“Yes, I would, especially when he’ll start to stumble afterward, and spill the flour onto the ground—and maybe it’ll be your parents that go hungry out in the Heath. Did you think of that?” Dillue shrugged, with rather unfilial indifference. Clovermead slammed the door shut, found a key in the lock, turned it, and removed it. “Anyway, you can’t do it while I’m watching. Wait until I’m gone to Silverfalls with the townsmen. I don’t care what you do to Mother’s wine cellar after that!”
“Is that official, Demoiselle?” Dillue’s gray eyes gazed innocently at Clovermead. “Wine rations every day once you’re out of sight?”
“Sneak behind Mother’s back if you dare,” said Clovermead. She looked back at the cellar. Another soldier emerged with a half-filled bag of flour, and that was another room emptied out. Clovermead smiled. “Tell you what, Dillue, I’ll give you a rest. You and two of your friends can have a ride.” Clovermead turned into a bear. She grew until she half-filled the cellar hallway. The Yellowjackets backed away and gave Clovermead room. They were still a little afraid of her, even after all the years she’d spent at Chandlefort.
They’ll always be afraid of me, thought Clovermead sadly. She knelt, and growled to Dillue to get onto her back. He scrambled onto her shoulders, his bag of flour jouncing against him, and his sweat dripping onto Clovermead’s fur. Tousle-haired Hewt and old Chirm followed him up onto her back, each with their own full sack in their arms. Then Clovermead loped with easy strength, up from the Servants’ Floor, through the back courtyards of the Castle, and into the town.
I am glad my cold’s gone away! thought Clovermead as she raced through the town. I was weak as a kitten a few days ago—weak as a bear-cub? Anyway, I’ve got my strength back, and I’m glad.
All Chandlefort buzzed with frantic activity. Everywhere Yellowjackets pulled handcarts laden with casks of food and water from the Castle cellars toward the town gates, unloaded them, and returned with empty carts back to the Castle to begin the cycle again. Castle servants in regimental uniform and in Cindertallow livery stowed the contents of the carts within the vast caravan of wagons assembling before the portcullis. Townsmen ransacked their homes, selecting which of their possessions to bring on the trek to come. Farmers from the fields outside the walls brought a neighing, lowing stream of horses and oxen into the town, to stable near the town square. When the day of flight came, there would be two beasts ready to pull each wagon.
But it’s not as easy as that, thought Clovermead. A husband and wife argued furiously on their doorstep about whether or not to bring their iron kettle with them. Farther on, a young girl with tight-curled black hair wept as her mother pulled a rag doll from her hands and tossed it into the street. Thieves snatched valuables, ducked into alleys, and dodged rocks thrown after them by shrieking householders. Some men in the Servants’ Regiment tried to keep order on the streets, but there were far too few of them.
Townsmen stared resentfully at Clovermead as she padded past. “It’s her fault,” she heard a walleyed matron whisper vindictively to her paunchy husband. “Her and Milady. Why are they making us leave our homes?”
Would you rather stay here and starve to death? Clovermead thought angrily. She barely swallowed a grumbling roar. Fool. Do you want to be slaves to the Bear? Do you want to be sacrifices on his altars? An idling townsman with greased black hair spat, careful to just miss Clovermead, and the spittle settled on the dusty cobbles behind her. Now Clovermead did growl, sharp and loud, and she took a half step toward the idler. In a flash he fled from her into the warren of Chandlefort’s alleys. I have his scent, Clovermead thought dreamily. I could catch him. I could—She snapped her teeth.
“Never mind him, Demoiselle,” said Dillue. He and Hewt and Chirm stank of fear. “And don’t forget we’re up here! You go chasing that rabbit and we’ll fall off. Spill all this flour too, like as not.”
Stay calm, thought Clovermead, and she rumbled acquiescence to Dillue. Regretfully she turned back toward the gates.
When they arrived, the three Yellowjackets got off Clovermead’s back. “Thank you for the ride, Demoiselle,” said Dillue. Clovermead nodded, the soldiers saluted her, and they went to dump their bags of flour. Hurried away from the bear.
Your Demoiselle. Your Lady, someday. And I terrify you. Clovermead shook her head. Worry about that some other time, young lady. She turned human again, a little winded after carrying so much weight, and rubbed her knuckles along her mewling spine. Those sacks of flour were heavier than I thought! What now? Lady, there’s a hundred things to do, and I don’t remember which comes first. Let me see, I was supposed to check in on the barrel makers. Where is their street again?
The barrel makers were only a half day behind schedule, and Clovermead didn’t have to yell at them for more than five minutes. She raced from them to the armorers’ street, where five hundred misplaced corselets lay in the stables behind their forges, and then to the tannery men, to make sure they delivered enough cartloads of leather strips to the flask makers. A messenger came from Lady Cindertallow, with another list of things Clovermead needed to do at once. “I will rip this into a thousand pieces,” Clovermead told the messenger, but instead she sat down on the brick stoop of a tanner’s warehouse for a moment and caught her breath.
The little girl with curly black hair she had seen earlier that day came round the corner and sat down on a stoop across the way. She had rescued her rag doll. She squeezed the doll fiercely in her arms and rocked back and forth. “I won’t give you up,” she said. “I don’t care what they say. You’re coming with me.”
Another figure followed her around the corner. It was Saraband. Today she wore an amethyst gown lined with silver threads. She looked up and down the street, saw the little girl, and walked up to her. “Hello,” said Saraband, and she sat down on the stoop. The little girl stared, wide-eyed, at her. “What pretty hair you have. I saw it bouncing in the breeze a few blocks back, and I came after you to take a closer look at it.” She smiled at the little girl and ran a finger along a shining black curl. The little girl smiled tremulously. “What’s your name?”
“Navet, Lady,” she whispered.
“Mine’s Saraband.” Her eyes glanced at Navet’s arms. “What’s your doll’s name?”
“Adyt,” said Navet. She squeezed the rag doll more tightly still. “She can’t be left behind. She’d get lonely without me.”
“She does look like she might,” said Saraband.
“Mother and Father say she can’t come along.” Navet sniffled. “If she can’t go, I won’t go either! I’ll stay here with the soldiers.”
“You could be useful,” said Saraband thoughtfully. “They will need someone to wash all their clothing.” Navet’s eyes widened in horror—then she giggled as she saw Saraband’s gentle, teasing smile. “It so happens that I have some extra space left in my trunks. I’d be glad to take Adyt with me. If you let her stay with me, you can come and visit her every night while we’re traveling to Silverfalls.”
“Really?” asked Navet. Saraband nodded. Navet suddenly smiled, and wiped away her tears. “Come with me! You need to tell Mother and Father.” She dashed to the corner, turned, and beckoned Saraband impatiently.
“Saraband!” Clovermead called out. She stood up from the stoop.
Her cousin jumped a little. “You’re inconspicuous. What are you doing here?”
“Resting. Eavesdropping. Just so you know, I’ve got some space in my trunks too, if anybody else has a doll who needs room.”
“There are hundreds,” said Saraband. She smiled gratefully at Clovermead. “What a lovely offer! Thank you so much. I’ll bring them to you before we leave.” Navet was jumping from foot to foot. “I think I’m wanted,” said Saraband. “Until later.” She tripped down the street, and then Navet pulled her around the corner and out of sight.
“I think I should have been more cautious about how I worded that offer,” said Clovermead. She stretched, groaned, and looked at her list. “T
his can wait. I think it’s time the Demoiselle showed some initiative. Let’s make sure the townsmen are safe as they make their way to Silverfalls!”
Clovermead strode to the town gates in the gray light of the waning afternoon, slipped through them, and jogged out to the farmland beyond. When she reached the nearest woods, she turned into a bear once more. She ran through shady orchards, avoiding the lacework of canals and open fields.
Now, if I were a bear, where would I be? Clovermead asked herself. She took a deep sniff of the twilit air. There was a scent of fur and musk on a high ridge of ground given over to apple trees. She wandered between branches just beginning to leaf. The scent grew stronger, and she came to a little dip in the ridge, where a black bear a little smaller than Clovermead drank from a pool of standing water.
The bear lifted her head and sniffed at Clovermead’s scent. Changeling, she said coolly. I remember your scent from when we chased Mallow Kite’s bear-priests.
Clovermead sniffed in return. Your scent is familiar too, but I’m afraid I don’t know your name.
Sundrink, said the bear. Brookwade is my brother.
Of course! I see the resemblance now. You smell a bit like him too. Clovermead padded closer to Sundrink. Do you know where he is?
Sundrink inclined her head to the west. He’s in the Reliquaries. Near Kite Hall.
Would you be willing to take a message to him?
Halfway across Linstock? Sundrink stared icily at Clovermead. You are presumptuous, changeling.
I freed two hundred bears from Ursus’ blood-net, said Clovermead, a little angrily. I think I have a right to ask a favor. You can say no.
Sundrink stared at Clovermead for a long moment—and then dropped her head. I was one of them, she muttered. She took another drink of water, and looked up again. What is the message?
Brookwade once said I could call on him if ever I needed help, said Clovermead. Now I do. Ursus’ army is coming north at last, and I’m taking the townsmen of Chandlefort across the Heath to Silverfalls. Can he summon up the free bears of Linstock to guard us as we cross?
He can, said Sundrink. I imagine he will, if you ask it of him. She growled. You ask us to spend our lives in battle. To help humans.
There aren’t enough of us to face Ursus’ bear-priests by ourselves, said Clovermead. We need your help. We may not survive without it.
You say that as though that were a bad thing, said Sundrink. She chuckled. I wouldn’t mind a world with fewer humans in it.
We’re both fighting against Lord Ursus, said Clovermead.
That does not make us friends. The two-legs would kill me if they found me in their fields. There are bear-traps in these orchards. Sundrink growled and took another sip from the pool. She looked up at Clovermead, and her eyes gleamed. You mentioned bear-priests. How many are coming north?
Thousands, said Clovermead.
When Ursus had me shackled in his blood-net, one of them rode me as a steed for half a year. Sundrink growled again, and this time Clovermead shivered. I would be glad to kill more of them. She took a final drink of water and rose from the pool. I’ll be your messenger, changeling. It will take some days to find Brookwade, and it will take more days for the bears of the Reliquaries to gather together. But we will come to guard your fragile two-legs.
Thank you, said Clovermead. I’m grateful.
Keep your gratitude, changeling, said Sundrink. All I want is bear-priest blood. She nodded to Clovermead. Then she loped off westward, toward the Reliquaries.
How did Brookwade get a terror like you for his sister? thought Clovermead. He’s so playful and kind, and you . . . I thought you were going to tear out my throat, just for fun. She shivered again. At least you were willing to help.
Clovermead trotted up from the pool to the apple tree at the summit of the hill. She looked southward, past the green buds on the branches, toward the darkening desert. The wind was from the south, and she flared her nostrils wide, to catch the scent of bear-priests. There was only the clean smell of sand. She looked westward, toward Silverfalls and the Reliquaries. Sorrel should be a third of the way there by now, she thought. Clovermead sniffed for his scent too, but from the west there was only the stench of dirt, leaves, and old apples. She turned north, back toward the massive walls of Chandlefort. They looked eggshell-thin in the evening dusk.
The days slipped by in frantic bustle. Sometimes Clovermead dreamed about Sorrel, dreamed about Lacebark, but she was so busy during her waking hours that she barely had time to spare a thought for either of them. Then a week had passed, it was evening, and the townsmen were going to leave the next morning. Clovermead had nothing more to do, and she curled up in a chair in her mother’s study after dinner, while Lady Cindertallow read through a last few reports. Clovermead watched her mother fiddle with her glasses and write notes in the margins of her papers with her ink-dipped quill. It grew cooler, and Clovermead went to the hearth to light the fire. A flame rose up, and Clovermead settled down on the stones in front of the burning logs.
“That feels nice,” said Lady Cindertallow. She put the last piece of paper down on the desk and stretched out her hands toward the crackling flames. “My arm has ached in the cold ever since Mallow Kite wounded me. Not that I was ever fond of winter here in Chandlefort—the winds whip down from the Chaffen Hills and freeze you to the bone. I’ve always preferred winter in the Lakelands. There’s just as much snow there, but somehow the cold doesn’t bite as badly. Probably because I’m always busy hunting there, and warm from the exercise.” She smiled in fond memory. “I’ll join you in a few minutes. I have to finish this off.”
Quill scratched on paper, her mother’s tongue clucked disapprovingly, and then Lady Cindertallow came to sit by Clovermead. “I’m done. We’ll have the rest of the evening to ourselves.” She snapped her fingers. “No, wait a minute. I meant to tell you—I had word from the Yellowjacket patrol on the Silverfalls Road. They saw a lone bear-priest galloping through the Heath. He turned south when he realized he was spotted, and the soldiers couldn’t catch up with him. One trooper said the bear-priest was bald.”
“Snuff?” asked Clovermead.
“I’m sure there’s more than one bald bear-priest in Ursus’ service,” said Lady Cindertallow. “But the thought did cross my mind. Whatever thing of prophecy he’s looking for may well be nearby. Tread warily, Clovermead.” Clovermead nodded. Her mother looked at her, and smiled. “Enough of such worries. Have I told you that you’re a lovely young woman?”
Clovermead snorted. “Twice a week for the last year, and I’m never going to believe it when it comes from my mother.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard it from other people. Sorrel, for example.”
And Lacebark, thought Clovermead. Her cheeks turned pink.
“No need to blush,” said Lady Cindertallow. “I won’t grill you about the Tansyard’s sweet nothings. I like him, you know. I have ever since he first came to Chandlefort. That was ten years ago! Time flies.” She reached out her hand to Clovermead’s, and squeezed it gently. “Let’s see . . . you’re not only a lovely young woman but also a fine young woman. I’m very proud of you, Clovermead. You’re what I always wanted in a daughter.”
“Even when I lose my temper? Even when I do something foolish?”
“Even then. I grant you, you can vex me, but that doesn’t matter so much. You’re not a bully and you’re not mean-spirited. No complaints, Clovermead.”
“Nor I, Mother,” said Clovermead. “I’ve been awfully happy with you these last six years.” She glanced at Lady Cindertallow. “When are you going to run out of nice things to say about me?”
“Never!” Her mother laughed. “Although I can criticize your posture, if you like, or mention that smudge of dirt on your left cheek.” Clovermead hastily brushed it away. “And I’ll bet you haven’t packed yet.”
“I haven’t had time. It won’t take long—a few changes of clothes, some books, and I should check with Saraband. She’ll
probably have a chest of dolls for me to take—that’s a long story. I’ll carry Ambrosius’ sword and I’ll ride Auroche. There isn’t much I need to take with me.”
“I would have to carry all Chandlefort with me,” said Lady Cindertallow. “I love it so. I adore my poor, fragile land, stuck in the heart of a desert. I love the cobble streets of the town, the canals in the green fields, the statues on top of the Castle. I could not bear to leave a single inch of it behind me.”
“It’s you I don’t want to leave behind,” Clovermead said in a low voice. She swallowed hard. “I’ve been trying as hard as I can to come up with a brilliant plan that involves you coming to Silverfalls with me.”
“Any luck?”
“No.” Clovermead couldn’t look at her mother. She stared at the flames. “What you said makes sense. You have to stay here, and I have to go. But—dear Lady, I feel like I’ve swallowed broken glass. I’m supposed to have you for another fifty years. I don’t want to give you up now.”
Lady Cindertallow sighed, and brought her palms closer to the fire. “What can I tell you, Clovermead? We suffer in this world. Evil stalks us, accidents afflict us, and we part from the ones we love. There’s joy in this world too, and love like flame that makes the rest worthwhile. But it isn’t an easy life. It never has been and it never will be.”
“If you’re trying to cheer me up, it isn’t working.”
Lady Cindertallow laughed. “Cheer is not precisely what I was aiming at. I suppose a lecture on the virtues of steadfastness can never be very jolly.” She put her palms on the back of Clovermead’s hand. Fire-hot, they warmed Clovermead’s flesh. “My parents died when I was just fifteen. Did I ever tell you how I heard the news?”
In the Shadow of the Bear Page 78
