In the Shadow of the Bear

by David Randall

  “Lucifer Snuff,” said Clovermead. “I think he took something from the Abbess. A necklace.” She swallowed again. “Water, please.” Saraband nodded, walked out of sight, and returned with a cup. Very gently she put her arm underneath Clovermead’s head and body, and tilted her up. Clovermead felt a wave of nausea, but she gritted her teeth and clung to consciousness. She took a drink of water, and she felt much better. She took another, and then Saraband took the cup from her lips. “Thank you. You can let me down.” Saraband supported her while she lay back on her pillow. She felt nauseous again, but it wasn’t so bad. “How’s your mother?”

  “Much better than you,” said Saraband. “She was awake a little after midnight, and she’s been giving orders ever since.” She paused a moment. “Was she really coming to speak to me last night? She told me so, but—” Saraband shrugged uncertainly.

  “Yes, she was,” said Clovermead firmly. “We talked some after you left. She was going to your room when Snuff ambushed her.” Saraband exhaled, and a lurking tenseness in her fluttered away. “So she is talking to you?”

  “In a manner of speaking. First she demanded that I let her out of bed at once. I bawled her out and told her I’d knock her unconscious again if she didn’t stay on her back until morning. After that she sulked. She’s a good doctor, but a terrible patient.” Saraband shook her head bemusedly. “She was up at cockcrow, and she came straight over to look at you. The two of us spent the next hour bandaging your head, exchanging profound medical diagnoses such as ‘Looks ugly’ and ‘Just awful,’ and when we were done, she actually addressed an entire sentence to me. She said, ‘Daughter, bring me a cup of hot tea right now, or I’ll fall asleep where I stand!’ She’d hate to hear it, but she’s become rather like Milady. Orders come more naturally to her than gentle words.”

  “You’re saying she’s a bit rusty at being warm and maternal.”

  “Indeed. But she did call me ‘Daughter.’ That was lovely to hear.” Saraband smiled, and for a moment pure delight lit her face. “You were a wonderful icebreaker, Clovermead. We’d already patched you up before she quite remembered how many years we’d spent apart, and then it was too late—she’d already gotten into the habit of talking to me. Even if it was just to ask me to hold a needle.”

  “I’m glad that worked out,” said Clovermead. “If she ever goes silent on you again, just tell me. I’ll arrange to get another whack on the head.”

  Saraband laughed. “I’ll see if I can manage without any further help from you.”

  “All in all, I’d just as soon you did.” Clovermead groaned as her head throbbed. “Blast Snuff. How on earth did he get inside the Abbey?”

  “They found a nuns’ man in the Valley, stripped naked, with his throat cut. Apparently Snuff ambushed him, took his clothes, and forced the password from him before he killed him. After that he’d have slipped into the Abbey easily enough—there’s always a fair traffic of nuns’ men going through the gates, and the guards weren’t looking for impersonators. Mother’s in a fury, but it’s at herself as much as anyone else. ‘I should have expected some trick like this,’ she said. ‘I should have told my men to be wary.’”

  “I thought I saw Snuff once in the Heath. I should have expected he might come into the Abbey. There’s enough blame to go around.” Clovermead groaned. “Is the Abbess awake? That necklace Snuff took—I think we were supposed to keep him from getting his hands on it. I’d like to know just what it is.”

  “I’ll look for her,” said Saraband. “Stay still while I’m gone!” She glowered at Clovermead, and then hurried from the room.

  Clovermead amused herself for five minutes by staring at the cracks in the white plaster ceiling. Two of them definitely resembled rabbits. When the door opened, Saraband came in with the Abbess, Sorrel, and Waxmelt. The Abbess and Saraband walked in side by side: They were still shy of each other, but the Abbess smiled whenever she looked at her daughter. The Abbess’ forehead was bandaged. Waxmelt and Sorrel turned pale as they looked at Clovermead.

  “As bad as that?” asked Clovermead.

  “Yes,” said Sorrel. “Absolutely ghastly.” Waxmelt elbowed him in the ribs. Sorrel shrugged. “It is the truth.”

  “Wonderful.” Clovermead grimaced. “It doesn’t feel so awful from the inside.”

  The Abbess came to Clovermead’s side, and bent to look at the bandages swaddling her head. “The swelling’s gone down considerably,” she said. “Saraband told me that you heal quickly. Something to do with your shape-changing gift, I gather? I hadn’t quite believed her, but it’s true. If I didn’t know better, I’d say your wound was two days old.”

  “It’s the part of this shape-changing that I’m most dubious about,” said Clovermead. “It’s nice that I heal fast from wounds, but it means I don’t have an excuse to stay in bed as long.” Her eyes shifted to Sorrel and Waxmelt. “It was Lucifer Snuff who bashed me. You couldn’t find him?”

  “He fled toward the southern Heath,” said Sorrel. “I tracked him for ten miles, but I lost his trail in a warren of streams and rocky slopes along the shoulder of the Reliquaries, just south of Silverfalls Valley.”

  “Perhaps we should have kept after him,” Waxmelt said in a low voice. “But I knew you were badly hurt, and I couldn’t bear to ride away from you a minute longer.”

  Nor I, Sorrel said with his eyes. His eyes full of all his love for her. The Tansyard smiled a little, and shrugged his shoulders. If we were alone, I could tell you properly.

  Soon, Clovermead smiled back. And maybe I can talk to you about Lacebark then, she thought. He doesn’t seem like such a problem anymore.

  “I guess I won’t blame you for that, Father,” said Clovermead. She smiled at him, and turned back to Saraband’s mother. “Abbess, we received a prophecy a little while ago from the Shaman-Mother of the Cyan Cross Horde. She said that Snuff was searching for something that belonged to Ursus, and that we shouldn’t let Snuff get it or keep it. I think we’ve flubbed the first part of that prophecy, and that’s bad news. I’d really like to know what that necklace is that Snuff took from you.”

  The Abbess hesitated for a moment—then shrugged. “I suppose there’s no reason to keep the secret any longer. These last six years I’ve worn Ursus’ caul in a locket strung on the necklace.”

  The room was silent. After a while Sorrel whistled.

  “If my head didn’t ache so, I’d whistle too,” said Clovermead. “A caul? That’s, um, the membrane that covers some newborns’ faces, right?” The Abbess nodded. “The way I heard it, it’s good luck to be born with a caul. That’s a unique piece of jewelry. How did you come by it?”

  “It came from the Abbey at Snowchapel originally,” said the Abbess. “I never heard how they got hold of it. Later, after Ursus killed the Abbess there, and stole holy power from Our Lady, her successor sent the caul to the Abbess of Templeweir for safekeeping. Ursus haunted the Reliquaries then, and it was thought the caul would be safer in the Thirty Towns. It stayed locked up in Templeweir for a century, until Ursus conquered Queensmart six years ago. That summer the caul and necklace were sent to me in strictest confidence. The nun who came as courier from Templeweir told me what I’ve just told you. I told no one in Silverfalls about the necklace, just wore it beneath my robes. I suppose Ursus got news of it at last from a prophecy. Or tortured the information out of the Templeweir Abbess. I’d thought she’d died when the city fell to his bear-priests last autumn, but maybe she wasn’t so lucky.” The Abbess shivered.

  “But why does Ursus want it?” asked Clovermead. “It’s just a piece of flesh.”

  “It shone with darkness the night Ursus killed the Abbess of Snowchapel. The nuns at Snowchapel guessed that the caul somehow had caught some part of the power Ursus had meant to steal from Our Lady. It seemed like a good idea to keep the caul away from him. And there’s a prophecy attached to it. We’re not supposed to destroy it. We need it if we’re to survive the ‘time of blood and pain’—which sounds
like what we’re going through right now. That’s all I know.” The Abbess shrugged. “The thing didn’t change my life—except to lure a bear-priest to Silverfalls to wallop me.” She patted her bandages, winced, and touched her throat. “He half-strangled me too. He yanked the locket off my neck, and didn’t bash my head until he had the locket in his hand. He certainly did want to get his hands on that caul! I’m sorry you didn’t tell me about the prophecy last night. I’d have tried to protect it better.”

  “We didn’t know what Snuff was looking for until he struck you down,” said Clovermead.

  “It is the way of prophecies,” said Sorrel unhappily. “I have always said so. They are vague, unhelpful, never clear until it is too late. I loathe them.”

  Like the prophecy Mother received when I was born, thought Clovermead. “Ursus will put his mark on her.” The scar on her arm tingled. “No argument here,” she said out loud. “But there’s no use moaning. We need to get that caul back from Snuff before he gets it to Lord Ursus.” She brought her fingers up to tap her nose. “I can track Snuff by scent. Lady Abbess, Saraband, how soon until I can ride horseback?”

  “A month,” said Waxmelt. He glared at his daughter. “Look at her, Lady Abbess! She’s white as parchment. Clo, I’ll tie you down if you try anything foolish.”

  “Your expert medical opinion has been noted, Lord Wickward,” said the Abbess. “Please avoid rope tricks until further notice.” She looked at Clovermead and hesitated a moment. She turned to Saraband. “If she weren’t gifted with this ability to heal, I’d say she should be in bed another four days. But you’ve nursed the Demoiselle before. How long until she can ride?”

  “I’d prefer at least two days’ bed rest for her.” Saraband turned to Clovermead. “If you absolutely must, you can go tomorrow. You’ll heal more slowly if you get out of bed that soon, and you should try not to strain yourself, but it can be done.”

  “Then I’ll leave in the morning,” said Clovermead. She turned to Sorrel. “I’ll need to go fast, to catch up to Snuff, and I don’t want too many people along. That would only slow us down. But Brown Barley runs like lightning. Will you come with me?”

  “Of course,” said Sorrel.

  I know hidden byways through the southern Heath, said Lacebark in Clovermead’s mind.

  “Get the thief,” Clovermead said suddenly. “Lacebark Eddish. When we were dancing together, he made it sound like he knows a shortcut through the Heath. Saraband, will you ask him if he can guide us?”

  Saraband had gone pale. “I don’t think Lacebark would be of much help in a fight, Clovermead.”

  Nor do I, thought Clovermead. “Sorrel and I can scuffle with Snuff without him. I’ll tell him to turn around when we catch up to Snuff.”

  Saraband relaxed a very little. “I’ll tell him what you want,” she said unhappily.

  Sorrel looked strangely at Clovermead. He didn’t speak, but Clovermead could read the question in his eyes. You were dancing with him?

  Yes, Clovermead stared back at him. I was. Do you think it matters?

  Sorrel’s eyes fell to the floor.

  “I don’t think Auroche can gallop nearly as fast as Brown Barley,” Clovermead said out loud. “I’d best go in bear-shape.”

  Sorrel’s eyes rose again. “I will pack a jar of honey in my saddlebag,” he said lightly. But now some of him was hidden from Clovermead. The love in his eyes had faded.

  “Yum,” said Clovermead. Think what you like, she thought angrily, unhappily. Her stomach growled. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind breakfast in a few minutes.” She turned to Waxmelt. “Father, I was supposed to take the Servants’ Regiment back to Chandlefort, and take charge of the army outside the walls, but now I can’t. I want you to have the command.”

  “Me?” Waxmelt stared at his daughter in disbelief. “I can get away with leading servants. I can’t give orders to noble lords. They wouldn’t follow me.”

  “Nonsense,” said Clovermead roundly. “You’re a good commander. I saw that when we fought off the bear-priests. Most of the lords will have brains enough to realize it too, once they’ve seen you in action for a few days. They shouldn’t do more than grumble. As for the rest—get me the Cindertallow seal from my baggage, and I’ll stamp the royal wax on an order that delegates command of the army to you. That will make a traitor out of anyone who doesn’t jump when you snap your fingers.” Waxmelt opened his mouth. “If you protest, I’ll write out another order that makes you a duke! That way you’ll outrank them all.”

  “You can’t do that,” said Waxmelt. “You’re only the Demoiselle.”

  “So I’ll make you a temporary duke. Father, Chandlefort needs you. I think you can be its general—and probably a better one than me. Are you up to it?”

  Waxmelt was silent for a long moment. “I am,” he said at last.

  “Good,” said Clovermead. “Please get me that seal, and I’ll make everything official.” She yawned. “I’m awfully glad to see you all, but now what I want to do is have a meal and nap. Is that all right?”

  “It’s even doctor’s orders,” said the Abbess briskly. She stood up. “Everybody out. Demoiselle, I’ll get a nun to replace Saraband, and I’ll have my kitchen send up a breakfast. Meanwhile, I have nuns’ men to talk to about our Abbey security. Clearly something better is needed.”

  Waxmelt kissed Clovermead on the forehead and hurried out the door. Saraband and the Abbess spoke softly to each other as they left the room. Sorrel was last to leave. He hesitated at the doorway, half-turned to Clovermead—and just smiled in his friendly and distant way as he slipped out of the room.

  If you won’t make the effort, why should I? thought Clovermead. Jealous fool. She didn’t call him back.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Black Plain

  Clovermead, Sorrel, and Lacebark met in the courtyard of Silverfalls Abbey early the next morning. “Good morning, Demoiselle,” said Lacebark. He bowed low to her. “Master Tansyard.” He inclined his head to Sorrel.

  “Master Cutpurse,” said Sorrel. His face was blank, his voice was cool, and he inclined his head in return. “I have heard a little bit about you these last few days. I trust we will become better acquainted.”

  “The Demoiselle has spoken a few words of you as well,” said Lacebark. “I confess I have been curious to see if you can live up to your reputation.” A mocking glimmer flashed across his face.

  “I am sure you will live up to yours,” said Sorrel. Lacebark’s cheeks turned red.

  “We should go,” Clovermead said hastily. Before you two kill each other. “The sun’s almost up.” Sorrel and Lacebark nodded curt acquiescence, and the three of them were off.

  Sorrel rode on Brown Barley, Lacebark rode on his roan stallion, and Clovermead turned into bear-form. Her head hurt, and she felt weak, but she could run fast enough—for half a mile. Then her head began to swim, and she couldn’t help yipping as her skull stabbed at her. Sorrel and Lacebark reined up their steeds, and waited while Clovermead collapsed onto the grass. She turned human and clutched at her bandages. Her heart raced and her skin was clammy and pale.

  “Should we wait another day, Demoiselle?” asked Lacebark. “It isn’t far back to the Abbey.”

  “Or perhaps you should ride behind me on Brown Barley,” said Sorrel. “Better to go after Snuff slowly than not at all, yes?”

  “Slowly isn’t good enough,” Clovermead groaned. “Slowly means Ursus wins. I’ll be ready in a minute.” She tensed her muscles, prepared to turn bear-shape and run again—and her head screamed at her. “In five minutes,” Clovermead said. “Oh, Lady, Snuff gave my head a proper bashing. The world is spinning.”

  “I think I will tie your hands behind you if you try to run again,” said Sorrel. Now there was no lightness in his voice at all. His eyes flickered to a copse of beech trees a hundred yards away. “I am not the only one worried. Some bear is coming.”

  Clovermead turned, and saw Sundrink sauntering toward her. Brown Ba
rley tossed her head, and Lacebark’s stallion neighed with terror as the black bear approached. Lacebark patted away his steed’s fear, but he let the stallion retreat from Sundrink.

  I smell blood beneath that white hat, changeling, said Sundrink. What happened?

  Bandages, not a hat, said Clovermead. It was dark, and I got into a fight. Unfortunately, I lost. She took a shaky breath. A bear-priest stole something very important. I have to catch up with him. Quickly she explained what had happened. The only trouble is, my body isn’t cooperating.

  You would go too slowly with two of you on one horse? Sundrink asked. Clovermead nodded. A conundrum. There is an obvious answer, of course.

  What is it?

  You ask me to give you a ride. Sundrink laughed harshly. Brookwade would say that it’s a small enough favor. Considering that you freed so many bears from Ursus. Considering that you freed me.

  Use you as a steed? asked Clovermead in horror. Like a bear-priest does? I couldn’t. She snorted with laughter. And I certainly wouldn’t ask you. You said a bear-priest rode you for, what, six months? And now you want to kill them all. I’m not fool enough to get on your back.

  You remember that? How astonishing. Sundrink blinked at Clovermead, and sniffed at Lacebark and Sorrel. Both of them fell back from her, and Sundrink chuffed with laughter. Those two will be of little help if you catch up with the bear-priest.

  Sorrel’s braver than I am. I don’t expect Lacebark to fight. Clovermead felt at her head. It was spinning less. I really can’t stay to chat.

  It is a serious proposal, changeling, said Sundrink quietly. Ride on my back. I make the offer of my own free will. I will not blame you or resent you.

  Clovermead stared at the black bear. I don’t understand. Why would you do this?

  You did free me, said Sundrink. I don’t like you, changeling, human, but I do owe you a debt. Snarling lips lifted from bared teeth—but then gentleness crept onto her face. Last night I dreamed of green mountains. I heard Our Lady roar, “I will see you soon.” I thanked her. I have been waiting a long time for her summons, fighting bear-priests in hopes that a kindly blade would dispatch me to her. And now I see you come running, I see you fall to the ground, and I think this is a sign. My way to Our Lady’s mountains lies with you. The gentleness faded, and Sundrink laughed bitterly. And under you. Well. Our Lady teaches us to be humble. She growled impatiently. Enough chatter. Ride, changeling.