Thornbear (Book 1) (7 page)

She began.

Gram stiffened despite himself, and then several sharp pains forced a raspy cry from his lips.

Moira looked at him in chagrin, she had forgotten to do something about the pain. “I’m sorry! Wait I can make that part better.”

Like her brother, she was having trouble remembering which nerve controlled sensation in the arm.
But if I do all of them it will probably cover it.
She located the nerves in the shoulder and followed them back mentally, until they reached the spine.
There.

Gram collapsed. He could control his neck and everything above, but his arms, legs, everything else—it was gone. “What have you done to me?” he cried in alarm.

Moira responded with a few words that were definitely not lady-like.
Crap, I didn’t mean to block that much.
After a moment she attempted to reassure him, “I blocked more than I meant to, but that’s alright. You can still breathe, otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to say anything, and your heart is still beating, so I think you’ll be fine.”

“Fine?! What if you stop my heart next?!” The loss of mobility had robbed Gram of his composure, and he began to panic, twisting his head forcefully back and forth as he attempted to reassert control over his body.

“You’ll need to be still,” said Moira, trying to soothe him with the same soft tones she had often heard her mother use with Irene when she was little.

Her voice had the opposite effect though, making Gram even more fearful. “Undo it! Let me go, Moira!” His voice was loud, as if he might be ready to start yelling for help.

Unsure what else to do, she placed her hand over his mouth, pushing his head back down.
“Shibal,”
she said, exerting her will and attempting to put him to sleep. However, his necklace, the same type that everyone in Castle Cameron wore, prevented her magic from affecting his mind directly.

Gram’s teeth bit down painfully on the meat of her hand, and she jerked it back before slapping him reflexively. “Stop that!” she exclaimed before immediately changing course. “Oh, I’m sorry, Gram. I didn’t mean to do that!”

“Just let me have my body back!”

“Sorry, I can’t do that. Just relax, I’ll fix this.” Unclasping the chain around his neck, she repeated her spell,
“Shibal.”

Fighting to move, Gram felt her power smothering his consciousness, his eyes closed even as he struggled, and darkness overcame him.

Chapter 6

Gram waited outside the great hall after the noon meal was finished. He had eaten at one of the low tables, hoping to avoid his mother. She had spotted him, of that he had no doubt, though she gave no sign of it as she nibbled on her food at the high table. She didn’t call out to him or otherwise attempt to force him to his customary seat. No, that would have created a commotion, something she would never do. She would wait, like a spider, biding its time. He would have to face her eventually, and she knew it.

The thought sent a cold trickle of sweat down the back of his neck. He loved his mother. In the main, she was warm and kind, incredibly sweet and intuitive, despite her fierce intelligence. But when she faced an enemy, she was implacable, cold, and calculating. Gram had seen it before, mostly in her political dealings, but now he felt an echo of the fear those opponents must have experienced.

He had never spoken to her that way before, never rebelled so openly. She had had little occasion to punish him in the past, not since he was a small child, and that had been different. Now he was nearly a man, and he feared that he had broken something with her that could not be repaired.

Cyhan walked through the doorway and passed him without even a glance. He turned in the hall and headed for the entry hall that would lead him outside. Gram followed without a word.

Once outside, they headed for the main gate, which led into the walled town of Washbrook. Gram moved up to walk beside the older warrior once they had left the castle environs. Cyhan didn’t say anything until they had walked a hundred yards or more, but then he turned and stopped.

“Let me see it,” he said without preamble.

Gram drew back his sleeve to display his forearm. The swelling had eased considerably, and the color had improved dramatically. The blacks and purples were mostly gone, replaced by yellow and faint brown patches. A small, faint, silver line marked the inside of the arm where, for some reason, Moira had opened the skin and then resealed it.

It ached when he clenched his fist, but the pain was much less pronounced than it had been that morning. Then, it had throbbed and burned constantly, whether he moved it or not, while now he almost didn’t feel it when it was at rest.

“Looks a lot better,” noted Cyhan. “The Count?”

“Moira,” answered Gram. Giving her name reminded him of his confusion and worry when he had first awakened after her treatment. He still wasn’t happy about her bedside manner, but he couldn’t fault her results. He hoped he never had to ask her for healing again, though. The paralysis had been a terrifying experience.

The knight grunted, then spoke, “Not bad—the girl has come a long way. She did a much better job than her brother, at least.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” argued Gram, suddenly angry. He didn’t like it when people made judgments about his closest friend.

“He’s the one who gave you the bond though, isn’t he?” countered Cyhan.

“I don’t have a bond,” said Gram.

“You’re handling it better today, but you still show the signs,” said the veteran knight.

Gram shook his head, “No, really, he was only testing me, and Moira thinks I just got overloaded with magic… or something.” He knew she had said ‘aythar’, but he wasn’t sure if that was a term for energy, or magic, or both, so he stuck with ‘magic’.

Cyhan gave him a look that seemed to pierce straight through him. In some ways it reminded him of his mother’s gaze, for he could tell the warrior knew much more about him than would ordinarily be assumed from just a short glance, yet it felt different. His mother’s eyes dissected the world, and though he knew she loved him, there was always something disconcerting about the knowledge she gleaned. Cyhan’s eyes held something different; a quiet stillness, and a deep knowledge that coexisted with an overwhelming sense of confident masculinity.

Just a look, and Gram knew that the other man understood him, not because of any clever deductions, but rather because the old warrior knew men, he knew soldiers, and he had trained countless young men to be warriors. Cyhan had been a boy on the cusp of manhood once, and even more important, he had been much like Gram.

“I don’t know much about magic,” said Cyhan, “but I can help you.”

“They said this was just temporary,” explained Gram. “It probably won’t last more than a day or two.”

The big man gave an almost inaudible grunt.

“So, it would probably be a waste of your time,” continued the teen.

Cyhan raised one eyebrow, silently challenging Gram’s statement.

He knew then—Cyhan was offering something far greater than just a bit of advice. The realization washed over him like a cool wave, calming his spirit. The frustration that had burned within him for so long bubbled up for a moment, threatening to overwhelm him and making his eyes water, and then it passed. “Are you offering to train me?” The question felt stupid for some reason, but he had to be sure.

“Yeah—I suppose I am,” said the older man, with no hint of a smile.

“What about my mother?”

“I’m not offering to train her,” said Cyhan flatly.

“She’s made it clear to everyone that she doesn’t want me trained as a knight,” clarified Gram.

Cyhan chuffed, “I’ve sworn no oath to your mother.”

“What about the Count?”

“He’s given me leave to use my own judgment, and he’s never given any command where you’re concerned anyway. You should be more worried about what the training will be like,” said the older man.

Gram hesitated a second, but only to formulate his response, his resolve was already set, “Can we start now?”

Too young to know fear,
thought Cyhan. “Follow me. From now on, while you are training, you will only speak when I give you permission or in response to a direct question. You will call me ‘Zaihair’ or ‘Sir’. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” responded Gram immediately.

They walked a short distance, heading toward the outer wall of Washbrook. Gram assumed it was because Cyhan intended to lead him back to the woods outside the small town. After a time, he posed a question to his new teacher, “What does the term Zaihair mea…”

He never finished the question. Cyhan’s eyes flashed a warning that rendered him mute.

“I’m not your friend any longer, boy,” said the big man with a warning growl. “You speak only when I permit it, forget again and I’ll reinforce the message with pain.” He stopped there, watching the younger man.

Gram almost answered, instinctively feeling the need to say ‘yes sir’, but he held himself back, sensing the warning in Cyhan’s eyes.

The older man waited, and then smiled faintly, “Good. You aren’t stupid enough to mistake a pause for a question. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

They walked on until they had left the town far behind. They stopped short of the forest itself as Cyhan indicated a smooth grassy area in the clearing that served as a border between a farmer’s field and the start of the woods. “Sit,” he commanded.

Gram did so, and Cyhan began to circle him, stopping when he was behind the young man, just out of his peripheral vision.

Time passed and he said nothing. Gram began to itch. Sweat was slowly beading on his skin in the hot afternoon sun, and small flies were swarming about him. They weren’t biting flies, but they did land on him occasionally, walking about on his skin before taking off again. He swatted at them.

“Be still,” ordered the man standing behind him.

The words carried a warning, and Gram ceased his movements. The itching grew in intensity, made far more unbearable by the knowledge that he wasn’t supposed to move. Gritting his teeth, he held himself motionless.
This is a test,
he told himself.
I can handle this.

An hour passed, and then perhaps another. It was difficult to be sure, only the movement of the sun gave him any indication of how long he had been sitting there. His legs hurt and his butt had gone numb. Gram was regretting his choice of sitting positions already, but he kept himself still. He itched everywhere, and his eyes searched the grass before him desperately for anything that might allow him some distraction.

Even his hair began to bother him. Faint breezes would shift it at times; and while that was normally a pleasant experience, now it maddened him. The movement tickled his ears and neck, which he knew he must not scratch. Over time his itching seemed to move, being most intense in one area and then later moving to another, but it never disappeared or relented.

It was the longest afternoon of his short life, stretching out before and behind him like the road to eternity. He began to fear it would never end.
Time has stopped. It should be nightfall by now,
he thought.
Maybe he intends to keep me here even then.

And then he heard a voice, “Stand up. It’s time to go in.”

His body twitched, eager to do just that, but his mind hesitated.
Maybe I imagined it?
It took him a moment to decide the command had been real. He stood and almost fell when he tried to take to his feet. Pain, followed by tingling and numbness, engulfed his lower body. A low groan escaped his lips, but Cyhan ignored the sound.

His teacher watched him for a minute before beginning to walk. Gram stumbled along in his wake. As they passed through the gate into the castle yard, Cyhan spoke again, “Zaihair is a word from my home. The simplest translation would be ‘teacher’ or ‘master’, but the most precise, is ‘life-holder’.”

Gram made no reply.

“When we pass through the door, your training is over for the day and you may behave as you normally would, but you will not ask me about today. Tomorrow you will meet me again after the noon meal, and your training will begin again.”

Gram said nothing then, but once they had passed through the main door he finally spoke, “Thank you, sir.”

***

“Your arm looks better,” said Grace the next day. She was addressing him from a table in one of the side corridors that led away from the main hall. He had just finished breakfast.

“Thanks,” said Gram, pausing since it was obvious that she intended to come with him. He lifted her when she got closer. Just a year or two previously, he might have been too self-conscious to be seen in public with a stuffed animal, but he wasn’t worried about such things as much anymore.

She cast an appraising eye on the fading bruises. “She did a good job,” she noted with a certain pride.

“She did,” he agreed. Inwardly he winced whenever he remembered the paralysis she had inflicted on him before rendering him unconscious.

“She gave her brother a bad time about not having paid enough attention when the Count was teaching them the basics of healing, but I don’t think he paid her much heed,” commented the small bear. “He’s been very involved in some new project. He’s hardly been eating.” She watched the young man’s face as she spoke.

Gram was familiar with the technique, for his mother was a master of it. “Please don’t,” he told her.

“Don’t what?” she asked innocently.

“Feed me information just so you can watch me for clues. I may not be as clever as some, but it gets really old, especially when your mother is like mine,” he answered somewhat bitterly.

“Sorry,” said Grace honestly.

“I just wish people would say what they mean, nothing more and nothing less,” he continued. “Mother is probably the world’s greatest adept at the art of conversation. She truly enjoys it, but it just makes me tired.”

She waited a moment before replying, “You’re right. I didn’t consider your feelings.”

Gram felt bad for making such a fuss over it then, “I shouldn’t be so touchy.”