“Do you think a storm is coming?” wondered Grace.
“I’m not sure.” The wind was starting to pick up, but there were still no clouds. The next flash caused the entire sky to glow, casting the world around them into stark white and black contrast. A steady golden light was flickering and shimmering beyond the mountains to the south of them now, as if a monstrously huge bonfire had been lit. The night was punctuated with an unending staccato of resounding booms.
“They’re fighting,” stated Grace.
“Remind me never to piss off Matt’s dad,” said Gram, trying to make a joke, but inwardly he was worried. If he falls, we’re doomed.
“I’m sure Mal’goroth wished he had known that before he did the same,” observed Grace.
But Celior did know better, noted Gram, better than anyone.
The wind had become a raging tempest, and while there still weren’t any clouds, the sky was continually shattered by dazzling curtains of lightning that stretched from one horizon to the next. The peals of thunder were so deep they seemed to shake the mountains themselves.
“We should keep moving,” said Gram. “I have a feeling the show is only going to make Irene’s captors hurry faster.” He left unspoken the fact that he wanted to be as far away as possible in case the wrong one emerged as the victor.
They continued on while the sky changed colors, sometimes illuminating the ground before them as if it was daytime, and then leaving them in utter blackness. A new star had risen in the sky to the south; a brilliant flame that flared and burned. Gouts of fire issued from it, striking the mountains below while curtains of lighting seemed to envelop it at frequent intervals.
Gram couldn’t even begin to guess which was which.
They ran when the light was strong and stopped when it vanished, their eyes no longer adjusted to see by mere starlight. The bizarre battle continued behind them for almost a quarter of an hour before it stopped, ending with a frightening sound. Gram fell as the earth beneath him jumped, throwing him from his feet and slapping him hard as he hit the rocks. The world shook and the sky grew red before fading away into soft darkness.
Silence reigned and the star that had burned in the sky was gone.
“Is it over?” asked Grace, whispering as though she feared the combatants might hear them despite the intervening miles.
A booming laughter rolled over the land, as if to answer her question. The burning star rose into the sky again and Gram knew that Celior was still free. He had won. The earth shook once more, and then the world was silent, while the star flew south, eventually dwindling into the distance.
“I think he’s dead,” said Gram in a dull voice, numb with shock.
“Don’t say that.”
“That was Celior’s laugh. That was him flying away.”
The bear hadn’t been able to see the flying star, but she refused to give in to despair. “They thought he was dead and lost before, but it was never so. I won’t believe it,” she said.
Gram picked her up and resumed walking. He didn’t reply to her hopeful declaration.
“You believe me, right?” insisted the bear.
Gram didn’t answer. The darkness had closed around them and despite her presence, he felt more alone than ever. The man that had become his second father was dead, or worse. He trudged on. We still have Matt, and Moira. They’ll set it right, and by all the dead gods, I’ll do everything I can to help them.
Chapter 35
It was close to midnight when Gram finally decided to rest. He ate more of the cheese and dried meat they had taken from the ambushers and then he laid out the bedroll and slept. Once again, despite his fears and worries, his body’s exhaustion took matters into its own hands and he sank into an empty oblivion. If he dreamt, he didn’t remember it.
He woke with the morning sun and after a quick breakfast, they set out again.
“Grace,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Something occurred to me when I was going to sleep last night.”
“What?” she asked.
“You once told me that you need Moira to restore your magic every few days, but today is the third day we’ve been out. How much longer will you…?”
She patted his cheek to reassure him. “I should have told you before. Whenever Moira is going to be away for a while she stores extra aythar for me. See these buttons?” She pointed to a row of three buttons along the front of her body.
“Yes.”
“Each one holds enough aythar to sustain me for roughly four days. I’m fine.”
“Oh.” He did a quick mental tally. The Count’s family had been gone a week before the attack and they had been traveling for three days. The three buttons would last sixteen days, and she could manage three on her own. He didn’t like the result. “It’s been ten days, that only leaves five more.”
“I know,” she answered calmly. “I can stretch it a bit if I’m careful.”
“The Count was planning to be gone three to four weeks, that wouldn’t have been enough time even if none of this had happened.”
“There was a stasis box in Moira’s room. If I ran short, I would have climbed inside and waited for her to get back,” she explained.
“But that’s gone now…”
“Since the Count came rushing back, I’m sure the twins will be returning home at speed too,” she replied.
“Except that we aren’t in Cameron, Grace. We’re in the middle of the mountains. Even if we turn around now it will take almost three days to get back to where the house was, but we need to be in Cameron. There’s no telling how long it will take us to get there!”
“Gram,” said Grace gently. “We all make choices. You and Irene are my choice.”
His eyes blurred with sudden tears. The events of the last few days had been terrible, but it was the thought of losing Grace that finally broke down the barrier he had been holding between the present and the pain of it all. “Why didn’t you tell me?! We should have headed straight for the castle.”
“You wanted to save Irene, and so did I. The only reason I counseled you against it was because I feared for your safety, Gram. When it was apparent that you wouldn’t be dissuaded, I decided to do everything I could to help. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. There’s nothing to be done about it,” she said with finality.
He wiped at his cheeks. “Dammitt.”
“Don’t cry,” she told him. “You’re supposed to be my bumbling but faithful sidekick, remember? Keeping us cheered up is your job.”
He laughed but his eyes wouldn’t stop watering. “I’m not very good at my job.”
“I have high hopes that you will improve,” she told him.
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She really is the tragic hero of this tale.
***
That afternoon they reached the end of the mountains. The low valley they were following opened up gradually and Gram could see the beginnings of the Northern Wastes ahead.
The signs of their quarry’s passage had become more frequent and were far newer now, giving him hope that they were close behind Irene and her captors. He could only hope they caught up soon. Tracking them through the rough desolate terrain of the wastes would be even more difficult without the mountains to funnel them along more predictable routes.
He broke into a trot, loping forward at a ground eating pace. If they were going to catch them it needed to be soon.
As the land smoothed out he spotted a small group of people in the distance, no more than a couple of miles ahead. He began to run.
“Do you see something?” asked Grace, wishing again that her vision extended farther than a few hundred yards.
“Yes,” he panted as he ran. “They’re a mile or so ahead of us.”
“How many?”
“Four, no five of them,” he answered, “plus two donkeys.”
“Can they see us?”
“Definitely. They’re trying to hurry now. It looks like
Irene is on one of the donkeys. The other four are walking.” Gram focused on his breathing. He needed to catch up to them, but more than that, he needed to be able to fight once he did.
They ran a bizarre race for ten minutes, while he steadily gained on them. With four people afoot and two pack animals, Irene’s captors had no hope of getting away from him. They were only a hundred yards distant now and by some undetermined signal they stopped, turning to face him.
He could see Alyssa now, standing beside the donkey on which Irene rode, while three other men stood in front of them, blocking his path. One of the three was clearly the leader; he smiled and gestured to the other two who spread out to the sides, taking out bows and stringing them.
“They have bows, Grace,” he warned her.
“Turn around!” she exclaimed. “They’ll turn you into pin cushion.”
“It’s too late for that.”
“Put me down. I’ll stop them,” she told him.
Gram ran on, cutting to the left to avoid the first of the arrows. “Do you really have some secret power?”
“I’m a spell-beast. Their arrows won’t hurt me,” she said.
“They might hurt Irene if they think they’re in danger,” panted Gram. “I’ll get close and keep their attention. If I get a chance I’ll throw you to Rennie.” He ducked to the right and felt an arrow graze his cheek. They were still fifty yards distant.
“They’ll kill you, Gram! Let me do this,” shouted Grace.
“Not a chance,” he told her. “We’re in this together.”
Zigzagging, he drew closer, but as the archers drew their bows back once more the leader held up a hand, ordering them to hold their fire. Looking at Alyssa he barked an order and she stepped away from Irene, moving to stand in front of him. The leader took the reins to Irene’s donkey and Alyssa drew her sword.
Gram pulled up ten feet short of her.
The man behind her spoke then, “You are a tenacious brat, I’ll give you that.”
“Let Irene go,” Gram said, trying to catch his breath.
The leader was a stout looking man. He wore a leather vest, leaving his muscular arms bare and his head was hairless, though whether from baldness or shaving, Gram couldn’t be sure. He stood close to six foot in height, but his shoulders were broader than any Gram had ever seen. He reminded Gram of a bull for some reason. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Thornbear,” he responded, hurling the name at the man like a curse.
“Oh, you’re Jasmine’s latest toy, aren’t you? She thought you died in the fire,” said the bald man. Gesturing to the woman that Gram had known as Alyssa he added, “Come here girl.”
Alyssa turned and stood before the man.
Striking as swiftly as a snake the bald man’s open hand struck her hard, sending her head snapping to one side. “Never lie to me again, bitch.”
“Leave her alone!” shouted Irene, still tied to the donkey. The girl was furious.
“Forgive me, Zaihair,” responded Jasmine with no inflection in her voice.
Gram started forward, sword in hand, but the bald man held up a hand, “Stop!” Snapping his fingers he indicated the archers. “If he comes any closer, shoot the girl.” They turned their bows to point at Irene.
The bald man smiled as Gram obeyed. “Let’s not skip the introductions, Thornbear.”
In his mind Gram was replaying what she had just said. Zaihair, he’s her teacher. His worst fears crystallized. Is this her uncle? If the man he was facing was a master of the unnamed path, then his hope of success was far smaller than he had dreamed.
“Jasmine said your name was Gram and that you were being taught by my brother, the traitor. Is that true, boy?”
Brother? Is he saying he’s Cyhan’s brother? His eyes widened in shock. The resemblance, now that he was looking for it, was unmistakable. If this man was Cyhan’s brother… He looked at Alyssa. No, her name is Jasmine, he corrected himself. The similarity in her features was there as well. Is Cyhan her uncle as well or something more? “What is your name?” he asked the bald man.
“You didn’t answer my question. Is Arzam your teacher?”
“I don’t know anyone named Arzam.”
Jasmine spoke then, “He goes by the name ‘Cyhan’ now, Zaihair.”
The bald man smiled again, “Then you are the traitor’s student.”
“Sir Cyhan is no traitor,” growled Gram.
“My brother became a traitor the day he left our people. Who would have raised this poor girl if I hadn’t taken responsibility for her? Not him, he betrayed not only his people, but his own blood.”
“What?” Gram stared at him in shock, and his only comfort was the sight of Jasmine’s expression. Her visage had been expressionless until then, but now her surprise was written clearly there. She didn’t know either.
“Arzam is my fath…?” began Jasmine.
“Silence!” barked the bald man. “You speak only when I give you leave.”
“What is your name?” asked Gram, repeating his previous question.
The leader lifted his chin, “I am T’lar Darzin, last of the eleven masters of Zan-zei. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Not especially,” said Gram. “Should it?”
T’lar laughed, “It means that your teaching is poorly done. Arzam should have taught you the names of the masters, their predecessors and students. He and I are the only two left.”
Behind T’lar, Gram could see a large body of men approaching in the distance. The Wastes were a flat cold desert and they were still miles away, but he knew he had little time. The men were on horseback and the miles between them wouldn’t last long.
“Our escort is close at hand, boy. You have lost,” said T’lar.
Gram felt a calm slide down over him. “You won’t leave here with her.”
“I’ll give you one choice, child. Surrender to me and I will make you my student. I will teach you the things that my brother has obviously not seen fit to entrust to you,” said T’lar. “You like my student don’t you? You already know how skillful she is in bed. Join me and she can be yours.”
“Alys—she isn’t your property.”
“Oh but she is, boy. You heard her call me ‘zaihair’ didn’t you? Surely you know what that means. I hold her life in my hand. All that she is, is mine to dispose of as I wish. I taught her to fight, and I taught her to fuck. Come with me, and I will make you my heir.”
“That isn’t true.”
“Jasmine,” said T’lar. “Have I spoken truth?”
Her eyes were downcast, but her voice was firm, “Yes, Zaihair.”
“If I give you to this man, what will you do?”
“Anything he wishes, Zaihair.”
“If I tell you to cut your heart out, what will you do?”
She drew her dagger, holding it over her heart.
“Wait,” said T’lar, and then he looked at Gram again. “What do you say? This is the best offer you will get. If you reject it, your life will be short.”
Gram held the cheap sword he had taken from the ambushers before him in both hands, the point directed at the sky. “My name is Gram Thornbear and I swear to you, on my family’s honor, that you will not leave this place with her. I will see you dead this day.”
“Even if you could do such a thing, the wizard-child would die,” said T’lar. “Is that what you want?”
Gram’s eyes narrowed, his gaze burning into Jasmine. “Better that than for her to be taken as your slave.” Grace gasped at his pronouncement.
“Very well. Jasmine, kill him.”
The woman that Gram loved raised her head and looked at him with dead eyes, with a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other she ran at him.
He met her without flinching; drawing his smaller feast knife to use in his off-hand, the two of them began to fence. Grace had dropped from his shoulder and stood close by. She was hoping for a chance to reach Irene without being noticed but there were too many eyes. S
he was forced to wait.
The calm Gram had felt before grew deeper as he slipped into the void, the empty place where his body fought without hindrances or compassion. He faced Jasmine on equal footing now, with similar weapons and no obstacles. She was fast but he was far stronger and his reach was greater, his blows drove her guard out of line with each attack and she was forced to retreat before him.
They fought in a blur of steel, their swords reacting to cues too subtle for the conscious mind to even see, but as their battle progressed they both felt the inevitable outcome. Gram was winning, and soon his sword would have her blood.
She backed and circled, and then her foot lashed out, not in the hope of reaching him, but rather to send a spray of dirt and sand toward his face. Gram had anticipated her, though, and his eyes closed before her foot had even left the ground. He fought blind, his pace never faltering, and when his eyes opened again he saw the fear in her face.
No, not fear, it’s something else. The thoughts passed through the emptiness of his mind, but his body had not time to listen. Jasmine feinted to his right but he moved left and his sword was there before her, beating down on her main hand while his left, still holding the knife, struck her in the chin, rocking her head and sending her flying back with brutal force. If he had used the blade she would have died.
She was stretched out, unconscious.
“I really wish you had accepted my offer,” said T’lar. “You would have been a wonderful successor.” Moving forward the man drew his sword, but left his other hand empty. He engaged Gram without giving the younger man a moment to pause.
Gram still held an advantage in reach, but T’lar’s wide body held incredible strength. He matched Gram blow for blow and gradually he forced his younger opponent back. Using only the sword he intercepted every attack with a grace that seemed almost supernatural. T’lar’s breathing was even and his body relaxed as he forced Gram to retreat in a small circle.
The bald man’s free hand darted forward, slapping Gram in the chest in a move that surprised him. T’lar smiled, “I could have killed you just now, boy.”