Thornbear (Book 1) (2 page)

Chad stopped and gave him a chilling stare, glancing down first and letting his gaze travel upward, stopping when he reached Gram’s eyes. The hunter was a slender man with a rangy build, but even at just fifteen Gram stood as tall as the hunter and he certainly outweighed him.

“An’ you think you’re man enough to make me?” asked the hunter.

Gram’s blood was boiling, and he answered with his staff, snapping the end forward with blinding speed.

Chad caught it in one palm, the heavy wood landing with a brutal smack against his flesh. Clenching that hand and catching Gram’s collar in his other, the lean hunter fell backward and brought one leg up to strike the teenager in his stomach, simultaneously pulling as he kicked upward, he flipped the younger man over to land hard on his back.

Gram never let go of his weapon, even as he twisted, trying to roll over and regain his feet. The huntsman moved around him, holding the other end of the oaken weapon and forcing Gram’s arm into an awkward position across his body. Before he could untangle himself, the other man was behind him, pulling the heavy wood upward with both hands until it was close to choking off the young lord’s windpipe.

Gram managed to get both hands on the staff, holding the wood away from his throat, but the woodsman had a far better position. Chad had his knee against the younger man’s back as he leaned backward, pulling hard on the weapon.

“Just give up and lie still, ye big dope and maybe I won’t have to hurt ye!” muttered the hunter.

Furious, Gram refused to give up even though the staff was now pressing hard against his throat. His face turned red as his hands pulled downward, straining against the pressure. With a loud crack the staff broke and Chad fell backward still holding the two pieces.

Gram leapt up and turned, aiming a kick at the older man who had fallen behind him.

Rolling quickly, Chad avoided the blow and caught hold of Gram’s ankle with both hands. Holding tightly to prevent another kick, he used his legs to knock the teen’s other leg out from under him. The two of them wrestled on the ground for a long minute until the hunter managed to get behind the young lord and slip him into a headlock.

Gram’s chin was down, and he was only getting stronger as his rage grew. Pulling at the hunter’s wrist with one hand he could feel the older man’s arm beginning to give way.
I’ll crush his bones!

He grew still when he felt cold steel against the back of his neck.

“I suggest you calm yerself down,
boy
!” grated the hunter.

“You wouldn’t dare,” said Gram.

“Don’t test me, lad,” answered Chad, “or I’ll leave you cold on the ground. I ain’t takin’ a beating from some young buck that’s still wet behind the ears.”

“If you kill me, they’ll hang you,” suggested Gram.

“Not if they don’t ever find your body, an’ if I thought for a minute that they would, I’d be gone long before they did. Now, do ye still want to wager yer life?”

Gram was silent for a long moment before replying, “You’re a coward for pulling a knife on me.”

“Ye think I give a shit? If I recall ye took not one, but two swings at me with that damn big stick o’ yours before I was forced to defend meself,” answered Chad. “Now make up yer mind. Do I leave you on the ground, or will ye calm down and act like you’ve got some sense?”

Taking a deep breath, Gram tried to relax. “Alright, you win.”

“Ye’re not going to change your mind once I let you up?” asked Chad, maintaining his grip.

“You can’t really be sure of anything I say while you have a blade to my neck,” noted Gram.

“Are ye suggestin’ that your word’s no good, boy?” said the hunter. “Yer father wouldn’t be pleased.”

“I’m under duress,” said Gram. “But maybe a woodsman like you wouldn’t understand honor.”

The edge of the blade dug into the nape of his neck, sending a trickle of blood across his shoulder and down his chest. “Careful lad, now’s not the time fer insults. I understand fine, but there’d be no ransom or parole if knights couldn’t be expected to honor a surrender.”

Gram was momentarily perplexed. He hadn’t expected the hunter to be aware of the finer points of chivalry. “You plan on ransoming me?”

“Nah, I just want yer word that the fight’s over. It’s like parole but I don’t keep you prisoner we just go our separate ways, and nobody has to get hurt.”

The teen let his muscles go limp. “Very well, I surrender. Let me up, and this fight is done, you have my word.”

The blade vanished, and the weight on his back disappeared as the hunter released him and stepped away quickly. Gram stood, wiping at the blood on his neck.

“You should still apologize for your lack of respect,” he declared, careful to keep his tone neutral.

“Where I come from boys are taught to respect their elders,” returned Chad. “An’ I don’t apologize fer tellin’ the truth.”

“You insulted me,” insisted Gram.

“I called ye someone’s doltish get. That ain’t an insult boy, it’s colorful language, an’ what’s more—it’s true,” Chad informed him with a mocking smile.

Gram gritted his teeth, “And what if I said you were a spotted whoreson?”

“I’d say you need to learn to cuss. Even if’n ye knew how, it wouldn’t bother me none. A man’s got to learn to control his temper. Yer own dear father knew that. He never let words provoke him to a fight, somethin’ you’d do well to learn.”

A surge of anger made Gram step forward. He wanted to throttle the arrogant hunter, “Don’t you dare bring my father into this!”

Grayson leapt back and rolled, pulling his bow up from the ground. Gram felt a light breeze beside his cheek and found himself staring down the shaft of a nocked and drawn arrow. “I done warned ye boy. Threaten me again an’ I’ll have ta find a new place to live.”

Gram stopped and tried again to calm himself. “I won’t forget this, villain. That’s twice you’ve threatened to kill me.”

Chad relaxed the bow and un-nocked his arrow, putting it back in his quiver. He bent to gather the rest of his kit from the ground and started to leave. “I don’t give a damn, boy.”

Turning to leave as well, Gram spotted an arrow imbedded in the trunk of a small sapling that had been behind and slightly to the right of his head, causing his eyes to go wide. He hadn’t noticed the shot when the hunter had first reclaimed his bow a moment before.

“Keep it boy. Let it be a lesson to ye,” came the woodsman’s voice, already hidden by the thick forest. “Learn some sense an’ mebbe one o’ these days we can talk.”

Leading Pebble back the way they had come, Gram returned home. By the time he got there, his anger had disappeared, to be replaced by an uneasy feeling of embarrassment and shame.

I’m not fit to bear the Thornbear name. Maybe mother is right,
he thought to himself.

Chapter 2

From atop one of the statues that decorated the entryway into the main keep, came a voice, “Where are you going?” Glancing up, Gram spotted a small cloth bear, stuffed with rags and patched so many times that the toy’s original cloth was impossible to determine. It was one of Moira’s oldest and most intelligent magical companions.

“None of your business,” he answered in a surly tone. Anything he told the bear would be relayed to her creator. He had nothing against Matthew’s sister, indeed she was one of his close friends, but he wasn’t interested in making his embarrassment known to anyone.

Moira Illeniel was Matthew Illeniel’s twin sister, as far as most knew, but in reality she was adopted. Most thought that she and Matthew shared the same birthday, but she had actually been born over a thousand years before her brother. Her mother had been the last Centyr archmage, and her father, ironically, had been named Mordecai Illeniel, just as her adopted father was. Technically, Moira was her brother’s many times removed great aunt.

Matthew didn’t like being reminded of that.

Being a child of the Centyr lineage, she had inherited the same gifts her mother had possessed; namely, the ability to create intelligent magical minds, or anima as they were more properly called. Grace had been the first she had created, having given her teddy bear life as a not-quite-so-imaginary friend.

A soft thump heralded the bear’s drop from the statue to land on the flagstones behind him. “It isn’t like you to be so unsociable,” said Grace, ambling along slightly behind him.

Gram clenched his jaw and picked up his pace, moving along the corridor and deeper into the castle. He really didn’t want to talk to anyone and the bear was struggling to keep up now. Rounding a corner, he deftly avoided two servers carrying a large tureen of hot soup.

He realized almost instantly that an accident was about to ensue. Turning and ducking, he caught the small bear, lifting her as she followed him around the corner and neatly whisking her out of the way of the servers’ feet.

“Whoo!” cried Grace in alarm as he snatched her up.

“How do you manage to make so much noise without having proper lungs?” he questioned aloud.

Grace’s head turned toward his face, and somehow he could tell her button eyes were focusing on his. “You saved me!” she announced. “How gallant.”

Embarrassed, he tried to shush her, “Don’t be so loud. I only saved you a bath in hot soup. I doubt it would have done more than make you smell bad.”

The servers were watching them curiously, but as soon as he met their eyes they ducked their heads respectfully and continued on their way. Like everyone else in Cameron Castle they were well familiar with Moira’s small companions. Talking bears were no novelty for them.

“The triviality of the consequence in no way diminishes the chivalry of your rescue,” replied the bear. Although she had no eyelashes, Gram could almost feel her batting them at him as she spoke.

Tucking her into the crook of his arm, he gave up on leaving her behind and resumed his course. “Shouldn’t you be watching Irene or something similar?” he questioned.

“Irene is nine now, so she doesn’t need as much minding anymore. Besides, why do you think I wander so much? Whenever I stay at home, Penny or Lilly put me to watching the children. I love them, but even a bear needs adult conversation now and then,” she complained.

“What about Moira?”

“She stays pretty busy…” noted Grace, letting the sentence trail off.

It was obvious she felt she wasn’t getting the attention she deserved, but at the same time she didn’t want to speak ill of her creator in front of someone else. Gram decided to change the subject, “Are you implying that mine is ‘adult’ conversation?”

“You are much older than I am,” pointed out the bear.

“Point taken, milady,” admitted Gram. He hadn’t really thought about that fact. Grace had been created only a few years past, sometime after Moira had begun to develop her abilities. It was easy to forget since the stuffed animal seemed to have a very mature personality. “I fear that not many consider my conversation worth seeking.”

She patted his arm lightly. “I think I can sympathize with your problem.”

His dark mood lightened a bit as a hint of a smile crept onto his lips. He caught it before it became a laugh. “I never realized how much I had in common with a stuffed bear, but it makes sense now,” he observed. “I’m dressed and groomed, taken out to be viewed, but not allowed to make decisions for myself or take any real action.”

Grace nodded, “At least you get some attention, many hardly notice me at all—and then there’s my other limitation.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“I can only go a day or two before she has to refresh my energy; any longer and I’ll simply cease to exist.”

“I have to eat to live,” countered Gram.

“But you can eat a great variety of things, from a great variety of places. I can receive my sustenance from only one source,” explained Grace.

Gram frowned, “Couldn’t Matthew or another wizard renew you?”

The little bear shook her head, “Only a Centyr wizard can do it, and only the one who created the animus, otherwise my personality would be distorted.”

“I never knew,” admitted the teen. “If you ran out though, couldn’t Moira just bring you back?” He mimed an imaginary display of magic by waving his hands.

The bear gave him a hard look. “If you died and Gareth Gaelyn made a new ‘Gram’, and somehow they brought it to life, would it be you?”

“No,” said Gram immediately. “It would be a different body, but Moira could reanimate your body.”

Grace clucked at him reproachfully, “This isn’t really my body, Gram.” She gestured with her short arms to indicate her plump cloth body as she continued, “I just wear it because it’s what Moira likes, just like you wear clothes. My real form is pure aythar, and if it fades I’m gone forever.”

Gram stared at her for a moment, mildly shocked. He hadn’t really given the nature of her existence much thought. In fact, he had never really considered her at all, or any of Moira’s other small retinue of magical creations. Some came and went quickly, temporary and barely intelligent. Others lasted a few months before she let them lapse, but only Grace had remained. She had been the first of Moira’s intelligent magical companions and the only one whom she had never allowed to fade.

What must it be like to live completely at the whim of another, with the potential to die not from malice, but just from simple forgetfulness?
It made Gram’s own situation seem far better by comparison. His mind went still for a moment considering the implications before he realized he had been staring at her awkwardly for some time.

“It isn’t polite to stare at a lady so, young lord,” remonstrated Grace in a coquettish voice to break the clumsy silence.

He coughed, “I’m sorry. I was just wondering…” He let the sentence falter, unsure what to say next, he was no expert at dissembling; a quality he had been told he inherited from his father. He didn’t want to admit that he had been pitying her the nature of her existence.

“Wondering…?” she prompted.

Given enough time, his brain eventually produced an acceptable response, “About your true form, what you look like underneath the cloth and buttons.”