Thornbear (Book 1) (38 page)

“I know,” she answered calmly. “I can stretch it a bit if I’m careful.”

“The Count was planning to be gone three to four weeks, that wouldn’t have been enough time even if none of this had happened.”

“There was a stasis box in Moira’s room. If I ran short, I would have climbed inside and waited for her to get back,” she explained.

“But that’s gone now…”

“Since the Count came rushing back, I’m sure the twins will be returning home at speed too,” she replied.

“Except that we aren’t in Cameron, Grace. We’re in the middle of the mountains. Even if we turn around now it will take almost three days to get back to where the house
was,
but we need to be in Cameron. There’s no telling how long it will take us to get there!”

“Gram,” said Grace gently. “We all make choices. You and Irene are my choice.”

His eyes blurred with sudden tears. The events of the last few days had been terrible, but it was the thought of losing Grace that finally broke down the barrier he had been holding between the present and the pain of it all. “Why didn’t you tell me?! We should have headed straight for the castle.”

“You wanted to save Irene, and so did I. The only reason I counseled you against it was because I feared for your safety, Gram. When it was apparent that you wouldn’t be dissuaded, I decided to do everything I could to help. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. There’s nothing to be done about it,” she said with finality.

He wiped at his cheeks. “Dammitt.”

“Don’t cry,” she told him. “You’re supposed to be my bumbling but faithful sidekick, remember? Keeping us cheered up is your job.”

He laughed but his eyes wouldn’t stop watering. “I’m not very good at my job.”

“I have high hopes that you will improve,” she told him.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
She really is the tragic hero of this tale.

***

That afternoon they reached the end of the mountains. The low valley they were following opened up gradually and Gram could see the beginnings of the Northern Wastes ahead.

The signs of their quarry’s passage had become more frequent and were far newer now, giving him hope that they were close behind Irene and her captors. He could only hope they caught up soon. Tracking them through the rough desolate terrain of the wastes would be even more difficult without the mountains to funnel them along more predictable routes.

He broke into a trot, loping forward at a ground eating pace. If they were going to catch them it needed to be soon.

As the land smoothed out he spotted a small group of people in the distance, no more than a couple of miles ahead. He began to run.

“Do you see something?” asked Grace, wishing again that her vision extended farther than a few hundred yards.

“Yes,” he panted as he ran. “They’re a mile or so ahead of us.”

“How many?”

“Four, no five of them,” he answered, “plus two donkeys.”

“Can they see us?”

“Definitely. They’re trying to hurry now. It looks like Irene is on one of the donkeys. The other four are walking.” Gram focused on his breathing. He needed to catch up to them, but more than that, he needed to be able to fight once he did.

They ran a bizarre race for ten minutes, while he steadily gained on them. With four people afoot and two pack animals, Irene’s captors had no hope of getting away from him. They were only a hundred yards distant now and by some undetermined signal they stopped, turning to face him.

He could see Alyssa now, standing beside the donkey on which Irene rode, while three other men stood in front of them, blocking his path. One of the three was clearly the leader; he smiled and gestured to the other two who spread out to the sides, taking out bows and stringing them.

“They have bows, Grace,” he warned her.

“Turn around!” she exclaimed. “They’ll turn you into pin cushion.”

“It’s too late for that.”

“Put me down. I’ll stop them,” she told him.

Gram ran on, cutting to the left to avoid the first of the arrows. “Do you really have some secret power?”

“I’m a spell-beast. Their arrows won’t hurt me,” she said.

“They might hurt Irene if they think they’re in danger,” panted Gram. “I’ll get close and keep their attention. If I get a chance I’ll throw you to Rennie.” He ducked to the right and felt an arrow graze his cheek. They were still fifty yards distant.

“They’ll kill you, Gram! Let me do this,” shouted Grace.

“Not a chance,” he told her. “We’re in this together.”

Zigzagging, he drew closer, but as the archers drew their bows back once more the leader held up a hand, ordering them to hold their fire. Looking at Alyssa he barked an order and she stepped away from Irene, moving to stand in front of him. The leader took the reins to Irene’s donkey and Alyssa drew her sword.

Gram pulled up ten feet short of her.

The man behind her spoke then, “You are a tenacious brat, I’ll give you that.”

“Let Irene go,” Gram said, trying to catch his breath.

The leader was a stout looking man. He wore a leather vest, leaving his muscular arms bare and his head was hairless, though whether from baldness or shaving, Gram couldn’t be sure. He stood close to six foot in height, but his shoulders were broader than any Gram had ever seen. He reminded Gram of a bull for some reason. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Thornbear,” he responded, hurling the name at the man like a curse.

“Oh, you’re Jasmine’s latest toy, aren’t you? She thought you died in the fire,” said the bald man. Gesturing to the woman that Gram had known as Alyssa he added, “Come here girl.”

Alyssa turned and stood before the man.

Striking as swiftly as a snake the bald man’s open hand struck her hard, sending her head snapping to one side. “Never lie to me again, bitch.”

“Leave her alone!” shouted Irene, still tied to the donkey. The girl was furious.

“Forgive me, Zaihair,” responded Jasmine with no inflection in her voice.

Gram started forward, sword in hand, but the bald man held up a hand, “Stop!” Snapping his fingers he indicated the archers. “If he comes any closer, shoot the girl.” They turned their bows to point at Irene.

The bald man smiled as Gram obeyed. “Let’s not skip the introductions, Thornbear.”

In his mind Gram was replaying what she had just said.
Zaihair, he’s her teacher.
His worst fears crystallized.
Is this her uncle?
If the man he was facing was a master of the unnamed path, then his hope of success was far smaller than he had dreamed.

“Jasmine said your name was Gram and that you were being taught by my brother, the traitor. Is that true, boy?”

Brother? Is he saying he’s Cyhan’s brother?
His eyes widened in shock. The resemblance, now that he was looking for it, was unmistakable.
If this man was Cyhan’s brother…
He looked at Alyssa.
No, her name is Jasmine,
he corrected himself. The similarity in her features was there as well.
Is Cyhan her uncle as well or something more?
“What is your name?” he asked the bald man.

“You didn’t answer my question. Is Arzam your teacher?”

“I don’t know anyone named Arzam.”

Jasmine spoke then, “He goes by the name ‘Cyhan’ now, Zaihair.”

The bald man smiled again, “Then you are the traitor’s student.”

“Sir Cyhan is no traitor,” growled Gram.

“My brother became a traitor the day he left our people. Who would have raised this poor girl if I hadn’t taken responsibility for her? Not him, he betrayed not only his people, but his own blood.”

“What?” Gram stared at him in shock, and his only comfort was the sight of Jasmine’s expression. Her visage had been expressionless until then, but now her surprise was written clearly there.
She didn’t know either.

“Arzam is my fath…?” began Jasmine.

“Silence!” barked the bald man. “You speak only when I give you leave.”

“What is your name?” asked Gram, repeating his previous question.

The leader lifted his chin, “I am T’lar Darzin, last of the eleven masters of Zan-zei. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Not especially,” said Gram. “Should it?”

T’lar laughed, “It means that your teaching is poorly done. Arzam should have taught you the names of the masters, their predecessors and students. He and I are the only two left.”

Behind T’lar, Gram could see a large body of men approaching in the distance. The Wastes were a flat cold desert and they were still miles away, but he knew he had little time. The men were on horseback and the miles between them wouldn’t last long.

“Our escort is close at hand, boy. You have lost,” said T’lar.

Gram felt a calm slide down over him. “You won’t leave here with her.”

“I’ll give you one choice, child. Surrender to me and I will make you my student. I will teach you the things that my brother has obviously not seen fit to entrust to you,” said T’lar. “You like my student don’t you? You already know how skillful she is in bed. Join me and she can be yours.”

“Alys—she isn’t your property.”

“Oh but she is, boy. You heard her call me ‘zaihair’ didn’t you? Surely you know what that means. I hold her life in my hand. All that she is, is mine to dispose of as I wish. I taught her to fight, and I taught her to fuck. Come with me, and I will make you my heir.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Jasmine,” said T’lar. “Have I spoken truth?”

Her eyes were downcast, but her voice was firm, “Yes, Zaihair.”

“If I give you to this man, what will you do?”

“Anything he wishes, Zaihair.”

“If I tell you to cut your heart out, what will you do?”

She drew her dagger, holding it over her heart.

“Wait,” said T’lar, and then he looked at Gram again. “What do you say? This is the best offer you will get. If you reject it, your life will be short.”

Gram held the cheap sword he had taken from the ambushers before him in both hands, the point directed at the sky. “My name is Gram Thornbear and I swear to you, on my family’s honor, that you will not leave this place with her. I will see you dead this day.”

“Even if you could do such a thing, the wizard-child would die,” said T’lar. “Is that what you want?”

Gram’s eyes narrowed, his gaze burning into Jasmine. “Better that than for her to be taken as your slave.” Grace gasped at his pronouncement.

“Very well. Jasmine, kill him.”

The woman that Gram loved raised her head and looked at him with dead eyes, with a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other she ran at him.

He met her without flinching; drawing his smaller feast knife to use in his off-hand, the two of them began to fence. Grace had dropped from his shoulder and stood close by. She was hoping for a chance to reach Irene without being noticed but there were too many eyes. She was forced to wait.

The calm Gram had felt before grew deeper as he slipped into the void, the empty place where his body fought without hindrances or compassion. He faced Jasmine on equal footing now, with similar weapons and no obstacles. She was fast but he was far stronger and his reach was greater, his blows drove her guard out of line with each attack and she was forced to retreat before him.

They fought in a blur of steel, their swords reacting to cues too subtle for the conscious mind to even see, but as their battle progressed they both felt the inevitable outcome. Gram was winning, and soon his sword would have her blood.

She backed and circled, and then her foot lashed out, not in the hope of reaching him, but rather to send a spray of dirt and sand toward his face. Gram had anticipated her, though, and his eyes closed before her foot had even left the ground. He fought blind, his pace never faltering, and when his eyes opened again he saw the fear in her face.

No, not fear, it’s something else.
The thoughts passed through the emptiness of his mind, but his body had not time to listen. Jasmine feinted to his right but he moved left and his sword was there before her, beating down on her main hand while his left, still holding the knife, struck her in the chin, rocking her head and sending her flying back with brutal force. If he had used the blade she would have died.

She was stretched out, unconscious.

“I really wish you had accepted my offer,” said T’lar. “You would have been a wonderful successor.” Moving forward the man drew his sword, but left his other hand empty. He engaged Gram without giving the younger man a moment to pause.

Gram still held an advantage in reach, but T’lar’s wide body held incredible strength. He matched Gram blow for blow and gradually he forced his younger opponent back. Using only the sword he intercepted every attack with a grace that seemed almost supernatural. T’lar’s breathing was even and his body relaxed as he forced Gram to retreat in a small circle.

The bald man’s free hand darted forward, slapping Gram in the chest in a move that surprised him. T’lar smiled, “I could have killed you just now, boy.”

Gram struck back but his sword found only air and then he was off-balance. T’lar’s sword struck him in the face, but it was the flat of the blade that hit. Bruised and dazed Gram fell backward. From the corner of his eye he saw Grace sidling closer to where Irene was tied to the donkey.

Gram rolled as he hit the ground, attempting to gain some space to recover, but T’lar was on him again. Gram’s sword went flying as T’lar disarmed him. Gram’s knife hand almost found a home in T’lar’s belly but the bald man caught it and twisted his arm around and back. Seconds later Gram was in a tight grapple, with one arm locked painfully behind him.

T’lar applied firm pressure, until Gram felt sure his arm would break and he cried out in pain. Then he saw Jasmine had risen from the ground, dagger in hand.

“Come here, girl,” said T’lar. “Kill this fool.” He pulled back on Gram’s head, forcing his chest outward to expose his unguarded stomach. “Stick that knife in him and all will be forgiven.”

Jasmine stared into Gram’s eyes, and he saw something there. Not fear, as he had thought before, but love, and resignation. Knowing T’lar couldn’t see his face he mouthed his last words silently to her.
I trust you.