to a ridge there. “Let’s climb up,” suggested Gram, “maybe we can see something from there.”

  Half an hour later they were close to the ridgeline. Gram stayed low as they crested it, not wanting to alert their enemies. Anyone traveling below would be able to see them from miles away if they stood there.

  The sound had reached new heights, but Gram still couldn’t understand its source. There was nothing like a river in view and the open sky was clear, except for a small dot to the west. He figured that it must be a bird, but it was too indistinct for him to identify.

  Then he realized it was moving, but not in the fashion that one would expect of a bird. It passed through a cloud and he knew then that it was much farther distant than he had thought, and consequently traveling much faster as well.

  “What is that?” he wondered.

  “I can’t see anything,” said Grace. “My vision is wonderful for things within a few hundred yards, but I can’t see anything beyond that.”

  “There’s something flying, a long way off, to the west of us,” explained Gram. “It’s big enough that I thought it was a bird at first, but now I don’t know what it is.”

  “Could it be the Count’s flying machine?” suggested Grace.

  “It never made a sound like this,” said Gram. “And there would be several people visible, or a larger dark spot, maybe. I’m not sure what it would look like at this distance.”

  Whatever it was, was taking a path that angled past them. It wouldn’t fly directly over them, but as they watched, he figured it would pass within a couple of miles. Probably over that peak there, he thought, mentally marking a mountaintop in the distance. As it grew nearer he thought he could make out some discernible features.

  “It’s a man,” he declared. “I can make out his arms and legs now. He’s flying along like an arrow from a bow, headfirst.”

  “That has to be the Count then.”

  “Can he fly like that?” asked Gram.

  “He did during the last great battle,” said Grace, “right before he fought Mal’goroth. Moira told me about it.”

  “But he was some sort of shiggreth monster god-demon then,” said Gram.

  “I bet he remembers how,” she said, “but I doubt it’s safe.”

  An attack on his family might just drive him to take such a risk, thought Gram, as the figure passed over the mountaintop he had noted before. The Count’s path was perpendicular to them, and though he was still a few miles distant, Gram could see he was moving at an unbelievable speed.

  A booming roar, like thunder, struck him then, a sound so powerful it felt like a physical blow, and Gram and Grace both fell flat onto the rocks.

  “What was that?!”

  “I don’t know,” said Grace. “It felt like something just shook the world.”

  “It even rattled my teeth.” How fast was he flying? The stories he had heard from the battle with Mal’goroth mentioned something simila
r, when Mordecai had flown with such speed that it seemed as if the sky exploded, but he had assumed the story was exaggerated.

  “He must have gotten word from Elaine,” said Grace. “There was no circle at the house, so he must have just taken off and flown straight for it.”

  “Celior is waiting for him.”

  “I feel sorry for the god,” said Grace smugly.

  “It isn’t good, Grace. Celior was afraid to come out in the open before. He fought Mordecai once and lost, and since then the Count defeated the other shining gods as well, along with most of the dark gods.”

  “So he’ll have no trouble giving that arrogant bastard a good thrashing then.”

  “Maybe,” said Gram, “but Celior is expecting him. He’s drawn him out, unprepared, away from his allies and any traps he might have prepared in Cameron. And the Count isn’t as powerful, or immortal for that matter, as he was when he fought the others.”

  “I don’t think he was any of that the first time he fought Celior,” said Grace. “He’ll win.”

  Gram thought of Celior’s threats regarding his mother and sister. He’s got to win. “Let’s go,” he told Grace. “We can’t do anything about it, one way or another, so let’s do what we can.”

  They descended again and resumed their course, following the occasional signs that indicated a group of several men and their animals had gone in the same direction. I’m coming for you, Rennie.

  They traveled onward, watching the sun set behind the mountains. The air grew cold with the disappearance of the sun, but once again Gram kept them going, not wanting to stop until they came to another place that their quarry might have had a choice of directions.

  Several hours after dark the lights began.

  “What was that flash?” he asked.

  “I didn’t see anything,” said Grace, “but if it came from far off I wouldn’t.”

  A moment later a rolling boom reached their ears. “It sounded like thunder,” noted Gram. The sky overhead was clear, full of brilliant stars set against a velvety black firmament. Another flash of light split the darkness.