In the Shadow of the Bear

by David Randall

  “I cannot imagine why,” said Sorrel.

  Once Lacebark had recovered from his faint, Clovermead, Sorrel, and Lacebark rode through another long tunnel. When they emerged from it, the thief led them to the top of a nearby hill. Lacebark put his hand to his forehead, to shade his eyes from the glare of the sun, and looked slowly around. He smiled in triumph. “Look,” he said. He pointed to a spot a few miles east of them. “There’s your bear-priest.” Clovermead squinted, and she saw a white dot and a narrow plume of dust. It wove backward and forward among the rubble, steadily making for the Fustic Hills. They were very near now. “We’ll catch him today,” said Lacebark. “Hurry, Demoiselle!”

  They went back to the tunnels, though here the roofs had mostly caved in or been eroded by the wind. Above the walls of their channel Clovermead saw the lower slopes of the Fustic Hills approach. All along the Hills the lava fell back from a granite ridge. On the other side of the ridge, weeds dotted the rocky slope, while short, scraggly pine trees covered the Hills’ summits. Eagles soared overhead, and vultures flapped over the carcass of some animal sprawled dead on the Hills. There was even a hint of moisture in the air.

  In mid-afternoon Lacebark took them out of the tunnels and southwest across the Black Plain. “We’ll intercept him here,” he said. “The only pass over the Fustics lies past Charbonlea Fort, and there’s only one path to Charbonlea through this lava that’s big enough for a horse. He’ll have to come this way. Even if there are bear-priests besieging Charbonlea, we’ll be far enough away from the Fort that they won’t be able to come rescue him. The two of you and your bear can ambush him properly.”

  “So you really will not help us?” asked Sorrel. “I confess I had hoped for more from you. What will the Lady Saraband think of you?”

  “That I’m no fighter. I told you I would guide you, nothing more.” Lacebark scowled at Clovermead. “And even if I were a fighter, I don’t feel much like helping you, after the stunt you pulled this morning.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Clovermead, not very contritely. “Sorrel, I didn’t expect him to fight—and Saraband would be hopping mad at me if I asked him to. Mr. Eddish, I’m grateful to you for guiding us.” She hesitated a moment. “I don’t suppose you could pretend to be a warrior for a little while? It can’t hurt to have Snuff think he’s facing more enemies. If he charges, you can skedaddle. I won’t blame you.”

  “You can’t imagine how much I value your good opinion, Demoiselle,” said Lacebark. “‘He was a most noble pincushion, Cousin Saraband! But don’t be angry at me—I didn’t ask him to fight back.’” Lacebark grimaced. “I don’t think the Lady Saraband would want me to do this.”

  “Probably not,” said Clovermead. “Still, we could use your help.”

  “I lost one home to the bear-priests when they took Queensmart,” said Lacebark slowly. “I confess I have no great desire to see them overrun Linstock as well.” He hesitated—and groaned. “All right. I’ll be your scarecrow. I warn you, Demoiselle, I’ll run if he comes near me.”

  “Good enough,” said Clovermead. “Thank you.” Then her eyes widened. “I see the dust from Snuff’s horse. He’s coming this way fast. Quick, let’s get ready.”

  They rode out onto a smooth piece of lava, perhaps a hundred feet wide, set between steep walls covered with loose rubble. The walls curved to both east and west: Snuff wouldn’t see them as he came, and no one near Charbonlea Fort would be able to see their ambush either. Clovermead rode on Sundrink to one side of the canyon, and Lacebark trotted on his stallion to the other. Sorrel cantered a hundred yards to the west and hid himself and Brown Barley behind a shoulder of lava. The three of them waited.

  Soon they heard hoofbeats drum, louder and louder. Lucifer Snuff came into sight. His Phoenixian horse drooped, but he lashed it forward with whip and spurs. He looked tired to the bone. A silver necklace hung from his neck, and glinted in the sun; the locket, with the caul inside, swayed beneath his shirt. He patted at it with his hand as he rode.

  Clovermead waited until Snuff had passed Sorrel. Then she nudged Sundrink with her heels. The bear ran out to the center of the smooth lava, extended her claws, and waited for Snuff. Clovermead drew Firefly. Snuff reined in his horse—and Sorrel was behind him, with his sword drawn as well. Lacebark approached from the canyon wall, and diffidently drew his dagger from its sheath. Snuff was trapped in a triangle of drawn blades.

  “This is unexpected,” said Snuff. He drew his own sword as he wheeled around, looking for a way out—then he shrugged and turned back to face Clovermead. “You’re up fast,” he said. “I thought you’d be in bed for a week.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” said Clovermead. Sundrink growled at Snuff’s steed, and the Phoenixian retreated a step. “Give up the caul, Snuff, and we’ll let you live.”

  “Confident, aren’t you? Let’s see if it’s justified.” Snuff kicked his horse in the flanks, and the Phoenixian charged toward the gap to the left of Clovermead.

  Sundrink ran to intercept him, and the black lava blurred beneath Clovermead. Snuff was suddenly terrifyingly large, the Phoenixian reared up as Sundrink blocked his way, and Clovermead struck at Snuff’s left arm with Firefly. Snuff parried, quick as a snake, chopped brutally hard at Clovermead’s ribs, jabbed his sword up again, and scraped skin from her shoulder. Clovermead hissed with pain. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sorrel galloping toward them, but then her world shrank to Snuff and his blade.

  Their swords clashed, clashed, and clashed again. Sundrink bit at Snuff’s leg—and his sword whirled down to lace her cheek and send her whimpering back. Clovermead tried to skewer Snuff while his sword was low, but he riposted so fast and hard that he nearly tore Firefly from her hands. Clovermead ducked a decapitating lunge—and rent open the bear-priest’s right trouser leg from his knee to his boot. The Phoenixian reared back, and for a moment Clovermead saw fear in Snuff’s eyes. He was sweating, and for the first time in the fight he paused for breath.

  “You’ve gotten better,” said Snuff. “The Yellowjackets have decent sword masters.” He smiled bitterly. “And I’m growing old.” Brown Barley’s hoofbeats sounded loud. Sorrel was very near, and Snuff suddenly pulled his Phoenixian up a hillock of rubble that stood against the left side of the canyon. “But not so old that you can sneak up behind me and skewer me, Tansyard,” he called down. Sorrel and Clovermead approached the hillock. In the distance Lacebark came a little closer. Snuff looked appraisingly at the thief. “You look reluctant, friend,” he called out to him. He smiled. “What will you do if I charge you?”

  “I wouldn’t try it,” said Lacebark, with paper-thin bravado. He raised his dagger in a threatening manner, but Clovermead could smell the fear in him. Snuff chuckled.

  “Charge any one of us, and the other two will kill you,” said Clovermead. She extended her free hand. “The caul, Snuff.”

  “Little girls are supposed to say ‘please,’” said Snuff. He hesitated a moment as he looked at the three blades arrayed against him. “I’m afraid, Master,” he said in a low voice. “I know what you’ve told me, but it’s hard to believe.” His free hand clutched the locket for a moment. A shadow of fear swept across his face. He looked at Clovermead and shook his head. “No refuge there,” he muttered. “A foolish dream.

  “I shall not fear,” he cried out. He sat straight on his Phoenixian, and he clutched the locket once more. “Your jaw will shield me.” The words rang across the lava. “Your claws will be my guard.” He galloped straight at Sorrel. He raised his sword high, and he didn’t bother to defend himself. Sorrel gaped at him a second. Then he readied his sword against the oncoming bear-priest. Clovermead waited for Snuff to slow down, or turn aside, but he kept straight on down the scree. He pounded the last few feet toward Sorrel, and Sorrel’s sword lanced straight through Snuff’s gut—

  The locket glowed, coal-black and lightning-white. Snuff screamed in dying agony as Sorrel’s sword withdrew from him, blood smeared down half the bla
de. Screamed like a newborn babe. Then the flesh closed up—turned to scar, to pink skin, to long-healed flesh, all in an instant. Snuff’s scream turned to laughter, and he hewed down the off guard, incredulous Sorrel. His hilt crunched against the Tansyard’s head, Clovermead shrieked with horror, and Sorrel tumbled from Brown Barley. He sprawled, unconscious, on the ground.

  Snuff paused for a moment, feeling at his stomach. “Not even a scar,” he marveled. “Oh, Master’s caul is powerful indeed. It’s just as he promised—’Hold fast to the caul, Snuff, and you will never die.’ Imagine what my Lord Ursus will do when I’ve delivered this to him.” Laughter bubbled out of him. “Tend your fallen Tansyard, girlie. Come after me, and I’ll chop you down. Let me ride.” Then he was galloping east, toward Charbonlea Fort.

  Take me to Sorrel, Clovermead roared to Sundrink, and the bear ran to the fallen Tansyard. Clovermead tumbled off her back and knelt by Sorrel. He groaned where he lay. His skull had a terrifyingly large bruise, but he wasn’t bleeding much.

  Lacebark rode up to join her, swung down from his horse, and glanced quickly at the Tansyard. “He’ll live,” said Lacebark. “Saraband taught me what to look for. His color’s right, and he’s breathing normally. He should even be up in a few minutes.”

  “Thank Our Lady,” said Clovermead. She gave Sorrel’s hand a quick squeeze. Faintly he squeezed back. “When I saw what Snuff did to him—”

  She looked up. Snuff was dwindling ahead of her.

  “Oh, Lady,” Clovermead whispered. She let go of Sorrel and she made the crescent sign. “I’ll die if I fight Snuff. I know I will.” Her teeth chattered.

  Imagine what my Lord Ursus will do when I’ve delivered this to him, Snuff had said.

  I can imagine it, Lady, thought Clovermead, and tears were running down her cheeks. The moon swallowed up. Darkness forever. But if I ride after him, there’s a lance head aimed at my heart, black water to swallow me up, and who really knows what lies beyond? I don’t want to die in this wasteland, Lady. I want to live with Sorrel, and die old with him. Why can’t I be a coward? I’ve fought for you before, and risked death for you, but this is suicide. You can’t expect me to embrace death.

  Snuff had.

  Snuff was willing to die for Ursus, thought Clovermead. He doesn’t just fear Ursus. He loves the Bear, down to the bottom of his soul, and it took his fear away. Lady, I owe you for so many gifts, but I don’t know if I love you that much. Lady, I’m so afraid. Lady, I beg you, take away my fear.

  Clovermead looked down at Sorrel, sprawled out on the lava. The sun shone on his brown hair—and Clovermead laughed, with tears in her eyes. His first white hair lay nestled among his brown locks.

  “Why should you take my fear away from me?” she asked out loud. “You gave it to me. Bound up in the love. But the love will never die.”

  Love will never die. The words glowed in her.

  More tears stung at Clovermead. “Never,” she said. She turned to Lacebark. “Take care of Sorrel. I’m going after Snuff.”

  “Are you mad?” Lacebark stared at her disbelievingly. “You saw what he survived. You said Our Lady’s own truth. He’ll kill you.”

  “I have to try,” said Clovermead. She leaned over and kissed Sorrel on the forehead. “I love you,” she whispered. The Tansyard groaned, his eyelids fluttered, and he smiled.

  Clovermead got up and leaped onto Sundrink’s back again. Sundrink, will you take me after Snuff?

  You’ll get me killed one day, changeling, said Sundrink. She chuffed laughter. Today is as good as any. She went racing after the bear-priest.

  Sundrink pounded past jagged spires of lava and leaped over yawning crevasses, and Clovermead swiftly gained on Snuff. Sundrink curved wide of the bear-priest, then slanted in front of him to block his route. Snuff’s lips twitched upward as he saw Clovermead coming. He slewed his Phoenixian around, drew his blade, and charged at her. He laughed with joy as he attacked.

  Snuff no longer bothered to defend himself, simply chopped at Clovermead with careless fury. Clovermead sliced his ribs. Snuff howled with pain, but black lightning flashed, and he was whole again. The bear-priest guffawed, struck again, and missed impaling Clovermead through the guts by inches. He was breathing raggedly, but his sword arm hammered down against her. Clovermead parried, parried again—and bent low, struck out, and stabbed the Phoenixian in the head.

  The horse reared, keened in pain and sorrow, and fell to the ground—but as it collapsed, Snuff leaped from its back toward Sundrink. His sword scraped against Clovermead’s knee, and then he landed on Sundrink’s shoulders. For a second he grinned at Clovermead as she struggled to withdraw Firefly from the Phoenixian’s skull. The bear-priest faced backward on the bear’s body, his feet and knees balanced precariously on her heaving muscles, his left hand gripping tightly to a hank of her fur, and his right hand firm on his blade. Sundrink reared up, roaring—and Snuff stabbed down with his sword, full down through Sundrink’s back and into her lungs. The black bear screamed and writhed, and Snuff and Clovermead spun like rag dolls through the air. They slammed into the lava, Firefly fell to the ground, and Snuff rolled on top of Clovermead. In a flash his hands were around her throat. He began to squeeze.

  Clovermead rolled on rocks that stabbed at her still-healing skull, and her head shrieked with pain. She was turning into a bear, becoming huge, but Snuff didn’t let go of her. He endured the weight of her body on his, his hands dug ever more tightly into her windpipe, and Clovermead flailed at him with her paws. Her claws rent his flesh, sent blood spurting into the air—and black lightning flashed and the flesh healed once more. She was choking, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come, and with the last of her strength she grabbed Snuff’s chest in her paws and flung him from her. His fingers scrabbled against her neck and chest as he went flying, and Clovermead was scrambling to her feet and gulping for air.

  She focused on the world again, and now Snuff had pulled his sword from Sundrink’s sprawled and bleeding flesh. The blade was in his hand once more. He stood behind the corpse of his Phoenixian, and he was gasping for breath too. At least he still gets tired, thought Clovermead. I’d better attack while I still have that advantage. She lumbered toward Snuff.

  “You never give up,” Snuff marveled. He stepped forward again, sword at the ready, but this time he was more cautious. He kept his distance from Clovermead, and his blade flickered out, to slice through fur and flesh, at her head, torso, and legs. Clovermead rushed at him, battered at him with her paws, but Snuff danced out of her way, and let her claws slice harmlessly through the air. His sword goaded her, wounded her, weakened her. Once or twice Clovermead managed to scrape his arms or his ribs with her claws—but the lightning flashed and Snuff healed in seconds. Snuff lunged at Clovermead, she retreated—and stumbled backward as a piece of lava slipped beneath her foot. Snuff pounced at her, his sword out—

  Sundrink leaped between them. She bled from her back and gasped for air, and now Snuff’s sword sank all the way into her guts. Snuff cursed, ducked Sundrink’s flailing arms, and stumbled back from the dying bear while Clovermead recovered her balance.

  Stop him, Sundrink roared to Clovermead. She batted at Snuff once more, to keep him off balance. Her claws smashed onto the lava, and she could not rise again. Make my death worthwhile. She smiled a moment. Hello, Logscrape, she whispered. It’s been too long. The light drained from her eyes, and she lay dead by the side of the Phoenixian horse.

  Another death to your tally, Snuff, thought Clovermead. She wept, and she attacked Snuff with redoubled fury. Her claws slashed his arms and his legs, she bit bleeding holes in his stomach—but each time he endured, each time he healed. Clovermead’s burst of energy dissipated. Snuff grinned, and his steady sword began to beat her back once more.

  I won’t be able to last much longer, thought Clovermead. Her ribs ached from exhaustion. I’m sorry, Sundrink. You died, and it didn’t do any good. Lady, I’ve tried, but I can’t stop him. It’s impossible.r />
  And she froze. It is possible. I just have to be as brave as Sundrink. As brave as Snuff. Snuff inched closer to her. His sword glittered in the sunlight. Good-bye, Sorrel, thought Clovermead. I do love you so. She concentrated on that bright flame of love as she leaped straight at Snuff. Good-bye, Mother. Good-bye, Father. The tip of Snuff’s sword came straight at her and the freezing black water of death was everywhere, but love warmed her and she didn’t flinch. You didn’t flinch when you charged Sorrel, she thought as she roared. I won’t either. Snuff’s blade ran deep into her stomach. She could feel the metal slide through her, front to back, and it was pain worse than anything she had dreamed of, but she had come up to Snuff. She grabbed the locket and chain with her claws and pulled them away from Snuff with all her strength. The chain snapped, and Snuff screamed in anguish as the locket left him. Clovermead stepped back, and the sword slid out of her. With her free paw Clovermead slashed her claws down Snuff’s chest and scraped four bloody grooves. The force of her blow sent his sword tumbling from his hand.

  The locket glowed again, black and white, and the pain in Clovermead’s stomach suddenly dwindled. In an instant her severed guts sewed together and her flesh sighed shut. Not even a scar was left behind—only the memory of killing pain. Snuff was still bleeding—now he crashed to his knees, and blood trickled from his mouth as well. I’m not dead, thought Clovermead. My plan worked. She hugged the locket tighter to her. The caul’s keeping me alive instead of him—

  A hand reached from behind her, and pulled at the locket. Brutally strong fingers wrenched her claws open, and the locket was gone again before Clovermead could react. She whirled—and there was Lacebark on his horse. “It keeps you alive, does it?” he asked, and he laughed with an edge of mad delight. Clovermead lunged after the thief—and a loose piece of lava slipped from under her right paw. She cried out in pain as her ankle twisted. Lacebark pulled on his reins, and his horse shied back from Clovermead. “I have more need of your bauble than either of you. Go fight your war without your toy.” He raced away over the lava, toward one of his tunnels.