Heir of Thunder (Stormbourne Chronicles Book 1) (3 page)

My breath caught at the unanticipated
gesture.

“Pick it up,” he said. “See how it feels.”

The knife was heavier than it looked, but the short hilt fit
my palm. I had never trained with weaponry, and now found myself wishing I hadn’t
led such a sterile life.

“Keep the knife in your boot like I did,” he said.

I smiled in thanks, but wiped it away in an effort to mirror
his serious mood. “You don’t need it?”

“I have more. I’ll skin the first rabbit. You watch and then
do the other.” His knife flashed, and he slit the poor creature’s throat.

I blanched at the red splatter and
the steam rising from the still, warm body. My throat swelled, but I choked
back the tears. I hadn’t cried over the destruction of my house, or my
separation from its inhabitants. I wouldn’t cry over a dead rabbit, either.

“Your turn.” He looked toward the other rabbit.

I took a deep breath and hardened my
heart. Somehow, I managed to complete the task without succumbing to the
revulsion simmering in my gut. The carcass wasn’t cleaned as quickly or neatly
as his, but I removed enough skin and left enough meat on the bones to make the
bother of roasting it worth the trouble.

I held out the meager offering. “Breakfast?”

He grabbed the rabbit from me and stabbed it onto a spit he
had whittled from a slim branch. He studied my face for a moment, and I
wondered what he saw. “Hopefully you’ll get better with practice.”

He had rarely spared a kind word in
the past, so I shouldn’t have expected anything different now.

While the rabbits cooked, I slipped away to water the horses
again and refill the water skins. When I returned, Gideon managed a small nod
of approval.

Well, that’s progress.

Juices from the meat sizzled on hot coals. It wasn’t roast
pheasant or lamb kebobs, but it smelled almost as good. Tasted almost as good,
too. I craved a cup of the fine tea Gerda always made in the mornings, but I
pushed the notion away. Gideon’s herbal mixture would have to suffice, and it
probably provided more nutrition anyway.

The rabbit had a gamey flavor, but my
hunger overruled the unpleasant taste. We threw our gnawed bones into the fire
when done, and smothered the flames with handfuls of dirt until it stopped
smoking.

My rear end protested when I climbed into the saddle. Nonnie
and I had spent a lot of time riding together, but never for a whole day, and
never so strenuously. Gideon and I fell into our places, him at the lead and me
at his back.

How does he know where to go? How does he know what to
do?

No matter. If Father had trusted
him, then that was enough for me. It had to be. Without resources and
connections, I had almost no options. Staying with Gideon seemed the most
certain way to ensure my survival.

My father had obviously kept me shielded and naïve, and I
had never questioned him. I had lived a happy life, never knowing the detriment
of my complacency. No more. Those days were gone, maybe forever. I sat up
straighter in my saddle, throwing my shoulders back and raising my chin. Like a
snakeskin, or a molting insect husk, I would shed the soft, contented girl of
before. I’d develop a tougher hide... and perhaps a set of teeth and claws to
go with it.

We stopped again in the early afternoon before we crossed
the Tamber, a river bisecting Inselgrau from northeast to southwest. Maybe the
lack of evident pursuit had drained some of Gideon’s urgency, because he seemed
less anxious to move on. In fact, once he finished refilling his water skins,
he stretched out under a copse of ancient willow growing near the bank, and
closed his eyes.

My unease around him was out of character. I considered
myself smart and friendly, but something about his somber moods and arduous
work ethic lent Gideon a cold and unapproachable aura. Even my father, the king
of a nation, had found reason to laugh from time to time. What kinds of things
inspired Gideon’s humor? I dismissed the question. If he ever expressed
amusement, he would most likely temper it with sarcasm. How could such a young
man be so constantly morose?

I spied a soft pallet of grass and ambled over to it. My
sore rear end protested as I plopped down. The horses grazed between us and
seemed glad for the break. The idea of falling asleep in the middle of the day,
in such a wide-open spot, stirred my unease, so instead of trying to nap, I
drew Gideon’s knife from my boot and studied it again. The blade was shorter
than the length of my palm and almost black in color, blunt along the spine,
but lethally sharp at the blade. It had sliced through the rabbit skin earlier like
butter. Hard, molded leather comprised the hilt, bound with rawhide strings. A
thumb rise and a small quillion braced the hilt against the force of a stabbing
grip.

Oh, yes, I knew the anatomy, but nothing about its practical
use. I had spent so much of my life in books, but perhaps I had never really
lived
.
After all, what was education without application?

The knotty root of a nearby willow jutted from the muddy
bank. I aimed for it, grasping the knife between my fingertips, and threw. The
knife missed its target, and the blade skipped over the ground before landing
in a muddy mound at the river’s shallow edge. Black sludge sucked the knife up
to the hilt. My achy muscles griped when I rose to my feet to go after it.

I crouched at the bank’s edge, my focus intent on the knife,
and was unaware Gideon had moved behind me until he spoke.

“That’s no way to treat my knife.”

I flinched and lost my balance.

Before I splashed face first into
the river, he caught my shoulder and dragged me to solid ground. “You don’t
have much more control over your own self either, do you? How do expect to throw
a knife when you can’t keep from falling in the river?”

A harsh response formed on my tongue, but a glint in his eye
and the curl at the corners of his lips held me in check. Maybe I had misjudged
his sense of humor, after all. “Are you teasing me, Gideon?”

He dropped my arm as if it burnt him. “If you are going to
manhandle my knife, you’re going to have to give it back.”

“I wasn’t
manhandling
it. I was naive enough to think
I could teach myself to throw it.”

He shrugged. “You probably could, if you had a dozen-or-so
years. Why don’t you stick to skinning rabbits?”

“Can you throw a knife? I mean, throw it and hit something?”
Why did I persist with him?
Maybe I wanted any kind of conversation
after so much silence, even if it was laden with cynicism and terse words.

He narrowed his eyes, bit his bottom lip, and reached into
his belt to pull out another blade—a longer one, much deadlier looking than the
one he had given me. In a motion too swift to decipher, he spun and tossed the
knife. It landed in the center of the same knotty root I had aimed for earlier.

“Show off,” I mumbled under my breath.

He chuckled in a lovely, low rumble. Who knew he was capable
of such a thing?

I held up my adopted knife by the
haft like a stinky stocking. “Would it be an impossible request if I asked you
to teach me?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’ll probably end up stabbing
yourself. Of course, then I’d be free from the burden of trying to rescue you.
So... sure. Why not?”

“That’s two jokes in less than five minutes. Are you sure you’re
feeling well?”

He frowned. “Come on. We’ll start with learning how to hold
it, and then you can practice throwing it at things.” He led us to a flatter
area away from the water’s edge.

“Gideon?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you helping me?”

“It would be a huge waste of the last few hours if you ended
up stabbing yourself by accident.”

“No, I mean, why did you help me escape? Why didn’t you
leave me to fend for myself? You barely know me.”

He gnawed his bottom lip again as he considered his answer. “I
made a promise.” He offered no further explanation.

I stared at my feet, not knowing
what to say or do next.

“Look,” he said. “This is how to hold a knife when you’re
preparing to make a stab.” He raised his hand, demonstrated the proper grasp, and
gestured for me to imitate him. “And this is how you hold your shoulders.”

I mimicked him again.

“Of course, that’s only ideal. In
hand-to-hand combat, you’ll be lucky to do anything ideally. You’re small and
don’t weigh much, so if you’re in a real fight, you better hope you can run for
it.”

“But if I can’t....”

He slid his knife back into its leather sheath at his belt. “If
you can’t, then I’m not doing my job.”

“So, I should be helpless?”

“You’ve been content with that your whole life. It’s a
little late trying to change things, don’t you think?”

The short time he’d been willing to open up to me was clearly
over.

As he climbed back on Gespenst, I
suspected the day would finish in the same silence in which it had started.

The clear, late-day sky gave way to thickening clouds, and
the wind strengthened. Pending rain permeated the air with a scent like water
brought up from the bottom of a deep well, like minerals dissolved from wet
earth and stones. Strands of Gideon’s hair danced across his back, and the wind
tugged at the wisps that had come loose from my braid.

He reined Gespenst to a halt, turned in his saddle, and spoke
out over the rising din. “I think we’re going to get wet. There’s a small town
about five miles ahead, but the forest gives out in about two.”

I brought Nonnie closer, so he wouldn’t have to yell.

“The southern lands are rocky hills with little in the way
of cover,” he said. “I think we should hunker down here. We don’t want to be
the tallest thing around when the lightning starts.”

“You’re afraid of a little lightning?” I could tease him
because, for the first time, I had the upper hand. Excitement buzzed in my
blood.

He frowned. “It’s not fear, Evie. It’s a healthy respect.”

I would have encouraged us to go ahead, knowing what I knew,
but Gideon had never behaved as though my opinions mattered. “So, you want us
to sit here and be cold and miserable in the rain?”

“If we can get a fire started before the rain starts, we
have a chance at being only miserable.” He slid down from the saddle and delved
into his pack, unearthing a pouch containing his flint and a small ball of lint
soaked with wax for kindling. He scraped up a small pile of dry pine needles
and twigs and laid the lint on top. With a carefully struck spark, the pile
began to smolder. He pursed his lips, blowing gently on the embers, and the
mound flared into a tiny blaze.

I helped Gideon gather slim branches and shards of bark from
fallen trees, and added them a little at a time so as not to smother the
newborn flames. When the fire burned hot and fast, we threw on larger branches
gathered from the forest floor. The blaze was well set when the first raindrops
pattered on the leaves above us.

Gideon pulled his wool blanket around his shoulders and up
over his head. He grunted and frowned at me when I settled next to him in my
simple cloak. His low expectations stung a little, but how could he know my
capabilities? He thought me helpless, and I had done little to dissuade him of
that notion.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “Go get your blanket.”

I grinned and pulled up my hood. Gideon sank further into
his blanket and ignored me. The rain came down in earnest, but I was warm and
dry in my chameleon-colored wrap. My companion didn’t fare so well, and when he
poked his head out to check on the storm, he was obviously baffled by my cozy
condition. “You’ve been holding out on me. What exactly have you got there?”

If I were a peacock, I would have fanned my tail at him. “It’s
my Thunder Cloak.”

“Thunder Cloak?” He fingered the rough woven silk. “It doesn’t
look like anything special. Where did you get it?”

“My grandmother made it, of course. Grandfather gave her the
secret.”

“People say the stories about your family were myths.”

“Most people think that, these days,” I said.

Gideon’s eyebrows drew together as he considered the
possibility, and I imagined him reviewing those legends, trying to decide
whether to believe me or not.

“I’ll be glad to share it,” I said. The cloak had many
magical properties, and its resistance to rain was a minor one. “It’ll stretch
to cover us both.”

He hesitated, but soon traded his sodden cover for my dry
one. The cloak did stretch and could have covered Gideon, a horse, and me, but
I didn’t want to give away all of my secrets. Not yet.

“So, if your ancestors really were Lords of Thunder,” he
said, “Then what does that make you?”

“Nothing, really. My blood is so diluted I can barely scare
up a decent gust of wind.”

“But you’ve inherited some of their tricks it seems.” His
comment seemed rhetorical so I remained quiet. “Why didn’t you tell me this in
the first place, Evie?” He turned and peered at me. His expression softened
again, but intensity remained in his eyes.

I shuddered, and perspiration dampened the backs of my knees
even though the air around us was cold. Gideon had taken the job as my father’s
horse master two years ago. In all that time, he had behaved in a way that
deterred me from trying to get to know him. Sitting in close quarters, with his
shoulder pressed against mine, contradicted every tendency I felt toward him.
Under any other circumstances I would have already given into the urge to scoot
as far away as possible.

“You didn’t ask,” I said. “You’re not interested in my
capabilities. I’m an obligation, and obligations don’t have any say.”
Where did
that
come from?
The heat of a blush erupted over me. “I’m sorry. I
didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

“We have a long way to go yet and no time for games.”

“I know, but it helps if I develop some credibility first,
don’t you think?” I still thought he would have rebuffed my suggestions without
having seen this overwhelming proof.

“Maybe…probably.” He chuckled. “Have you got any more useful
tricks up your sleeves?”

The wind shifted and smoke wafted into our faces. I waited
for it to clear before I answered. “I really don’t have much of my grandfather
or my father in me, but I could get us to the next town without the lightning
bothering us.”

If I didn’t know better, his look may have conveyed respect.
“That’s a pretty useful trick.”

“Not when you consider my father could control lightning
like you control Sephonie.”

“Still...” His voice drifted away as he abandoned his
thought. “If the rain doesn’t let up soon, I’m going to take a chance on your
diluted blood. I don’t want to lose any more time, and I prefer not to spend a
whole night out here in this miserable mess.”

After several minutes of sulking in silence, Gideon
surrendered to my suggestion. Under my cloak, we were dry, but cramped and
uncomfortable. The idea of a roof and a hot meal must have proven too much
temptation. We rode together on Gespenst, still sharing my cloak, while Nonnie
plodded behind us.

With Gideon sitting so close behind me, I couldn’t help
noticing his body’s subtle strengths as he moved to direct Gespenst. His heat
seeped through the layers of clothing between us, and I felt safe and comforted
for the first time since leaving home.

The storm had turned the whole afternoon into a dark and
dismal soup, but with a steady application of concentration and willpower, I
convinced the lightning to leave us alone. Gideon and I reached the tiny
village of Brighton after sundown, though how long after sundown was difficult
to determine.

“Well,” he said, “I don’t know if it was your mystical
bloodline or simply a bit of good luck, but we’ve made it without the thunder
bothering us as you promised.”

I harrumphed. “It wasn’t luck.”

He squinted at me, inspecting me as he might inspect a new
horse. Then he snorted and shrugged as if to say it didn’t matter to him either
way. “You probably won’t be recognized in this town, so far away from our
village, but I don’t want to take chances. A single man passing through won’t
linger in anyone’s memory. A single man with a young lady will draw more
attention and remain in people’s recollections, especially if anyone is prone
to sniff around our trail.”

“If I’m not going into town, then how was the ride through
the rain and wind supposed to benefit me?” Hostility seeped into my voice as
hunger and exhaustion left me little strength to resist my emotions.

Gideon made a guttural noise in the back of his throat. “I’ll
get us a room and steal you in around back, of course. I shouldn’t need to
defend my actions.”

“I’ll wait here, then?” I said, contrite. He was right, but
he still hadn’t acknowledged my potential usefulness, and his disregard stung.

He stopped us beneath a small grove of oaks at the corner of
some unknown farmer’s field. The yellow glow of lights in the windows of the
distant buildings called, inviting me to their warmth and comfort. My old life
had made me soft and spoiled. What would my new life have in store? Certainly
not breakfast in bed or hours of reading in the library.

“Do you see that one larger structure with its back to us?”
Gideon pointed. I strained to see, but, from this distance, he could have been
indicating any of the buildings.

“The one that’s sort of in the middle? With the stable in
the back?”

“Yes, that one. It’s the inn. Wait here, and after I’ve
gotten a room, I’ll come back and get you.”

“What about the horses? Won’t they think it strange that you
have two, or am I supposed to leave Nonnie tied to this tree all night?”

“Hmm, good point,” he said. “I’ll take her with me and think
of an explanation on the way.”

I nodded, slipped down from Gespenst’s back, and pulled my cloak
tighter around me to ward off the cool evening air. The rain had eased, but it
would still drench Gideon by the time he rode all the way into the village.
Nonnie grunted, indicating her displeasure with our circumstances. Before they left,
I gave her a reassuring pat. Gideon and Gespenst started for town at a brisk
walk, with Nonnie tromping behind them. I ducked further into the trees, leaned
against one of the massive oaks, and waited for Gideon’s return.

Hours seemed to pass, and still he did not return. As my
concern for him grew, my imagination created ever more vivid and morbid reasons
for his delay. Worries crowded my mind, and I failed, at first, to hear the horse
hooves squelching in the muddy road or the voices of their riders. The group was
nearly upon me before I noticed them, but the darkness and rain camouflaged my
solitary figure, hiding among the tree grove. The party passed close enough for
me to make out some of their words over the jangling harnesses, splashing
puddles, and rain pattering on their oiled coats and broad brimmed hats.

“...probably tucked up cozy in the bed this very moment,”
said one deep voice.

A raspy-throated speaker replied. “Won’t she be surprised if
she is? Hope our luck turns after trudging through all this rain.”

“I’m ready for a break from this dreariness myself. The
innkeeper brews a stout pint, if I remember correctly.” I knew this third voice
well, and the sound of it sent tremors rolling up my spine. It belonged to the
captain of my father’s Crown of Men—his private guard of elite fighters. His
name was Terrill, and besides being highly skilled, I had overheard my father
scolding him for his tendency to use unnecessary brutality during training.

“I hope you’re right,” said the first, deep voice. “A pint
and a hot meal would warm my spirit, but not nearly as much as finding the
girl. She’s a tasty little bit. I bet she would go a long way toward warming us
all.” He chuckled and the others joined in. Their words chilled me more than
the afternoon of wind and rain.

As they made their way toward the village, I prayed Gideon
would avoid them. I recognized none of Terrill’s companions, but that meant nothing.
While I had known only a handful of people from my village, every villager knew
me. How could I assume these men meant any other girl but me? I sank further
into the trees away from the road and huddled at the base of one of the larger
oaks.

Until then, I had kept many of my fears allayed by placing
them in my protector’s capable hands, but out there, alone, cold and wet, I
submitted to my terror. Fear swelled in my throat and clamped around my chest
like a vice. Each gulp of air came with a fight, and tremors shivered in my
muscles.

No one had ever harmed me before, nor even implied it.
Father’s disappointed glare and a few harsh words worked far better as a
disciplinary tactic than corporal punishment, and I remembered receiving only
one thrashing at his hands after I had nearly set a hay barn on fire while
playing with a stolen flint. Even at a tender age I sensed Father kept himself
from truly hurting me. The coldness in these men’s voices indicated they
intended no such mercy.

Overwhelmed by panic, I forgot about Gideon, so when a hard
hand grabbed my shoulder, my thoughts shifted first to my pursuers and then to
evasion and escape. I screamed and scrambled away. A strong arm cinched around
my waist, and a fraction of another scream escaped my throat before a hand
covered my mouth. I struggled, kicking and scratching.

“Evie, what’s
wrong
? Stop fighting me.” Gideon cursed
when my heel connected with his shin.

Realizing the arms crushing against me belonged not to my
enemy but to my protector, my fight drained away, and I went limp against him.

“What brought this on?” he asked. “What happened?”

Through a throat choked with embarrassing tears, I told him
about the men and their terrible words. He relaxed his grip as I explained, but
he did not let me go.

“You didn’t see them?”

“I came around off the path so I could figure out the best
way to bring you back in without being seen. This changes things…. You said
Terrill was with them?”

I sniffed and wiped my nose on the cuff of my cloak. “Yes.”

“Damn.” He turned toward the village. “That dry bed tonight
was looking mighty welcome. I’ll have to take you around town and drop you on
the other side. I’ve already boarded Nonnie, but I’ll ride back to get her. We’ll
move on for another mile or two and then make camp as best we can.”

I let him lead me to Gespenst. He swung up into the saddle
first and then held out a hand. I accepted his help and climbed up behind
him—the position allowed for faster travel, now that I no longer needed him to
shelter me from the rain. Without thought of propriety or personal space, I
circled my arms around him and rested my forehead against his broad back,
drinking in his warmth.
Why is he jeopardizing himself for me like this? He
said he had made a promise, but what’s holding him to it?