Thornbear (Book 1) (17 page)

“What?”

“I was just thinking how funny it would be if I had reversed it.”

“What would happen then?”

“The first time you tried to use it, you’d be translated into the null dimension that stores the sword, instead of the other way around. You’d be trapped in an empty featureless blackness—probably for eternity.”

Gram started to pull away, “Forget it, I don’t…”

Matthew started laughing, “Relax, I was joking.”

He stared at his friend suspiciously, “What would really happen then?”

The young wizard shrugged, “I dunno. It probably just wouldn’t work.”

“But you’re
sure
that it will work, and that it’s the right way around. Right?”

“Definitely,” said Matthew, his light brown hair falling down, almost covering his eyes. “I tested it myself.” Smoothing the vellum once more, he muttered a few words, and Gram felt a tingling on the skin of his right forearm. When Matthew pulled it away, he could see that it was now blank, and the symbols had transferred neatly onto his skin. “Now we need to make it permanent.”

“How are you going to—ow!” Gram felt a sharp pain, as if a horsefly had bitten his arm.

Matthew gave him a grim look, “I know it hurts. That was just one spot. I can do this quickly or a little at a time.”

“Make it quick then,” answered Gram stoically.

“The only downside is that it hurts a
lot
if I do it quickly, and you’ll have to hold still.”

“Give me a few minutes then,” said Gram. “I want to try something.” He settled himself and grew still, trying to recapture the feeling that he sought when training. It had grown much easier with constant practice over the past months. The emptiness settled over him almost as soon as he sought it, and he felt his sense of self fade away. “Alright, I’m ready,” he said, but it seemed almost as if someone else were speaking.

Matthew closed his eyes and concentrated, and then Gram’s arm was on fire. The pain was intense, and it continued, as what felt like a burning ember traced the pattern on his arm. Gram watched his skin with a sense of detachment. He felt the pain, but it was a sensation without meaning or urgency.

The process was finished in what was probably only a minute or two, and then Matthew looked at his friend, curious. “Damn, Gram, you never even flinched.”

Gram blinked at him, and then his thinking mind returned, the one that had all the words. “That hurt pretty badly,” he admitted.

“I wouldn’t have known it by looking at you.”

“It’s a trick I learned from Cyhan. Should we test it now?”

Matthew nodded, “One sec, I have to set it up.” Without bothering to explain, he brought out what appeared to be the same sword they had borrowed a couple of months ago. It was still broken, but at least it was no longer in thousands of tiny pieces. He held it up, seemed to touch something, and then the weapon disappeared.

“Where did it go?”

“Somewhere—else, another dimension,” said the wizard. “Now you should be able to call it to you, and it will translate into your hand, no matter where you are. Try it.”

“What do I do?” asked Gram. The tattoo on his arm had vanished, though the skin where it had been was raw and bleeding in places. He could almost see the pattern within the irritated area.

“Imagine yourself pushing energy into the area where the tattoo is. Think of the sword in your hand at the same time,” instructed Matthew.

It took several tries before Gram managed to coordinate his thoughts and the image of the sword in his mind, but when he did, it happened naturally, as if the sword had been in his hand all along.

“Now reverse it,” said Matthew. “Pull energy from the tattoo and imagine the sword vanishing.”

That was harder, but he eventually got it. He practiced calling the sword several more times, growing more excited each time. “This is amazing, Matt!”

“Just wait until I finish the sword,” said his friend smugly.

“How much is done now?”

“Well, that part, and it’s no longer in thousands of pieces.”

“That’s all? You’ve had it for months!”

Matthew shrugged, “It’s taking a lot longer than I expected, but so far everything is working as I hoped. I had to break it down first, and since you were worried about your mother, the first form I finished was this one.”

“First form?”

“The broken sword,” said Matthew. “So you could make it look like it used to—this form.”

“It’s going to have different forms? Like what?”

“The next one will be its original unbroken form,” said his friend. “After that… let me surprise you.”

Gram looked at him with dawning respect. He had worried that his friend might not be able to deliver what he promised, but now he was beginning to believe. He also suspected that Matt’s potential as an enchanter was greater than anyone realized. “Did your father teach you this enchantment?”

“He taught me everything he knows, but this is something new—I think. I don’t know what the ancients knew, but I believe this is completely novel. Translation is very different, and what I’m going to do with it, with your sword, well, I’m sure that’s never been done before.” There was a quiet pride in the young wizard’s voice.

Chapter 15

“You’re ready,” said Cyhan. It was two days since Gram had gotten his invisible tattoo.

He looked at his teacher, but since he hadn’t been given permission to speak he waited silently.

“Go ahead,” said the older man. “You can speak freely for a while. You’re going to have some questions.”

“Ready for what, Zaihair?”

“To start attacking, or at least trying to.”

Up until that point, Gram had been doing nothing other than trying to keep himself in the proper frame of mind to detect and avoid incoming attacks. Still, he was mildly disappointed. He had hoped he might get to train in armor, or with a shield at least. Fighting with nothing more than a stick in an open field was hardly a realistic way to learn the sort of craft he would need someday.

Cyhan read the lack of enthusiasm in his features. “What were you expecting?”

“When will I start learning to be a knight?”

“What does that mean?”

“You know, armor training, heavy weapons, the lance. The others—they’re learning how to care for their armor, how to bear the weight, how to use a shield. You haven’t even discussed any of it with me,” explained Gram.

“I’m not teaching you to be a knight,” said Cyhan. “You’ll learn some of that later, and the rest you can learn from anyone. I’m teaching you something far more important.”

Gram’s face was clouded with frustration. “What’s that?”

Cyhan showed his teeth in a feral grin. It was a frightening expression on the old warrior’s face, full of enthusiastic menace. “I’m teaching you to survive, boy, to survive and win. You can learn
dressage
from any cavalryman. I will teach you to kill, whether it’s with a sword, a spear, or your bare hands. You can fancy it up any way you like afterwards.”

He stared at his instructor stubbornly, “I don’t intend to be an assassin.”

“Just what do you think a knight is, boy?”

He straightened up, thinking of his father, remembering him and everything his mother had said about him. “A knight protects. He serves his lord honorably, and he protects the weak.”

“I’m going to kill your little sister,
boy
. How are you going to protect her?” said the big man, an evil gleam in his eye.

Gram knew it was meant as a hypothetical, but hearing the words coming from Cyhan sent chills down his spine. “I wouldn’t let you.”

“No. You’ll cut my fucking head off, or something equally permanent. Anything less and your sister is dead. You’re thinking like a soldier, you just want to take orders and fight in a unit. Or maybe you want to be a commander and lead your men to glorious battle on the field, but I’m here to tell you that’s bullshit.

“There’s nothing glorious about war, or battle. It’s kill or be killed. You might study tactics and learn to be a great commander, but that’s up
here,
” Cyhan pointed at his head. “First you have to survive, and that means understanding how fighting works, and how not to get killed. That’s what I’m teaching you. You’ll have to learn the rest from someone else.”

Gram frowned.

“Let me start at the beginning,” said Cyhan, drawing a deep breath. “There are three types of fighters: men who fight with their bodies, those who fight with their minds, and those who fight with their hearts.

“Most people fight with their bodies. That’s simply part of being alive. Soldiers train to learn obedience, to survive. The smarter ones learn to fight with their minds, to plan the battle and lead their men to victory. Some men, though, the crazy ones, they fight with their hearts. Your father was one of those.

“Those sorts are dangerous, because they’ll do anything to win, including throwing their lives away just to cut your liver out. That’s how your father beat me that day, in case you were wondering.”

It felt as though the world stopped for a moment, and Gram stared at him.

“See this cut?” The old knight traced a scar that ran across the bridge of his nose and along one cheek. “Your father did that. I was trying to kill the Count, and he got in the way. He fought me sword to sword, but he wasn’t quite good enough. He knew it, and I knew it, but rather than accept it, he took a sword to the gut, just so he could break my blade. I got this scar from his backswing.”

“But he died years later, at the World Road…” said Gram.

“Yeah, his armor saved him the day we fought, but he didn’t know it would. I saw it in his eyes. He didn’t care. He took what he thought would be a deathblow just to stop me. That’s the kind of man your father was.

Cyhan paused for a moment and then stepped closer, jabbing his index finger into Gram’s chest, “But that’s
not
what I’m teaching you. You’re already like him. You were born fighting with your heart. That’s why you nearly hurt Master Grayson that day, because you didn’t have the sense to give up when you should have, and someday, that shit is going to get you killed. Someday you’re going to throw your life away for something you think is more important.”

“Then what are you teaching me?”

“The unnamed path, boy,” growled Cyhan. “I’m teaching you to be perfect. I owe it to your father. He showed me what I lacked; now I’m going to make sure you’re good enough that you never have to throw your life away to win. If you die in battle, it won’t be because you weren’t good enough to beat someone, even someone like me.”

Gram was stunned, but as his mind processed the older man’s words, a new question appeared in his mind. “What did you lack?”

“A heart,” said the big man, his voice pitched almost too low to hear.

Their training ended there for the day. They both knew there would be no way to focus after that discussion. Gram found himself replaying the conversation in his mind, over and over, and it was hard to sleep that night.

***

The next day Gram was at lunch when Moira addressed him directly, “Are you looking forward to the Winter’s Dawn?”

That caught him completely off-guard. Winter’s Dawn was the name of the traditional harvest festival in Washbrook. In the past it had been a celebration to honor Millicenth, the Lady of the Evening Star, but these days it continued as a way to celebrate the end of the summer’s labors. It was an event put on by the people of the town, featuring a bonfire, hot cider, music, and lots of dancing. It was also one of Gram’s favorite times of the year.

“I hadn’t even given it a thought, really,” he admitted to her. Alyssa watched him carefully as he replied.

Matthew chimed in then, “At least this year we’ll be old enough to drink.” The year before the twins hadn’t been quite sixteen yet.

“I still won’t be,” groused Gram, his birthday would come the week after the festival.

“Not to worry,” said Matthew. “You have friends in high places.”

Gram wasn’t sure he wanted to risk it, but he didn’t want to appear timid in front of Alyssa, so he settled for remaining silent.

“What is your festival like?” asked Lady Alyssa, directing her question primarily at Moira.

Moira took to the subject happily, “They build a big bonfire in the middle of the town, in front of the tavern. Usually Joe McDaniel, that’s the tavern owner, will have a stage set up outside the Muddy Pig, and musicians perform throughout the day and late into the night. People gather to drink hot cider, mulled wine, and share the music. There will be dancing and story tellers…”

“…and sweets!” interjected Irene from beside her sister. “They set up stands with caramel apples and pies.”

“One of the old woodworkers, Master Anderson, sells toys,” added Conall.

Matthew nodded, “That used to be my favorite thing. He makes them all year long, using his scraps and leftovers.”

“Is this part of a formal event?” questioned Alyssa. “Will we have to dress for a ball, or will we be able to mingle at the festival?”

“Oh no,” said Moira. “Our parents have kept it separate. They were both raised as commoners, and they always say that it would be a shame to ruin the festival by mixing it with a formal occasion. That way they can join in the festival like everyone else.”

“We have a formal Winter’s Ball two weeks after the festival, but it isn’t nearly as much fun. It’s a lot smaller, and we hold it here in the great hall,” said Gram, finally speaking up again.

“Is it too stuffy?” wondered Alyssa.

Gram nodded, “Those with some rank or station dress in their finest. Duke Roland, from Lancaster, usually attends, as well as the Baron of Arundel and his family, but overall it’s much quieter.”

“Do you dance?” she asked, her eyes challenging him.

Gram smiled, “I do.” Lady Rose had seen to that, not that it had been a hardship for him. Of all the things she insisted that he learn as a future nobleman, dancing was the most pleasant. Being naturally active, he found it to be a lot of fun, and he seemed to have a talent for it. That was one reason he enjoyed the festival more than the formal ball.