Thornbear (Book 1) (37 page)

The stranger jerked once, and then died, a last wet breath leaving his mouth. His eyes never left Gram’s.

Though his stomach was empty, Gram began to heave, vomiting onto the ground. A small amount of fluid came up, and after that it only dry heaves that shook him. Grace stood close by now, gently patting his back, but she said nothing.

Chapter 34

Gram moved the bodies, dragging them some twenty yards from the camp before stripping both of them of their clothing and boots. In the dark it was hard to say what might fit and what wouldn’t. The tunic and coat of the one he had stabbed were ruined, but his boots, belt and trousers were probably still good. The belongings of the one whose head he had smashed were probably fine. He would sort through them in the morning.

Laying one bedroll on top of the other he curled up inside it and hoped he could get warm. He didn’t expect sleep. His conscience wouldn’t allow that, surely, but when he closed his eyes and opened them again he found the morning sun shining down on him. His body’s exhaustion had taken precedence over his moral confusion.

He lay quietly for a few minutes, enjoying the sound of birdsong and the play of sunlight on the rocks nearby. His mind was still, at peace. He had done terrible things the night before, but he was careful not to look at them directly. In the light of day they seemed like nightmares, terrible indeed, but unreal.

“You’re awake,” noted Grace.

“Seems like it,” he replied, sitting up.

“How do you feel?”

“Later,” he told her. “There are things to be done.” He stood and began sifting through the chaotic remains of the camp, making a small pile of the things he would keep.

There were two packs and within them were enough bread, dried meat, and hard cheese to last the two men for several days. He ate a modest breakfast and packed the rest of the food into one of the packs. He rolled up one of the bedrolls and tied it onto the pack as well and then he examined the clothing.

Most of it was too small, and his own doublet and trousers were far better, despite being made for a more civilized environment. He counted himself fortunate that one of the men had had big feet, his boots were a bit tight, but they fit. Gram made two small cuts in them, in the front and along the outer edge, giving his feet enough room to be more comfortable. He couldn’t afford blisters.

He belted on one of the sword belts and chose the better of the two swords, then he did the same with the bows, pulling them to a full draw to test their strength. He collected the arrows from both their quivers and counted them.
Twenty three.

Glancing at the sun he decided it was probably close to nine o’clock. Picking up Grace, he put her on his shoulder and began picking his way down.

“Focus on the sides, in case there are any other ambushes set,” he told her. “I’ll worry about finding their trail.”

“Sure,” said Grace. “How are you…?”

“Later,” he interrupted. “Much later.”

“Alright,” she said, accepting his reluctance.

They reached the rising ground that formed the base of the mountain that divided the wash by noon. Gram was far from anything he was remotely familiar with now and he couldn’t be sure of the merits of either path, so he had no way to judge which direction their quarry might have gone. Either way might lead to a dead end, or both might be viable.

He spent an hour checking the eastern side without luck before he tried the western path. Within minutes he discovered several signs, a bit of disturbed soil and some trampled grass. The clincher was a small piece of leather, probably a bit of harness that someone had trimmed for some reason.

They traveled along, climbing over and around increasingly difficult terrain. Gram might have worried that the way would become completely impassable but he knew that those he followed had taken their pack animals through once already and they had to have mapped their route beforehand. He kept his eyes on the ground, trusting Grace to alert them if there were any hidden traps.

A strange noise began growing in his ears sometime around midafternoon. It wasn’t a sound he was familiar with, a distant rushing sound, as if there were river rapids nearby. But there was no water. The low rocky valley they followed was dry, and the sound seemed to come from above, as if the sky itself was making the sound.

“What is that?” he wondered aloud.

“I don’t know.”

The mountain to their left was dipping low and a gentle slope led to a ridge there. “Let’s climb up,” suggested Gram, “maybe we can see something from there.”

Half an hour later they were close to the ridgeline. Gram stayed low as they crested it, not wanting to alert their enemies. Anyone traveling below would be able to see them from miles away if they stood there.

The sound had reached new heights, but Gram still couldn’t understand its source. There was nothing like a river in view and the open sky was clear, except for a small dot to the west. He figured that it must be a bird, but it was too indistinct for him to identify.

Then he realized it was moving, but not in the fashion that one would expect of a bird. It passed through a cloud and he knew then that it was much farther distant than he had thought, and consequently traveling much faster as well.

“What is that?” he wondered.

“I can’t see anything,” said Grace. “My vision is wonderful for things within a few hundred yards, but I can’t see anything beyond that.”

“There’s something flying, a long way off, to the west of us,” explained Gram. “It’s big enough that I thought it was a bird at first, but now I don’t know what it is.”

“Could it be the Count’s flying machine?” suggested Grace.

“It never made a sound like this,” said Gram. “And there would be several people visible, or a larger dark spot, maybe. I’m not sure what it would look like at this distance.”

Whatever it was, was taking a path that angled past them. It wouldn’t fly directly over them, but as they watched, he figured it would pass within a couple of miles.
Probably over that peak there,
he thought, mentally marking a mountaintop in the distance. As it grew nearer he thought he could make out some discernible features.

“It’s a man,” he declared. “I can make out his arms and legs now. He’s flying along like an arrow from a bow, headfirst.”

“That has to be the Count then.”

“Can he fly like that?” asked Gram.

“He did during the last great battle,” said Grace, “right before he fought Mal’goroth. Moira told me about it.”

“But he was some sort of shiggreth monster god-demon then,” said Gram.

“I bet he remembers how,” she said, “but I doubt it’s safe.”

An attack on his family might just drive him to take such a risk,
thought Gram, as the figure passed over the mountaintop he had noted before. The Count’s path was perpendicular to them, and though he was still a few miles distant, Gram could see he was moving at an unbelievable speed.

A booming roar, like thunder, struck him then, a sound so powerful it felt like a physical blow, and Gram and Grace both fell flat onto the rocks.

“What was that?!”

“I don’t know,” said Grace. “It felt like something just shook the world.”

“It even rattled my teeth.”
How fast was he flying?
The stories he had heard from the battle with Mal’goroth mentioned something similar, when Mordecai had flown with such speed that it seemed as if the sky exploded, but he had assumed the story was exaggerated.

“He must have gotten word from Elaine,” said Grace. “There was no circle at the house, so he must have just taken off and flown straight for it.”

“Celior is waiting for him.”

“I feel sorry for the god,” said Grace smugly.

“It isn’t good, Grace. Celior was afraid to come out in the open before. He fought Mordecai once and lost, and since then the Count defeated the other shining gods as well, along with most of the dark gods.”

“So he’ll have no trouble giving that arrogant bastard a good thrashing then.”

“Maybe,” said Gram, “but Celior is expecting him. He’s drawn him out, unprepared, away from his allies and any traps he might have prepared in Cameron. And the Count isn’t as powerful, or immortal for that matter, as he was when he fought the others.”

“I don’t think he was any of that the first time he fought Celior,” said Grace. “He’ll win.”

Gram thought of Celior’s threats regarding his mother and sister.
He’s got to win.
“Let’s go,” he told Grace. “We can’t do anything about it, one way or another, so let’s do what we can.”

They descended again and resumed their course, following the occasional signs that indicated a group of several men and their animals had gone in the same direction.
I’m coming for you, Rennie.

They traveled onward, watching the sun set behind the mountains. The air grew cold with the disappearance of the sun, but once again Gram kept them going, not wanting to stop until they came to another place that their quarry might have had a choice of directions.

Several hours after dark the lights began.

“What was that flash?” he asked.

“I didn’t see anything,” said Grace, “but if it came from far off I wouldn’t.”

A moment later a rolling boom reached their ears. “It sounded like thunder,” noted Gram. The sky overhead was clear, full of brilliant stars set against a velvety black firmament. Another flash of light split the darkness.

“Do you think a storm is coming?” wondered Grace.

“I’m not sure.” The wind was starting to pick up, but there were still no clouds. The next flash caused the entire sky to glow, casting the world around them into stark white and black contrast. A steady golden light was flickering and shimmering beyond the mountains to the south of them now, as if a monstrously huge bonfire had been lit. The night was punctuated with an unending staccato of resounding booms.

“They’re fighting,” stated Grace.

“Remind me never to piss off Matt’s dad,” said Gram, trying to make a joke, but inwardly he was worried.
If he falls, we’re doomed.

“I’m sure Mal’goroth wished he had known that before he did the same,” observed Grace.

But Celior did know better,
noted Gram,
better than anyone.

The wind had become a raging tempest, and while there still weren’t any clouds, the sky was continually shattered by dazzling curtains of lightning that stretched from one horizon to the next. The peals of thunder were so deep they seemed to shake the mountains themselves.

“We should keep moving,” said Gram. “I have a feeling the show is only going to make Irene’s captors hurry faster.” He left unspoken the fact that he wanted to be as far away as possible in case the wrong one emerged as the victor.

They continued on while the sky changed colors, sometimes illuminating the ground before them as if it was daytime, and then leaving them in utter blackness. A new star had risen in the sky to the south; a brilliant flame that flared and burned. Gouts of fire issued from it, striking the mountains below while curtains of lighting seemed to envelop it at frequent intervals.

Gram couldn’t even begin to guess which was which.

They ran when the light was strong and stopped when it vanished, their eyes no longer adjusted to see by mere starlight. The bizarre battle continued behind them for almost a quarter of an hour before it stopped, ending with a frightening sound. Gram fell as the earth beneath him jumped, throwing him from his feet and slapping him hard as he hit the rocks. The world shook and the sky grew red before fading away into soft darkness.

Silence reigned and the star that had burned in the sky was gone.

“Is it over?” asked Grace, whispering as though she feared the combatants might hear them despite the intervening miles.

A booming laughter rolled over the land, as if to answer her question. The burning star rose into the sky again and Gram knew that Celior was still free. He had won. The earth shook once more, and then the world was silent, while the star flew south, eventually dwindling into the distance.

“I think he’s dead,” said Gram in a dull voice, numb with shock.

“Don’t say that.”

“That was Celior’s laugh. That was him flying away.”

The bear hadn’t been able to see the flying star, but she refused to give in to despair. “They thought he was dead and lost before, but it was never so. I won’t believe it,” she said.

Gram picked her up and resumed walking. He didn’t reply to her hopeful declaration.

“You believe me, right?” insisted the bear.

Gram didn’t answer. The darkness had closed around them and despite her presence, he felt more alone than ever. The man that had become his second father was dead, or worse. He trudged on.
We still have Matt, and Moira. They’ll set it right, and by all the dead gods, I’ll do everything I can to help them.

Chapter 35

It was close to midnight when Gram finally decided to rest. He ate more of the cheese and dried meat they had taken from the ambushers and then he laid out the bedroll and slept. Once again, despite his fears and worries, his body’s exhaustion took matters into its own hands and he sank into an empty oblivion. If he dreamt, he didn’t remember it.

He woke with the morning sun and after a quick breakfast, they set out again.

“Grace,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Something occurred to me when I was going to sleep last night.”

“What?” she asked.

“You once told me that you need Moira to restore your magic every few days, but today is the third day we’ve been out. How much longer will you…?”

She patted his cheek to reassure him. “I should have told you before. Whenever Moira is going to be away for a while she stores extra aythar for me. See these buttons?” She pointed to a row of three buttons along the front of her body.

“Yes.”

“Each one holds enough aythar to sustain me for roughly four days. I’m fine.”

“Oh.” He did a quick mental tally. The Count’s family had been gone a week before the attack and they had been traveling for three days. The three buttons would last sixteen days, and she could manage three on her own. He didn’t like the result. “It’s been ten days, that only leaves five more.”