Thornbear (Book 1) (22 page)

Her eyes were wide. “Your grandmother was… what?!”

He took a few minutes to tell her the story of his grandmother and the man he had been named after, including her near-tragic attempt to assassinate his grandfather.

“That’s an incredible story,” she admitted when he had finished.

“Then you should understand. I am a Thornbear. Nothing will stop my love for you, and you will only do us both harm if you attempt to forestall it.” He lifted her chin with his fingers, and when he lowered his lips to hers, she returned his kiss.

“I want to believe you.”

“You should know by now, it’s nearly impossible for me to lie successfully,” he told her.

She nodded, unable to speak, her throat closed. “Mmhmm.”

Some women were ugly when they cried, but Gram couldn’t help but find her beautiful. “Will you marry me, Alyssa?”

“Your mother will never allow that.”

“Yes she will.”

“No she won’t.”

“Fine. If she approves and your father consents, will you marry me?”

“It will never happen.”

“Let me worry about that. If they do, will you?”

She dried her cheeks with her sleeve, but the tears kept falling. “Yes,” she said at last. “Now stop asking me.” Then she ducked around him, beating a hasty retreat to the outer door. She was gone before he could recover. In her haste she failed to notice the button eyes watching her from the end of the hall.

Gram was left with a feeling of triumph and sorrow. He still couldn’t understand her reluctance, but he was determined. He would overcome any obstacle to ensure their happiness.

***

“What?” asked Chad.

“Why don’t you show me how you shot so fast that day?”

“What day?”

“The day we got in the fight.”

Chad sighed, “That ain’t somethin’ to be teachin’ ye.”

“Why not?”

“Cuz it will just ruin you. Ye have a fine eye and a steady hand with the bow but ye’re not goin’ to be that sort of bowman.”

Gram stared at him curiously, waiting for a better explanation.

“Listen, you ain’t got the time fer it. I know ye’re wantin’ to be a knight and ye’re already a noble. That sort of shootin’ requires devotion. Ye can’t just learn it an then remember it a year later when ye want. It takes daily practice to maintain. It’s just like rangin’ marks for battlefield archers.”

That was something he had shown Gram, along with an explanation of why it wasn’t something he should bother practicing. He had set up targets across a field, marking distances from fifty yards out to as far as two hundred. The hunter hadn’t hit the distant targets, but his arrows had come close as he launched them in parabolic arcs. He was able to switch to any given range and adjust his shot to drop the arrow within feet of it, if not directly on the target.

Gram’s shots had been far more random in how close they arrived. The smallest change in the angle of the shot could alter the distance the arrow traveled by fifty yards or more.

The archer had explained that for professional archers, ‘ranging’ was one of the most important types of practice, for it allowed them to shoot with their peers and drop volleys of arrows at the correct distance to hit oncoming troops.

“But it’s also something you have to practice every week. Your body changes, yer bow changes, and ye have to stay in tune with ‘em to maintain the ability to properly range yer shot. Stick to close target shooting, forty yards or less. Those skills keep much longer.”

The idea that some skills required constant practice simply to maintain them at a functional level, was a new concept to Gram. Apparently it also applied to speed shooting.

“Look,” said Chad. “I’ll show ye, slowly.”

Holding his bow forward with one hand, he reached back and pulled two arrows from the quiver, holding them between his fingers. He put the nock of one to the string, but he held it still without shooting. There was something odd about the position of his hand.

“Your hand is backwards,” said Gram, curious.

“Yeh,” said the hunter, “and the arrow is on the same side of the bow stave as me hand is.”

Ordinarily the shaft would be placed on the opposite side, so that the tension created by the draw would hold it flush against the bow. The way Chad was holding it now made no sense.

“Won’t it slip away to the side?”

“Not with my hand reversed, it keeps the tension on it the other way,” explained the older man. “I can nock it much faster this way, and after the first draw I can have the second on the string and away so fast ye’ll hardly know it was there.”

“It seems sort of clumsy, though.”

“It is, if ye don’t practice it and if ye try it fer anythin’ over twenty or thirty yards ye’ll just be wastin’ yer arrows. Those shots require a steady hand and careful aim. Also if ye get used to shootin’ like this, and ye don’t keep up your regular practice it can spoil yer form.”

“So I shouldn’t bother…”

“…Unless ye’re planning to devote yer life to the bow it ain’t worth it,” finished Chad. “Stick to straight shots an’ a three finger draw. Engrave that on yer heart and when ye need it, yer body’ll know what to do, without gettin’ confused.”

Chapter 20

A small form caught his attention a few minutes before the noon meal.

“Hello, Grace.”

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” asked the bear.

It wasn’t her usual casual greeting, so Gram stopped and looked at her curiously. Lifting her, he answered, “Sure.”

“In private?”

“It’s almost time for lunch.”

“It won’t take too long, but I don’t want anyone to overhear,” she said seriously.

He took her outside, to give them some distance from anyone else. “What’s wrong?”

“I saw something this morning, by accident, and it has me a little worried.”

His body tensed. “What did you see?”

“You know, I don’t really sleep. So I was walking…”

“…and?”

“I saw Alyssa leaving your apartment.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

She shook her head, “No, but I don’t think your mother will be happy if she…”

“It’s none of her business!”

“You’re her son.”

“That doesn’t give her leave to control my life,” said Gram.

“What if something happens? If you are caught her reputation will be ruined. What if she gets pregnant?”

“I don’t care, Grace. I’m going to marry her.”

“You hardly know her. What of her parents?”

“They will give us their blessing.”

“How do you know that?” she asked him.

“Because they have to, and if they don’t…” Gram’s face took on a stubborn look, “…they have to.”

“But…”

“I love her, Grace. Nothing will keep me from her.” He stared at the small bear intently, “Are you going to tell?”

She struggled with the decision for a moment and then at last she responded, “No.”
I can’t think of anyone to tell that it wouldn’t make this worse.

“Thank you.” With that he set her down gently and went back inside. It was time to eat.

***

Matthew wanted to talk to him after the evening meal.

“Will this be quick?” asked Gram.

“You have somewhere to be?” asked his friend, grinning. He knew that neither of them had any obligations.

Yes, I need to get some sleep.
If he went to bed as soon as possible he would have at most five or six hours to sleep before midnight. “No,” he said with a sigh of resignation. “I’m just tired.”

“I just wanted to tell you that the tattoo won’t work right now.”

“Why not?”

“The sword isn’t in the dimensional pocket. I have it out, in my shop. I’m working on the next phase,” explained the young wizard.

“Shouldn’t it just teleport from wherever?”

“No. Because it isn’t teleportation. It’s translation. It isn’t really moving when you activate the tattoo enchantment, it’s translating from the other dimension to this one, so it won’t work if it’s already in this dimension.”

“What happens if I try to do it while it’s here?”

Matthew shrugged, “I’m not sure. Maybe nothing, but it might ruin the tattoo, or worse.”

“Worse?”

“Imagine your arm being translated into the empty pocket dimension—without you.”

Gram swore, “Shit! Every time I think you might be doing the right thing you have to scare me again.”

“It’s just a hypothetical.”

“Well you can keep your hypotheticals!”

“Just don’t mess with it until I tell you I’ve finished,” reiterated his friend.

***

That night Gram woke, sensing another figure in the room. Opening his eyes, he saw the slender figure of a woman leaning over the bed. Her hand was outstretched, as she prepared to stroke his brow.

Reaching up, he caught her hand in his own, bringing it to his lips.

“Gram? Are you awake?”

He froze. It was his mother’s voice. Eyes wide he stared at the figure, beginning to see the subtle differences. His mother was taller for one, and her hair was piled on top of her head, braided into some mysterious design. Alyssa’s would have been loose, falling over her shoulders.

“Mother?”

“I’m back,” she told him. “I didn’t want to miss the Winter Ball.”

His mind was awhirl. “Where’s Carissa?”

“In bed,” said Rose. “She was tired and I didn’t intend on us arriving home so late.”

“What time is it?” His heart was pounding in his chest. Alyssa might appear at any moment.

“Only nine,” she answered. “I was surprised to find you asleep already.”

“I was tired.”
There’s still time. I have to warn her.

“I can only imagine what you must have been up to these past months while we were away,” said his mother with a smile in her voice. She leaned close to kiss his forehead.

No, you can’t,
he told himself silently, horrified at the thought of his mother even suggesting it.

“I won’t keep you up. I’m going to bed, the unpacking can wait until tomorrow,” she added.

He sat up. “Actually, I’m glad you woke me. Matthew wanted to show me something. I only meant to take a quick nap.”

“Don’t be out long then, sensible people should be finding their beds by now.” She straightened up and left the room. Nine was already late for his mother, who normally retired shortly after eight each evening.

Gram rose and dressed quickly in a loose tunic and trousers and then added a pair of soft cloth shoes. Heading to the front room he slipped out the door and into the hall. He passed two servers before rounding the corner to find Grace waiting for him near the door to Alyssa’s rooms.

“Going somewhere?” she asked.

“I don’t have time to talk,” said Gram, preparing to knock.

“Don’t,” warned Grace. “Moira’s inside. Keep walking before she wonders why you’ve stopped outside the door.”

He reacted instantly, dropping his arm and moving on. Grace followed him. He scooped her up as he walked. “I need to warn her…”

“…that your mother is home?” said Grace, finishing his sentence for him. “Moira’s done that already.”

“She knows? You said you wouldn’t tell anyone!” he hissed.

“I didn’t. She doesn’t. And may I add, how rude! You libidinous paramour, do you think me so unreliable?” said Grace, reacting with umbrage.

“Libidinny…what?”

The bear had her paws on her hips, “Would you prefer ‘oversexed suitor’?”

Gram gaped at her for a moment. “You have to stop reading those books.”

“That is not an appropriate response.”

He blew out a lungful of air, “I’m sorry. I should not have doubted you.”

“Apology accepted, my lascivious libertine. Perhaps there is hope for you yet.”

“You have a plan?”

“I meant for your manners,” said Grace. “You don’t need to worry about the other. Moira has already told her about your mother’s return.”

“But you just said…”

“Don’t be dense,” replied Grace, exasperated. “It’s news, women talk.”

“Oh.” A sense of relief washed over him. “Do you think she noticed me outside the room?”

“Definitely. Her magesight is very keen and you were only twenty feet from them so she most certainly not only noticed your presence but knew your identity.”

He groaned.

“Relax. She most likely thought you came to confess your undying affection for Lady Alyssa.”

“But I didn’t.”

“Because you lost your nerve,” she patted his cheek. “Such a shy boy.”

He gave the bear on his shoulder a sour look. “That’s ridiculous. Why would she believe something like that?”

“Because she reads the same books I do.”

“People don’t really do things like that, though,” insisted Gram.

Grace put one paw over her eyes. “It might surprise you to learn this, my scandalous swain, but many people do express their endearments for one another
before
taking off their clothes.”

He colored at that, but held his peace. Gram’s face took on a look of concentration.

“What are you…” she started to ask.

“Wait,” he said, holding up one hand. “Give me a minute.”

“For what?”

“I’m working on a response.”

She waited patiently while he thought. Eventually he responded, “That was unfair, you—truculent teddy.”

Grace chuckled, “That was terrible. I am neither of those things. If you’re going to give me a name with a “t”, for the sake of alliteration, then at least use a girl’s name, something like “Tamarah”, or perhaps “Tiffany”. I will never be a “Teddy”. Where did you get the word truculent from anyway?”

“Despite your low opinion of my wits, I do have an excellent vocabulary,” he replied. “Remember who my mother is.”

“
You
should have remembered that before you let that minx into your bed,” observed Grace pointedly.

***

The next morning Gram’s mother was already up, sipping her tea when he left his room. She studied his face as he entered.

“What happened to your face?” Setting the tea aside, she rose and examined him. “What terrible scars. How did this happen?”

He was forced to relate the story, though he omitted all of the questionable details. Carissa joined them before he had finished and he had to begin again. Neither of them were happy by the time he had finished.