Thunderlord

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  The trail twisted so that he could no longer see the crossroads. Maybe they could find a place to hide while the bandits rode past. To either side, the ground looked treacherous, the slope to one side so steep that only a mountain chervine could find footing there. From what he could see of the trail ahead, it ran along a sheer rock face, while smaller boulders strewed the other side.

  Above and before him, lightning flickered, closely followed by sullen rumbling, as if the clouds were holding back their full power, saving it.

  The pack horse did not flinch, stolid beast that he was. Pinning ears to neck, he raced on at a pace that would have been foolhardy over such a terrain under any other circumstances. Edric hazarded a glance over one shoulder and saw Kyria on Star, gallant Star, only a couple of lengths behind.

  The trail dipped suddenly and became so steep that the horses slipped and scrambled for balance. By an amazing stroke of luck, neither of them put a foot wrong. The pack horse slid on a patch of loose, gravel-fine stones, and almost sat down on his hindquarters. The descent ended in a stream that was swift and foamed with white, but narrow enough for a horse to jump.

  The pack horse, unused to such obstacles, came to a prancing, snorting halt at the water’s edge. Kyria caught up with Edric the next moment, her gaze fixed on the far bank. Star gathered herself in a smooth, powerful motion, and sailed over the stream. Edric watched her disappear from view around a dense, willowy thicket. He circled the pack horse, trying to get as good a run-up to the jump as possible. At the last moment, the horse set his feet and refused. Cursing the beast for obstinacy, Edric tried again. He felt every passing moment as a death knell. The Sain Erach riders would be upon him any moment now.

  The pack horse bent his head, sniffed at the water, ruffled his nostrils, and began to wade across. It seemed to take forever to cross, until finally they climbed onto the far bank.

  Shouting from the top of gorge reached Edric’s ears. He twisted in the saddle to see the riders from Sain Erach begin their descent, single file. The overhead clouds and the steep sides cast the riverbanks into shadow, so he could not see their expressions, but he felt their surge of triumph.

  This was the place, he thought. Here, where they must come at him one by one, he would make his stand. They were too many for him to kill. He would die here, in any event, but he might delay them long enough for Kyria to get away.

  If she kept her wits about her—if she realized she’d have to get off the trail—if she used what hiding places presented themselves—

  She was intelligent and resourceful. She would realize she must not tarry, must not turn back for him.

  Run, Kyria. Keep running, and live.

  10

  Drawing his sword, Edric turned the dun to face the oncoming riders. His breath came light and fast, and his pulse hammered in his ears. He’d done his best to keep fit during his years at Tramontana, but he could not equal the skill of a trained sword master.

  The storm condensed overhead, a blanket of darkness over the river gorge. Edric tasted lightning in the air. The faces of the oncoming riders shone like pale ovals. The second man rode a spotted horse, and the white patches stood out against the gloom.

  Closer now . . . closer . . .

  The lead rider reached the far bank and let out a howl like a wolf that has scented its prey.

  Lord of Light, be with me.

  Brightness laced the sky and, a moment later, thunder sounded above him. A second flash followed almost on the heels of the first and then a roll of riotous sound. The pack horse flattened his ears and reared, threatening to hurl himself backward. Edric managed to keep his seat as he wrestled the animal under control. For a moment, he seemed to be succeeding. Then the dun arched his spine and launched into a series of spinning bucks. Edric lost his seat. The horse lost its footing and went down, hurling Edric through the air.

  By luck, he landed in a deeper part of the river. Water rushed over him, filling his mouth and nose. The sword jerked out of his grasp and was gone. The current tossed him this way and that, so that he could not tell up from down. The water looked black in all directions, laced with bubbles. He kicked but found no solid surface. For all he knew, he might be thrusting himself deeper.

  Edric hit a rock with his elbow, then another with his back. The next moment, he slammed up against a hard, flat surface. He tried to push his head above water, but the current was too strong. It pinned him against the rock, his own strength too feeble to overcome it. His lungs, half-emptied to begin with, burned.

  Then the current shifted, dragging him across the rock. The next moment, he was free. His head broke the surface. He drew in a lungful of air, gasped and choked, and almost went under again. By another stroke of luck, he grabbed hold of a rock that stuck up above the water like a tabletop, and was able to haul himself on top of it. He saw then that the river had carried him only a short distance. The horse was thrashing and squealing, struggling to rise. One of its legs was almost certainly broken.

  There was no time to end the horse’s suffering or salvage the supplies. The Sain Erach riders were gathering on the far bank. One pointed to the horse, and another to Edric himself. They hesitated, fearful of risking their own mounts to a similar fate.

  In that moment, Edric’s laran came alive. His mind opened to the storm. He felt it as intensely as if he’d peeled off his skin. His nerves shrieked with the electrical tension between cloud and land, that needed only an infinitesimal shift to ignite.

  The rock face on the far bank, a treeless promontory, jutted high above the surrounding trees, and energy gathered at its topmost point. Edric sensed the path the discharge would take from the cloud, a clear, branching channel through the air.

  Use us! The roiling storm overhead and the equally charged rock sang through his veins. All he had to do was to reach out, to shift that open channel, and he could send the next lightning strike wherever he wished; tree or rock, or into the body of the Sain Erach leader.

  Temptation rocked him, as fierce as any natural cataclysm. He would char the bodies of his pursuers and then be free to ride after Kyria. Together they would escape to safety.

  He glanced up at the promontory. The next moment, a third round of lightning burst across the sky, brighter than before. Burning white light blanketed the gorge. An instant later, there was a loud crack, as if the world itself had split open.

  Lightning struck the highest point of the promontory. A fissure appeared in the solid rock, and then an enormous section broke free. It crashed into the lower portion of the rock face, splintering off more debris as it fell. Huge sheets of rock pummeled the riverbed. Chunks smashed into trees on either bank. The earth shook with the impact. Water shot up in all directions. Shards of rock, many of them bigger than Edric, slid into the gorge.

  Edric scrambled to his feet, for the moment unable to feel his injuries, and raced up the trail. It was so steep, he had to use his hands, grabbing at trunks of the willowy bushes and anything else he could find. One knee gave out under him and he fell, sliding back down the slope for a terrifying moment.

  He scrambled to his feet and kept going, slipping and struggling back up, again and again, until he could no longer move. He lay on a patch of sloping earth, panting, his pulse hammering in his ears. He had no idea how far he’d come. He thought there had been more lightning strikes, but he could not be sure. The thunder had subsided into a distant rumble. Rock was still coming down somewhere behind him, or so he thought. He might have been hearing the echoes in his skull.

  He should get up, find shelter.

  He wasn’t shivering, and it was a bad sign that he no longer felt cold. He managed to draw one knee up and then the other, to push his body away from the earth. If he could not run, he could walk, and if he could not walk, he must crawl.

  He crawled.

  He was in shock, that much was sure, and shock was why it was so difficult to think.
He could not tell how badly injured he was. He had no weapon except for the eating knife in his boot. The lack of food or water didn’t bother him, although later it would. The biggest problem was that his clothes were drenched. Loss of body heat would kill him as surely as the rockslide or the Sain Erach riders. At least, he didn’t have to worry about them at this moment. If he got out of his clothes, buried himself under dry leaves . . .

  Sitting back on his heels, he fumbled with the fastenings of his jacket. His fingers didn’t work right. He couldn’t remember what he was doing. It was getting darker . . . Night must be near.

  He looked up at the sound of hoof beats and a horse’s nicker. A rider appeared on the trail above him, faced shadowed by the hood of a cloak. The white markings on the horse’s forehead glimmered in the gloom beneath the trees. He fumbled at his belt, but his sword was not there. He’d lost it, although he could not remember where.

  The rider jumped lightly to the ground and rushed toward him. “Blessed Cassilda, you’re half frozen!”

  Kyria? No, she couldn’t be here . . . she’d gone ahead.

  But it was Kyria, pulling off the cloak he’d given her and wrapping it around him. “I heard the crash,” she murmured as she tucked the thick wool around him. “It sounded as if an entire mountainside had come down. I was so afraid for you!”

  “Horse. Gone.”

  “And those horrible men from Sain Erach?”

  “Gone, too. Maybe buried.”

  “Here, lean on me.” She slipped her shoulder under his arm and hauled him upright.

  “Can’t—”

  “Yes, you can, and yes, you will. We can’t stay here; it’s too exposed. The rain’s held off this long, but it’s sure to start soon. We must trust to the blessings of Evanda that we’ll find shelter further along.”

  They struggled the short distance uphill to where Star stood, quiet and alert. The mare nuzzled Edric, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled the smell of the river. Kyria turned Star around to the downhill side so it was easier to mount. She got on first, then reached down to help Edric on behind her.

  “No argument now,” she said, again reminding Edric of the mistress of novices at Tramontana Tower. He took her hand and mounted, thinking of the irony of riding pillion behind her. Their roles seemed to have reversed.

  They went slowly, letting the mare set her own pace. There was no more lightning, but the sky overhead was so dark, it might as well have been twilight.

  The temperature fell as the clouds blocked the feeble light of the red sun. Edric felt it on his face. It wasn’t going to rain, as Kyria had feared. If it was this cold, the clouds would be freezing. They had been climbing steadily and the surrounding trees had become more twisted and spindly. The ground, what he could see of it, looked flinty, marked in places with piles of pea-sized gravel, over soil so thin and poor, it barely covered the rock beneath.

  Kyria halted the mare just as they left the last thin copse. The trail ahead wound along the side of a sharply rising, barren slope. The wind, which had been blowing fitfully, died down as the first snowflake landed on Edric’s bare hand. It melted so quickly that he could not be sure he had really seen it. More flakes drifted down, at first singly, then in patches.

  They would find only the flimsiest of protections if they retraced their steps. Try as he might, Edric could not recall any patch of forest dense enough to keep off the snow, and the trail was blocked at the river gorge.

  “I don’t know how common those shelters are in this section of mountains,” he said. “It may be that too few travelers use this trail to be worth maintaining them.”

  Kyria inhaled, the breath hissing between her lips. “I don’t like the idea of going back, either, but it may be our only choice. Let’s go on until that far crest.”

  With a sigh, the mare moved off, picking her way along the pebble-strewn terrain. Fortunately, the trail did not rise much, but ran along the side of the slope.

  We’ve got to find food, he thought. Water will be no problem if we can make a fire.

  With a startle, he came awake. The mare had halted. Looking ahead, he saw they’d come to the crest Kyria had mentioned. There was no sign of any habitation or travelers’ hut, but the trail dipped into a valley of sorts. A grove of thickly growing trees filled the bottom. Beyond, the mountainside was bare, although from this distance it looked as if there might be rocky overhangs and maybe even caves.

  The snow was coming down more heavily now, and it was no longer melting where it landed. It dusted the mare’s mane and formed a delicate lace over Kyria’s shoulders and bare head.

  “We’ll try the trees first,” Kyria said, nudging the weary mare with her heels.

  Although not tall, the trees grew close together, as if huddled for warmth. Like all their kind at this elevation, they were conifers, a variety of fir. Their lowest branches hung down to form a curtain, and the debris of many seasons piled around their roots. The scent of their needles filled the air.

  To one side, several of the trees had fallen or snapped off midway up their trunks. Edric noticed charred areas here and there. The largest downward sloping branches formed a tent, and Kyria found her way through. They dismounted and led the horse into the confined gloom. Layers of dried needles cushioned their steps. Very little snow penetrated the branches, only a thin patch here and there.

  “Unsaddle the horse while I set up camp,” Kyria said. “I don’t suppose there’s anything she can eat here.”

  Edric replied as he loosened the girth, noticing that Kyria had thought first to care for their mount. She set to work immediately, moving away the fallen branches to expose a thick bed of soft needles. As soon as he’d removed the saddle, before he’d even unbridled the mare, she held out her hand for the blanket and unfolded it over half the needles. Wiping her hands on her skirt, she straightened up. “Do you have any dry clothes—socks, an extra shirt—in those saddlebags?”

  “Socks. And a shirt.” He forbore mentioning that she was wearing his extra jacket.

  With hands still clumsy from cold, he fumbled at the clasp of the cloak. Kyria helped him, then carefully spread the folded cloak over the saddle blanket. Immediately, his skin felt as if it were being encased in ice. His teeth began chattering. Gently but firmly, she pushed him to the ground, and pulled off his boots and socks.

  “Take off the rest and put on your dry clothes,” she told him. “Then wrap yourself up in the cloak as best you can. I’m going to look for firestones, but I’ll be back in a short while.”

  Edric was too cold to argue, too cold to think. He didn’t wait for her to leave before dragging off his wet clothing. Taking his dry socks with him, because he didn’t think he could get them on without help, he crawled between the folds of the cloak and pulled the edge over his head. The inner layer of wool was still damp from contact with his river-drenched clothing. Hugging his body with his arms, he curled into a fetal position.

  A time later, how long he could not tell, he became aware that he was no longer shivering. His top shoulder and hip still felt cold, but the bedding beneath him was surprisingly warm. Drowsiness weighed him down. He remembered that was a sign of freezing to death, as was confusion. Despite a resolution to remain awake, he found himself drifting.

  Someone was moving about near him, or so he thought, from the rustling of cloth and the faint cracking of twigs. He forced his eyelids open, but could make out only the suggestion of a form, a shadow in the dim light.

  Hello? he tried to say. Who’s there?

  “It’s just me,” a feminine voice responded. “Go back to sleep.” He rolled over and drifted off again.

  Edric roused again as a thick comforter came to rest on top of the cloak. How thoughtful of the servants. How much warmer he felt—but was that a good thing? He couldn’t remember. Then the mattress settled, giving off a fragrance like musty fir. A length of cold, smooth silk
touched his back—no, it was solid, legs spooning his, a soft belly against his buttocks, the press of breasts to either side of his spine. Breath over his shoulder, an arm reaching to cover his. He shuddered at the touch of icy fingers and even colder toes.

  “Sorry,” came that same female voice, next to his ear. “My feet and hands are cold.”

  Kyria?

  “Not exactly seemly, is it, being naked together?” she murmured. “We can debate the proprieties once we’ve survived this night, and I honestly think this is the only way.”

  “Must be dreaming . . .”

  “Yes, that’s it. Mmm, such a good dream, too. Soon you’ll be lovely and warm.”

  When Edric woke the next morning, he did feel warm. He was wrapped in his cloak, sandwiched in between layers of dried needles. Except for the mare, whose body heat filled the space, he was alone. Through the hushed silence, he could hear nothing except his own breathing and the horse’s. A small fire near the open side of the shelter burned within a circle of rocks. The carcass of an animal, perhaps a variety of mountain hare, hung from sticks over the fire and gave off a savory aroma.

  Responding to pressure from his bladder, he looked around for his clothes. He found one sock between his knees and the other in the crease of the folded cloak. His boots, a second pair of socks, pants, shirt, and underwear had been spread out just beyond the fire circle. They were dry. Edric dressed, wrapped himself in the cloak, and went outside to find a private spot.

  He paused at the entrance to the tree shelter to look around. Snow had fallen overnight, draping a thick layer over the branches. The other trees were as heavily laden, like cones of white. Yesterday’s storm had passed, leaving clear skies and only the faintest stir of air. Footprints marked a track toward the rest of the grove.

  “There you are! Good morning!” Kyria emerged from behind one of the larger trees. She’d bound her skirts to her legs with strips of cloth, and she moved with assurance. She carried an armful of sticks of various lengths and thicknesses.