Thornbear (Book 1) (36 page)

“My father was able to face him.”

“Dorian was a stoic! Celior couldn’t get inside his head, Gram. Just because you’re not like him in that regard, doesn’t make you any less brave. What you did back at the house took courage. You have two parents, and both of them faced that monster. Your mother wasn’t a stoic, but she didn’t let it stop her. She went through something similar, but afterward she picked herself up and kept going.”

“I’m not as smart as Mother.”

“Being a genius isn’t everything, Gram, and it certainly isn’t what got her through it. You owe a lot of who you are to her, things that perhaps you don’t see, but you aren’t her, and you aren’t Dorian. You…” she poked him with one paw, “… are Gram Thornbear. Your story starts here. That thing may have knocked you down, but getting up is your choice. A Thornbear gets back up.”

He thought of his mother, sitting in her chair and sipping at her morning tea. Her quiet presence had been a constant in his life. She watched the world with eyes that saw things that even magesight couldn’t reveal. Despite her calm demeanor, her keen perception and powerful confidence had always intimidated him. What would she have done if she had been with them a few minutes ago? What had she done after
her
encounter with the filth and depravity that was Celior?

He knew the answer.

Gram picked Grace back up, squeezing her gently. “Thanks Grace.”

“Don’t thank me. You’re the one that decided we had to go after Irene,” said the bear. “And I still think you’re a terrible failure at certain things.”

He looked at her curiously, “What things?”

“You’re the worst comedic sidekick I’ve ever had.”

That brought a smile to his lips, “You aren’t doing so good as the tragic hero either.”

“Don’t let my small size fool you. In the end, I will get the girl,” she answered.

***

They traveled on, and the going was much easier now. Celior’s ‘blessing’, while disgusting, had been real. Gram’s body felt strong and sure. The aching of his muscles was gone, and also the shakiness he had felt. He was still hungry, but it wasn’t the same painful emptiness now, it felt more as if he had merely skipped breakfast.

The cut in his side was gone, along with every other bruise or abrasion he had gotten.
We have a chance now,
he thought to himself.
While they’re traveling with pack animals and a prisoner, I’m alone and unencumbered.
He could catch up to them, so long as he didn’t lose the trail.

Food was still a concern, though. Gram walked quickly, using his newfound energy to keep up a brisk pace, but while his eyes caught the occasional sign of their enemy’s passage, he saw no animals. The stone he held in his hand went unused.

Darkness fell, but he didn’t stop.

“Aren’t you going to rest?” asked Grace.

“Not until I get tired,” he told her. “Even if we make camp, we have no fire or blankets. Walking keeps me warm.”

“You won’t be able to see in the dark.”

The world had already become a monochrome scene of shadows and grey. The moon was up but it was hidden behind one of the mountains. His eyes had adjusted, but with only starlight he could barely see more than the ground immediately before him. “I can see enough to walk and your vision will keep us going in the right direction.”

“How far does your special sight reach?” he asked her.

“About two hundred yards,” she answered, “but I don’t know how to track.”

“That won’t be a problem until we reach the rise I saw before the sun went down. Until then they don’t have any options, and if they’ve stopped to camp in the trees along the west side of this gully you will be able to see them, fire or no fire,” said Gram. The eastern side of the wash was steep and craggy, so there was no chance of anyone camping there. “We’ll keep going until it splits and then stop for the night.”

They continued their trek, moving slowly as he picked his way in and around massive boulders that had long ago fallen from the rocky eastern side of the gully. The mountain that would eventually interrupt their path at the northern end had seemed only a few hours distant in the light of day, but in the dark it never seemed to get any closer.

Sometime near midnight Grace poked his cheek, “There are two men ahead, at the limits of my sight,” she whispered.

That was far enough away that being seen wasn’t a concern, but sounds traveled a long way in the rocky valley. His eyes strained against the darkness, but he could see nothing ahead of them but dim grey stone and dark shadows. It was probably a cold camp; if the men had built a fire it would have been easily visible. “Describe their position.”

“They are tucked into a low place above a big overhang on the right hand side. I don’t think you would be able to see them even if the sun was up.”

It sounded like a perfect position for an ambush. “What are they doing?”

“Lying down, with their backs on the rock. They have their bedrolls beneath them. They might even be asleep. They aren’t moving but they have bows next to them.”

“Let’s wait a while,” said Gram. “I want to make sure they’re asleep before we move.”

“It’s a sorry ambush if they’re sleeping,” commented Grace.

“People don’t travel at night. If you weren’t here I would have stopped a while back,” Gram told her. “The bows are useless in the dark too. They were probably left behind to kill or delay anyone following the others. The rock you described would be a good place to pick people off with a bow.”

“It would be a useless tactic if one of the wizards was with us,” she said.

“But none of them are, and Celior is waiting for them if they come. This is just a precaution I think, and a lucky one for us,” said Gram.

“Lucky?”

“Look at my shoes.” Gram had left the castle wearing soft cloth shoes. They were well suited to smooth stone corridors but they were quickly disintegrating on the sharp, rocky terrain. Another day and his feet would be essentially bare.

“Two men are waiting to kill you and you want to steal their shoes?”

“A bedroll, food, heavy clothing, and a bow would be welcome too,” he added.

She thought about it for a moment, realizing he was right. “Let me do it,” she offered.

The thought of a small stuffed bear attacking two grown men threatened to make him lose control and laugh out loud. He squeezed her for a second, “No, this is a job for your comic companion.”

“Let me help then,” she insisted.

“What can you do?”

A lot more than you realize,
she thought. “I can choose how I sound, for one thing,” she told him. “I can sound like a real bear. They might run if they thought a brown bear was coming after them.”

“Hmmm,” said Gram thinking. “That gives me an excellent idea.” He began outlining his plan.

They waited another quarter of an hour before they moved, making sure that the men were truly asleep. When it was clear that the men weren’t just pretending they began to move, Grace guiding him slowly and carefully up and over the rocks on the right hand side. Despite their care there were still several scary moments when a rock was displaced or unnoticed dead leaves rustled underfoot.

Each time they made a noise they would stop and wait, making sure they hadn’t alerted their prey. It took nearly an hour before Gram was in position, crouching silently some thirty feet from where the strangers slept.

He would have liked to get closer. Ideally he would have preferred to be able to attack them in their sleep, but one of the men had woken, alerted by the sound of a rock falling. The intervening distance was open and sparsely covered with dry grass and rocks. Once he left the cover of the rock that hid him he would be easily seen, even in the dim starlight, and the ground ahead was sure to make noise.

Grace separated from him then, moving down the rocks and working her way along the gully before climbing up again on the other side. Her soft lightweight body made stealth easy, but her short limbs were a serious hindrance. Some places were simply impossible for her to climb over. She was forced to take a long circuitous route. It was another hour before she had picked her way around to a position on the other side of the men, sixty or seventy feet on the other side of their camp.

The one that had woken was already asleep again, but she doubted Gram knew that, and fortunately their plan didn’t require such knowledge. She began with a low growl that mounted in volume until it was a frightening roar.

Gram had been waiting patiently for that signal but he didn’t start forward until he saw the blurry shadows of the men begin to move. They were scrambling in alarm, sitting up and staring into the darkness in Grace’s direction.

The noise she made only grew louder, and she didn’t pause. They needed to make sure it would cover any sound his approach would make.

“We have to move!” said one of the men. “It’s getting closer.”

“I can’t see anything,” hissed his companion. They were snatching up their bedrolls and packs, gathering everything into their arms as they prepared to make a hasty retreat. “What is that?”

“It’s a fuckin’ bear, idiot. Grab your bow,” said the other. “No, don’t try to string it. That’d just piss it off. We have to run.”

Unfortunately one of them spotted Gram as he ran forward. Frightened by the sound of the bear he dropped everything in his arms as he saw the dark figure charging at him from the darkness. His friend stumbled and fell sideways, unsure what was going on.

Gram’s knife took that one in the back, and then he was after the one that had just dropped his gear.

The man had already put his sword belt on, though, and while the rest of his belongings were scattered around him he retained the wit to draw his blade. Shaking with fear and adrenaline he pointed it in Gram’s direction. “You ain’t no bear!”

Grace continued to roar from the darkness behind him, but the man ignored it and leapt forward, thrusting at Gram with his weapon.

Shit,
thought Gram, retreating hastily to avoid being skewered. He held only a four inch knife, and while one of the men was down for good, he was at a serious disadvantage. Worse, the shadow of the rock overhanging the men’s camp made it even harder to see.

Stepping on a rock he stumbled, but rather than try to keep his feet he let himself fall. He remembered the stone from his advance a moment before, even though he had failed to take it into account during his withdrawal. It was a modest stone, about a foot across. He fell over it and rolled into a crouch beside it as his opponent came on.

Dropping his knife he hefted the stone with all the speed his muscles could provide. It might have weighed thirty or forty pounds, but he flung it up and forward as though it weighed nothing, striking the swordsman in the legs.

The other man stumbled, but didn’t fall, his sword arm shooting out to his right in case he had to catch himself. Gram surged up and into him as the sword went out of line, striking the man in the chin with the top of his head and driving him from his feet.

They struggled in the darkness for a few seconds, but Gram was already on top of his foe and once he had his hands on the man’s face he shoved it downward, slamming his skull into the stony ground. He repeated the brutal action several more times, until his enemy’s body had gone limp and the back of his head had become a soft wet ruin.

The stillness of the night returned and Gram stared at the man underneath him.
A few minutes ago he was sleeping peacefully.
His hands were wet and sticky. A sudden noise to his right made him realize that the man he had stabbed was still alive.

Standing, he walked over, looking down on the one that had taken his knife in the back. The wound had been high up, but the blade hadn’t struck his heart. From the wet sound of the fellow’s labored breathing it had probably punctured one of his lungs. He was a dead man, but he might last for hours.

I’m sorry.

That’s what he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out. The man he was looking at had been planning to kill him, or whoever followed. He was part of the band that had taken Irene, that had killed Lilly. He didn’t deserve an apology, and yet, watching him die made Gram’s stomach twist.

“Why?” he asked, addressing the dying man. “Why did you do it?”

The man’s eyes rolled in his head, staring fearfully at Gram. He knew he was dying, but he yet feared the final blow. His lips opened and he struggled to speak, but the words came out wet and garbled. Something dark ran from his mouth. In the daylight Gram was sure it would have been red.

Is this what he felt?
Gram thought of his father.
How many times did he experience this?
Dorian Thornbear was said to have killed hundreds, if not more, in both times of war, and in smaller personal conflicts.
It should have driven him mad—unless, he enjoyed it.

But Gram’s memories of his father didn’t depict a madman. His father had been kind and patient. His mother had said so as well. Gram wished his father was alive, so he could ask him.
How do you get past this pain, this guilt? There is blood on my hands now.

The man on the ground tried to speak again, and this time his words were clear enough to understand, “They paid—me.”

He was a mercenary soldier. Had he had a family? Were there people waiting for him to return?

“You picked the wrong job, my friend,” said Gram. “Who paid you?” The words sounded calm, almost casual coming from his lips.
Who is this passionless killer?
thought Gram,
it can’t be me.

But it was.

“Please…” begged the mercenary, unable to finish his sentence.

Gram went back to the other and retrieved the sword. It would be easier to use. The knife was too close, too personal. Standing over the dying man again he held the sword up, trying to decide the best place to put the blade, to end his suffering. The man’s eyes bored into his own, begging and accusing with the same stare.

He dropped the weapon. It was too cold. If he was going to do this, he would take the full weight of it. He took out his knife instead, and knelt beside the figure. “I’m sorry,” he said then, and plunged the blade into the man’s heart.