Stormrider Stormrider

by David Gemmell

  “I am frightened of mice,” said Feargol, holding hard to Kaelin’s shirt and pushing his head against the man’s chest.

  “Then we are alike,” Kaelin told him. “Once I was frightened of mice, and now I fight bears.”

  “He will come back. I know he will.”

  Kaelin sat quietly for a moment. The boy was already terrified, and it was tempting to offer a small lie that would relax him for a while. He dismissed the idea. “Yes, Feargol, he will be coming back. He’s not hungry anymore. He just wants us dead. So I will have to kill him. But we will get to Ironlatch. I promise you.”

  “Can you kill him?” asked the child. “My daddy couldn’t.”

  “He took your daddy by surprise. Finbarr was a brave man, and your mother was a fine woman. But I will be ready for the beast, Feargol—and you will help me.”

  “I can’t fight bears, Kaelin. I can’t!” Tears welled in the boy’s eyes.

  “You won’t need to fight him, my friend. You will help me prepare. I want you to go to the kitchen and find any long knives. Then you can fetch your daddy’s staff. We are going to make a spear. Off you go.” Kaelin gently eased the child from his embrace and stood. Feargol waited for a moment, then ran into the kitchen. Kaelin gathered up his musket and returned to the opening. A spear was unlikely to be more useful than his own weapons, but this would keep the child occupied.

  The air was bitterly cold, and it was snowing heavily. He knew the two of them would have to struggle to stay alive on the outside. If they set out soon after dawn, they could reach the cliff cave by dusk. Kaelin had used it often and had left a good supply of dry wood there. It would be a hard, strength-sapping walk. Yet what were the choices? When Hang-lip returned, Kaelin would shoot him. Would the shots reach his heart? Perhaps. And “perhaps” was not good enough when he had a child to save. Picturing the long walk to the cliff cave, he realized it was almost totally over open ground. If the bear came after them, as he feared it would, there would be nowhere to hide. The lack of options made him angry. To stay would be to invite disaster and death. To go would remove them from the only defensible position and put them at risk from the awful cold.

  Added to which there was the problem of clothing. Dressing to keep warm would involve many layers of wool, and that would restrict their speed of movement. His snowshoes would help over steep drifts, but he would have to carry the boy as well as the pack and the musket and, perhaps, the spear. Kaelin swore softly.

  Looking out into the night, he almost wished the bear would return now. Then he could take his shot and see if he could bring it down.

  Feargol came back into the main room, carrying three long knives. “Will these do?” he asked.

  One was too thin, but the other two were good, strong blades. “Aye, one of these will be fine,” he told the boy, rubbing his hair. “Now fetch the staff.” Finbarr’s staff was just under six feet long and fashioned from oak. Finding the dead man’s tools, Kaelin took a small hacksaw and cut a channel four inches deep in the staff’s tip. Then, with a hammer, he smashed the horn handle of the knife, releasing the blade. This he inserted into the channel. Feargol watched him as he bound the new spear with twine. Once it was fully tied, Kaelin tested the weapon. The blade was still a little loose. Cutting free the twine, he retied it more tightly. Satisfied at last, he laid the spear on the floor.

  The cold was becoming more intense, and Kaelin told Feargol to add more fuel to the fire. The boy obeyed instantly. As soon as he had done it, he ran back to sit close to Kaelin.

  “It’s cold over here,” said the man.

  “I’m all right,” answered Feargol.

  “What is your soul-name?”

  “Moon Lantern.”

  “That’s a good name. Mine is Ravenheart.”

  “Why did your daddy call you that?”

  “On the night I was born, so my uncle Jaim told me, there was a mighty stag at bay. Several wolves had cornered it. Just as they were attacking the stag, my father’s hound, Raven, came bursting out of the trees. He tore into the wolves, and they ran away. He was a fine dog, Jaim said.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He and my father died that night. Both had been shot in an ambush. Raven was dying even as he saved the stag.”

  “I never knew Jaim. My daddy speaks of him. He says he was tall as a house and the bravest Rigante ever.”

  “He was tall but only a few inches taller than me.” Kaelin chuckled. “He did seem big, though. I miss him.”

  “I miss my daddy,” said Feargol, blinking back tears.

  Kaelin put his arm around him. “Aye, it is hard when those we love leave the world. No denying it.”

  Outside the sky was lightening. Dawn was not far off. Kaelin took a deep breath. “Go and find your warmest clothes, Feargol. We’ll be leaving soon.”

  “What about the bear?”

  “We are in his territory. If we leave it, maybe—just maybe—he will not follow.”

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “Neither do I, my friend. But it will be safer.” All the while he was talking Kaelin kept watch on the tree line, his musket in his hand. There was no predicting the actions of the bear. Indeed, it was rare to see a grizzly out in such weather. Under normal circumstances it would have been hibernating.

  As the dawn approached, Kaelin pulled on his heavy topcoat and climbed out of the shattered doorway. The world outside was white and alien and unnaturally silent. Cocking the musket, he moved out into the open and scanned the trees. The tracks of the bear headed off toward the north. Kaelin edged around the hut. By the wood store was a sled, neatly made with polished runners. It was around five feet long. He had seen Basson and Feargol playing on it the previous winter. Sadness touched him, and he glanced at the tree to which Basson’s dead body still clung.

  Returning to the cabin, Kaelin helped Feargol dress, placing a wool-lined hooded coat over his clothes and finding him two sets of mittens. Outside once more, he pulled the sled clear of the wood store, placing his pack inside it. The rope handles were frozen, but he brushed the ice clear and dragged the sled out onto open ground. It slid easily. Returning to the cabin, he fetched the spear and Finbarr’s pistol and musket. Those he also placed in the sled. The spear jutted out over the rear. Finding his snowshoes, he strapped them on, and called Feargol out. The little boy peeked out, then ran to stand alongside Kaelin.

  “We are going to take the sled,” he told him.

  Feargol was not listening. He was staring horrified at his brother in the tree. “Basson!” he called out.

  “Shhh!” said Kaelin, dropping down to kneel alongside the child. “We must make no noise.”

  “He won’t come down!” wailed Feargol.

  “Listen to me, little friend. Listen to me. Basson is dead. He can’t be hurt anymore. We must get you home. Then I’ll come back and look after Basson.” Feargol began to cry. Kaelin drew him in close and kissed his cheek. “Be brave for a little while longer. Now climb in the sled.”

  “Basson says he’s frightened of the bear,” said Feargol. “Tell him to come down.”

  “He is safe where he is, Feargol. The bear cannot get him. I’ll come back for him when I have you safe at Ironlatch. I promise. Get into the sled.”

  The boy slid in alongside the musket. “Hold on to the spear,” said Kaelin. “Don’t let it fall out.” Holding his musket over his shoulder, Kaelin took hold of the rope with his left hand and began to drag the sled toward the long downward slope, glancing back constantly to see if the beast had returned. After a quarter of an hour they reached the crest, and Kaelin stopped. Ahead was a steep dip of around half a mile, ending in the frozen river. Removing his snowshoes, Kaelin wedged them into the sled. He glanced back.

  The bear was at the cabin. Around his head and his sagging lip the fur had burned away, giving him a demonic look. He reared up on his hind legs and then saw the distant man and boy. With a savage roar he dropped to all fours and began to run at them.


  Kaelin pushed the sled forward on to the slope. The snow was thick, and the sled did not begin to slide. Grunting with the effort, he pushed harder. Kaelin did not dare look back. The sled began to move. Leaping onto it, he grabbed for the ropes. As he did so, he lost hold of his musket, which fell to the snow. The sled slowed and then picked up speed.

  Kaelin risked a glance back. The bear was closing fast, sending up great sprays of snow as it bounded toward them. The ground dipped more sharply, and the sled gathered speed.

  Then it was away, skidding and slithering toward the river below. Twice it hit hidden rocks and almost toppled. Kaelin wrestled with the rope guides, desperately trying to keep the sled upright. Halfway down there was another dip and a rise. The sled left the ground. The spear fell. Feargol grabbed the haft, holding on tight. “Good boy!” shouted Kaelin.

  They closed on the river at terrific speed. Kaelin realized the sled would strike the ice with great force. If the surface gave way, they would be plunged into the water and swept below the ice. He tried to turn the sled and slow it, but to no avail. It hit the riverbank, sending up a huge spray of snow. Finbarr’s musket and pistol flew out. Feargol was hurled back into Kaelin, who grabbed him. This time the spear also fell clear. The sled rose into the air, landed on the ice, and spun wildly. Kaelin and the boy were thrown out. Kaelin held tightly to Feargol and managed to turn himself so that he struck the ice on his back, shielding the child from the impact. They slid across the frozen river, slamming into the far bank. For a moment Kaelin lay still, his head spinning. Then he pushed Feargol to the bank and rolled to his knees. Far above on the slope he could see the bear. It was padding along the ridge and making no attempt to follow them down.

  Kaelin stood. His legs were trembling. “Are you all right?” he asked Feargol.

  “That was really fast,” said the boy.

  “Yes, it was.”

  Kaelin stumbled out onto the ice. The sled was lying on its side. He righted it and saw that it was relatively undamaged. His pack was lying close by, as were the spear and the musket. Finbarr’s pistol was nowhere in sight. Replacing pack, spear, and musket, he dragged the sled to the bank.

  “The bear isn’t following us,” Feargol said happily.

  “It looks that way,” agreed Kaelin.

  It took some time to find a way out of the riverbed, but eventually the man and the boy hauled the sled up onto more solid ground. It was there that Kaelin discovered that his snowshoes had also been lost. His temper snapped, and he swore loudly.

  “Those were bad words,” said Feargol.

  Kaelin took a deep breath. “Yes, they were.” He grinned at the child. “Not a word to Chara about them.”

  “She’ll send you to bed without supper,” said Feargol.

  “Aye, and more than that,” said Kaelin.

  The journey to the cliff cave took more than six hours. Feargol was cold and trembling as they reached the cliff and could not make the climb to the cave entrance. Kaelin swung the boy to his back. “Hold on tight,” he said. Then, removing his gloves, he reached up for the first hold. The cliff face was ice-covered, but the holds were deep and the climb easy. The cave entrance was only some ten feet above the ground, and Kaelin made it in moments, carrying the child inside and lowering him to the floor. There was wood stacked by the far wall. Kaelin prepared a fire and, once it was started, sat Feargol beside it. Then he returned to the sled, removing the pack, musket, and spear. The spear he threw haft first into the cave. The pack and musket he carried up. Feargol was lying beside the fire asleep. Kaelin shook him awake. “Not yet, boy,” he said. “First we must get you warm. Otherwise you’ll die.” Removing the boy’s topcoat and hat, he rubbed at his arms and legs. The fire grew brighter and warmer. Feargol began to tremble and shiver. His lips were blue. His eyes closed. “Stay awake!” roared Kaelin.

  “S-s-sorry,” said the boy.

  “I’m not angry,” Kaelin told him. “You can sleep in a little while. First we let the fire warm our bodies. Then we eat a little. All right?”

  “Yes, Uncle Kaelin.”

  “You are a tough boy. You’ll be fine.”

  “Who left the wood here?”

  “I did. A man should always be prepared. There are lots of places around these highlands where I have left fuel or supplies. My uncle Jaim taught me that.”

  Feargol’s color was better now, and Kaelin relaxed a little. Fetching his pack, he took more of the dried meat and cheese and shared it with the child. The cave was warmer now. Some sixteen feet deep and fourteen feet wide, it had once been considerably larger, but on the western side a rock fall had collapsed part of the roof. One wall was now merely a wedged mass of broken stones, and several boulders had tumbled into the cave.

  Kaelin glanced at the wood store. He had spent the best part of a day the previous autumn bringing wood to the cave and stacking it by the east wall. There was enough now to last through the night and the next day if necessary.

  It would still be a tough journey home, but if they traveled with care, they would make it. Feargol lay down on the floor. Kaelin folded the empty pack and made a pillow for the child.

  “I’ve never been that fast in the sled,” Feargol said sleepily. “Daddy never let us go down the long slope.”

  “A wise man, your daddy,” said Kaelin, ruffling the boy’s red hair. “Sleep now. It will be a tiring day tomorrow.”

  Feargol closed his eyes. Kaelin covered him with his own topcoat, then sat by the fire. He dozed for a while and dreamed of Finbarr Ustal. When Kaelin first had arrived at Ironlatch Farm, Finbarr had been hostile. They had since become friends, and Kaelin had come to respect the highlander. To be honest, he had never liked his wife. Strong though she was, she had a harsh tongue and was mean-spirited. Kaelin had never understood how Finbarr could have loved her. He noted that even the child had talked about his daddy but not his mother. Still, mean-spirited or not, no one deserved a death like that.

  He woke several times during the night and kept the fire going. It was good, dry wood, and there was little smoke. Even so his eyes felt gritty. In the firelight he gazed at the sleeping boy. He had his thumb in his mouth. Kaelin smiled. He would forever be Uncle Kaelin now. The thought was a sobering one. He wondered if this was how Jaim had felt about him when he was an orphan child.

  “Ah, Jaim, but I do miss you,” he said aloud.

  Then came a crunching sound, followed by a roar. Kaelin rolled to his feet and ran to the cave entrance. Ten feet below the bear was tearing at the sled, his teeth crunching down on the wood. Rearing up, he flung the ruined pieces to the snow. Kaelin drew both pistols from his belt, cocked them, and called out: “Eat this, you scum-sucking bastard!” He shot the right-hand pistol first, aiming at the bear’s throat. The ball tore into the beast’s shoulder. Hang-lip let out a fearsome roar, dropped to all fours, and ran for the trees. Kaelin sent a second shot into him.

  Little Feargol was sitting up, eyes wide and fearful. Kaelin moved back to the fire and sat down. He cleaned his pistols before reloading them. Feargol was looking at him, but Kaelin could think of nothing to say.

  “Did he break Basson’s sled?” asked Feargol.

  “Aye. With a vengeance. I put two shots into him, though. Bet he’s not happy now.”

  “What are we going to do, Uncle Kaelin?”

  “Tomorrow I’ll sit in the cave mouth, lure him out, and keep shooting him until he is dead.”

  “He wants to kill me,” said Feargol.

  “Not just you, my friend. He just wants to feed.”

  “No, he wants to kill me. He told me. I told Daddy. Daddy didn’t believe me, either. Can you see his face, Uncle Kaelin?”

  “Whose face?”

  “The bear’s.”

  “Yes. Hang-lip. It was torn in a fight when he was young.”

  “No. His other face,” said the boy. “The one with scales like a snake. The one with red eyes.”

  “No,” Kaelin said carefully. “I can�
��t see that face.”

  “Not even with your magic eye?”

  “I think you’ve had a bad dream, Feargol. Do you trust me?”

  “Yes, Uncle Kaelin.”

  “Then trust that I will kill the beast. If necessary, I’ll put shots into both its damned faces.”

  The Wyrd of Wishing Tree woods watched as the three clansmen climbed the tree to retrieve the frozen body of Basson Ustal. She felt sick at heart. Of all the sad sights her eyes had witnessed during her long life she knew that this was the one that would stay with her to her dying day. A dead child in a thin nightshirt, clinging to a tree branch. Even in death his face was contorted with terror. She glanced back at the cabin. The boy had seen the bodies of his parents dragged out, and then the bear had come for him, clawing furiously at the trunk of the tree.

  The white-haired woman shivered, though not from the cold. The iron afterglow of evil hung in the air.

  The figure of Rayster emerged from the tree line. Seeing the tall, fair-haired clansman lifted her heart momentarily. Moving past the Wyrd, he walked to the tree and helped as Basson’s body was lowered to the ground. Rayster’s pale blue eyes met the Wyrd’s green gaze. “There’s not much of them left to bury back there,” he said. “I’ve gathered what I could upon a canvas sheet. We’ll need to light fires to soften the earth before digging. You are sure the bear is gone?”

  “Aye, clansman, the bear is gone. He hunts other prey now.”

  “I cannot find a trace of the youngest,” said Rayster.

  “He is alive,” said the Wyrd. “And with Kaelin Ring.”

  “Ah, but that is good news,” Rayster said with a broad smile.

  “Aye. It was fortunate that Ravenheart chose this day to visit. Set the grave fires, Rayster, for the light is failing and I have much to do.”

  She walked away from him then and entered the ruined hut. The clansmen had relit the fire, and removing her wool-lined hooded cloak, she sat before the flickering flames. Closing her eyes, she thought of Kaelin Ring. “Be true to your blood, Ravenheart,” she whispered. “The bear is coming for you.”