“North,” Charlot snorted. He stared down the dim path that seemed to stretch forever, wondering how long he had before it grew so dark that he could no longer see. He’d wandered deep into the Bellzeb Forest and had entered a stretch where the pitch pines grew so tall that there was no undergrowth. He walked upon a thick carpet of green-black needles, the air as serene and contemplative as an archive. Truly a beautiful place, if only it weren’t full of savage beasts that wanted to eat him.
At least he was not hungry himself. Charlot had resumed his guise and shared a meal with the widow Ytrette, at Millian’s recommendation. He was served a steaming venison stew in a carved wooden bowl and was astonished when Ytrette offered him a tiny bottle of red-tinged oil with a purple pepper preserved in it. She’d cautioned no more than a drop or two, and he’d taken her advice, well aware of the potency of Tck’Hurr peppers. What an extravagance! He’d accepted, fully aware of what a gift it was and how he would suffer for it.
The stew was delicious: tender venison, purple carrots, golden potatoes, and marjoram, but the spiced oil made it come alive in his mouth. What a furious spice! The goodly woman offered him bread and a creamy sheep’s milk cheese to cool the burn. He hadn’t eaten so well in decades.
Charlot had thanked her profusely, thinking, ‘If I were but a young man again!’ for the tenth time that day. As he left with regret, the widow Ytrette had tried to give him more food, but he asked for no more than he could carry in his pockets. He’d need both hands if he were attacked. She had given him a small hunk of hard cheese, two sausages, and a small round honeybread wrapped in a fragrant leaf, and then she’d smiled at him inscrutably. He’d fumbled a red-cheeked goodbye and went on his way.
Even in his twilight, women could still flummox him with a glance! There was nothing to do but laugh. As he walked the dark path, Charlot resolved to do something wonderful for Ytrette. If only he’d asked her more questions to devise the perfect gift! Surely, he would have to find some way to spare her when he destroyed the town.
As he plodded forward, pushing aside the aches in his feet and knees, his thoughts drifted often to the shapely widow and he was struck by an idea. He wondered if somehow, he could offer her employ at his tower. A foolish thought but…
His habit of pausing when lost in thought saved his life. Down the sloping path at his right, three shadows stalked along a stream that was no more than a trickle murmuring over the rocks. A mating triad of black lynxes on the hunt.
How fortunate that the wind was blowing toward him instead of away! The shadowcat triad would be a deadly foe, especially in such dim conditions. The lynx were huge, each as long as a canoe from nose to tail, glossy black and beautiful, padding forward with effortless grace.
Reaching into his pocket, Charlot slipped on Nemonullus. The ring’s power not only kept him from harm, but it made him slightly harder to spot and muffled his footsteps. Without it, he could not hope to follow the hunting cats undetected. He hastened after the trio, wondering if they might be on the scent of a silverpaw.
The black lynx were hunting for certain. They padded along the stream, and each would sniff at some trampled plant or at the edge of a tree trunk where there were tufts of hair caught in the bark. Charlot could follow them, keeping a wary distance, always with a spell at the ready should they discover him. What a perilous thing to shadow the shadowcats!
At last, the cats found their quarry, in a wide clearing where the sun shone down in a golden oval. Charlot gave silent thanks to the stars. They’d happened upon the one place for miles where he could see clearly.
A great tangled breadberry bramble grew atop what Charlot recognized as a Lorathian cairn. Millenia old, he could still see two of the seven wardstones. What a find this would be if all seven were intact! But swiftly he realized it could not be so, for three silverpaw bears rounded the cairn from inside the warded circle, devouring the clusters of breadberries. The ward was long dead.
Charlot stifled a gasp. To make a sound was suicide. The bears were enormous! The first two were each as big as all three lynxes put together, and even the smallest of the three stood almost ten feet tall at the shoulder.
Distracted by gorging, the bears hadn’t spotted Charlot or the black lynx. The two larger bears were gobbling great clumps of berries and positioning themselves so the smaller of the three could not feed. Whenever the little one tried to draw close for a bite, they would crowd him away, or swat at him if he persisted.
The little bear tried to sneak around to the other side, and the larger bear clouted him with a swipe that could have knocked down a stone wall, sending the runt tumbling backward. A moment later, the little bear was back up, circling to get around the other bear. This one kicked out as the little one tried to sneak past, and again, the runt went rolling. Yet, he was tenacious. A moment later, he was up again, shaking himself off for another try.
Charlot blinked. Something seemed off about the smallest bear. All three bears were males by their color, and despite their huge size, he knew they were not yet fully grown. Two brothers picking on the runt of the litter perhaps? As he recalled, silverpaw bears usually had twins each mating season. He wondered if he could get the needles off a juvenile or if only the adults grew them. From this distance, he could not see.
The three black lynx were crouched in wait at the clearing’s edge. They were splendid ambushers, even knowing they were there he could barely see them. He’d grown so interested in the bear’s antics he’d nearly forgotten the terrible danger he was in. A single silverpaw could kill twenty men, but the cats were by far the greater danger to him at the moment. They were fast and attacked from all sides. He could easily be overcome. He wondered if he ought to get the drop on them instead. Would the bears scatter if he attacked the cats?
Surely the triad would know better than to take on three bears at once. He’d wait until the shadowcats left, and then figure out how to get the little bear away from the others. The cats moved into the clearing, surprising him. The two large bears had nearly completed the circuit of the cairn, efficiently stripping the spongy clusters of berries with their long blue-black tongues. The little bear had managed to sneak a few berries they missed, but it had largely gone hungry. Focused on the berries, the silverpaw had not noticed the cats.
“HA!” Charlot cried the instant before the cats could pounce out of the tall undergrowth, and all three bears wheeled and spotted the approaching black lynx. Charlot grinned. He’d eliminated the greatest danger! The bears would kill the cats, and he would face three foes instead of six.
Yet, the two large bears did not charge the pack of shadowcats as he’d hoped. Instead, they looked to the approaching lynx, then to each other. With a turn of their massive heads, each lumbered off in a different direction shaking the ground with every step. The little bear looked at one bear then the other and gave a piteous cry. His brothers had abandoned him!
Charlot could not help but feel outraged. How could they leave one of their own to die? He had a righteous urge to smite the retreating bears but, already, the cats were upon the smallest silverpaw, ringing him on three sides.
The little bear backed against the bramble, and he wheeled as one of the black lynx darted forward to swipe at its back leg. The bear managed to smash the lynx in the face and send it flying, but the third shadowcat darted in to swipe at its backside, raking the bear’s rump with claws as long as daggers. The little bear let out a howl and wheeled again to defend itself. As it did, the third lynx attacked at its foreleg.
What a long and ugly death it would be! Charlot wondered if they would foul the needles eating the runt silverpaw. He decided to intervene, stepping into the clearing and issuing a challenge.
“BEGONE!” Charlot roared, and he held forth a hand. Out of the clear sky, a bolt of lightning screamed down and struck the top of the cairn. A deafening crack of thunder shook the clearing. Charlot stood, his eyes alight with the exultation of sorcery. He had called the thunder, and it came! He waited for the lynx to flee in terror.
Instead, they forgot the bear and turned on him! Each padded toward him from a different direction.
“Flee, you fools! I’ll destroy you all!” Charlot roared but charged instead!
There was no time to bemoan that everything he’d encountered today had attacked him. Charlot let go of Flaccaro, and the staff stood upright on its own, as every magic staff should. He had only moments to complete the spell, with three deadly lynx sprinting at him.
His voice never wavered.
Invoking the last sigil, Charlot held forth his hands with fingertips outstretched, and from each roared a gout of purple-black mageflame, a dozen times hotter than any mortal fire. The shadowcats to his left and right were engulfed, and he brought his hands together to direct the stream of arcane fire at the third, but it was cleverer than the others. It ducked beneath the torrent of fire and pounced!
A thousand pounds of shadowcat flattened Charlot against the earth, the air warbled as the ring of protection tried to shield him, but the beast was simply too massive. The sunlight gleamed on the white fangs of the shadowcat as it darted forward to bite his neck, and time spooled out, slower and slower as death loomed closer. He was finished!
But the killing jaws closed on empty air with a startling snap. The cat was suddenly ripped backward. The silverpaw runt had him by the tail! Biting down, the bear gave a heave of his massive neck and whipped the shadowcat about like a child’s doll. Finally, he bit right through the tail and the shadowcat went flying into the weeds.
Charlot wheezed on the ground, trying to draw breath. Once again, Nemonullus had saved him! Thanks to its power, he survived, yet still he’d been flattened by a thousand pounds of lynx. The wind was driven from him, and every bone in his body ached. He reached out for Flaccaro and dragged himself up.
It was time! He prepared to unleash the staff’s power to annihilate the shadowcat, but the lynx had forgotten him and turned on the silverpaw. The shadowcat flew into a hissing frenzy, and it was a thing to behold. The lynx darted at the silverpaw and became a blur of claws and teeth, while blood arced across the clearing from the bitten-off end of its tail.
There was howling from the forest as the two burning cats streaked through the trees like screaming meteors, and the faster they ran, the hotter the black flame burned. The fracas of bear and lynx rolled around the clearing in a roaring, hissing ball. It looked like the cat was getting the better of the exchange, but it was all so chaotic there was no way to tell. Charlot wondered what spell might hold them but not kill them. A freezing blast of air? Arcane chains?
Before he could decide, the silverpaw made his move, seizing the slippery lynx in his arms and squeezing with all his might. Charlot heard ribs snapping. The shadowcat gave a last, strangled scream as the silverpaw crushed the life from it. When it was done, the bear dropped the dying cat on the ground, and turned his huge brown eyes to Charlot.
The master arcanist prepared to unleash Flaccaro, but the bear did not charge to attack. There was something odd about the bear. Each of his eyes pointed just slightly askew, giving him a crazed look.
The bear tilted his head at Charlot, then sat on his backside with a heavy thump and licked at his left forearm. For all its frenzy, the shadowcat had barely marked him! All the attacks had done no more than leave scratches on his thick hide. Carefully, the bear licked each of its wounds, pausing occasionally to look up at the fascinated wizard.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Charlot did the same, running his hands over himself, shaking out his arms and legs and feeling for any sign of sharp pain. But excepting the hurt shoulder, nothing felt seriously askew. Bless that ring! A bad break could have been the end of him. Still, he suspected he would ache something fierce in the morning.
The cat was finally still, and the bear sniffed at the corpse, as if making up his mind about whether or not to eat it. But then he shook his head quickly from side to side like a dog and turned to the brambles, free at last to eat the remaining berries.
Close up, Charlot could see that indeed, the young bear had the silver needles Millian wanted. The tops of beast’s paws were covered with spines like a porcupine. But how to get them? He felt a little odd about slaying the bear after he saved him from the shadowcat. Perhaps he ought to go for one of the other two that had abandoned this one to its fate.
“Ah, if only we could talk, surely a deal could be made,” Charlot mused.
The bear turned at the sound of Charlot’s voice, perking his ears. Then, he went back to gobbling the breadberries. Only when the bramble was stripped entirely did the bear turn his attention back to Charlot. The bear trotted over, and the ground rumbled with each step.
The silverpaw stopped one bear-length of distance between them and looked at the wizard with his wide-pointed eyes. Charlot knew he could cover that space very quickly, but it seemed content to watch.
“I’ve decided to slay one of the other bears instead. There’s no need to fight,” Charlot explained to the bear, who didn’t seem to be in the mood for fighting in any case. Why was a wild animal so comfortable around him? He ought to be defending his kill or running off. Had he somehow gotten used to men?
“Sit!” Charlot commanded on a hunch. A moment later, the huge bear settled back onto his rump, as if he were a trained hound. His blue-black tongue lolled out of his mouth, and the enormous, fanged maw appeared to grin.
“What?” Charlot asked, astonished it had worked. “Lie down!” he ordered, and the bear settled forward and laid on the ground with his belly against earth, two forelegs neatly in front of him. The bear’s mouth was closed, and his brown eyes looked up at Charlot in deep concentration.
“Speak!” Charlot cried, and the bear roared so loud the sound hurt the wizard’s ears. Charlot winced. He wouldn’t be trying that one again.
He could not believe it. The bear was tame. Someone had trained a silverpaw bear somehow, and now it was loose in the Bellzeb. Who on the Arc would do such a thing? Who could?
The bear had an expectant look. Charlot felt in his pocket for the honeybread, wondering if he dared to feed it to the giant. Mustering his courage, he peeled off the long sycahee leaf the treat was wrapped in and crept forward, holding out the honeybread. The bear snuffled the air, and Charlot was all too aware he could be bitten in half in the blink of an eye.
But instead, the silverpaw stuck out his long tongue, and Charlot set the honeybread on it. The bear gobbled the treat, and then wriggled with delight, rolling onto his back and kicking at the air with all four paws.
Then, the bear rolled back onto his feet, licking his chops, and began a shake that traveled from his nose to his stubby tail, which twitched back and forth in excitement. Charlot squinted, wondering at that. Most smaller species of bear didn’t even have proper tails, only vestigial flaps of skin. He’d never seen one wag.
As Charlot was lost in thought, the silverpaw rose into a full rear, with his arms spread wide. The bear’s shadow blocked the sun, and it seemed he’d made a grave mistake!
But the bear only stood there, holding the position. Charlot soon realized that this was another of his tricks.
“Very good. Down!” Charlot said, and the bear swiftly resumed the prone position, again looking expectant. Regretfully, Charlot parted with a sausage, and it met the same fate as the bread. The bear’s rump swayed and his little stub of a tail moved back and forth in excitement.
“Like a hound,” Charlot said, still amazed. A hound that could knock over a windmill.
“Stay! Do you know stay?” Charlot wondered aloud, and he walked around the place the bear had fought the shadowcat to look for needles, taking great care that one did not go through his foot. He found many silvery translucent needles, each as long as his forearm and sharp and stiff as an iron nail. Holding one up to the light, he could see they were hollow, filled with strange inward-curving ridges like the inside of a fish’s mouth.
Perhaps some action of the ridges could draw out bad blood, or there was some inner coating that would fight the shay flush. Perhaps the whole thing was just a trick to send him to his doom. He’d certainly come close enough.
Inspecting the dead cat, he saw that there were two needles stuck in its left rear paw, and both were dark with blood. What purpose could such needles serve, what advantage did they grant the bears? Perhaps something in courtship, or during the conflict for mates. The mystery was a pleasant one to consider. Perhaps when his grand project was complete, Charlot would undertake a detailed study of the beasts.
If they could be tamed, surely knowing more about them would be of great benefit. A single bear could do the work of a whole team of oxen! Though surely the cost to feed one would be ruinous.
Charlot was able to find nine intact needles and hoped that would be enough. He didn’t want to kill the tame bear and didn’t like his chances of plucking needles from his paw unscathed. The bear watched him patiently, keen on the prospect of more food. From time to time, he would snuffle the air, as if to say he could smell the wheel of cheese and remaining sausage.
They were but morsels to the monster! Charlot looked over at the dead lynx, thinking it would be a shame to let that beautiful pelt go to waste. He drew Vitserpadag, feeling keenly its desire to cut, and a flicker of disappointment that its target was not alive.
Maneuvering so that he could keep the bear in vision, Charlot tried to turn the cat on its back to begin skinning it, but the weight was too great. He was about to abandon the effort when he remembered the arrow hole in his robe. How fine a robe of black lynx would look as a replacement!
The cat had nearly killed him, he could use that connection of intense memory to work a powerful enchantment on it, if only he could manage to skin this monster.
Just how smart was this bear?
“Pick it up!” Charlot commanded, pointing to the dead lynx, thinking he might skin it while the bear held it aloft. The bear gave him a perplexed look and rose to snuffle at the dead cat, looking up at Charlot. The mage made the lifting motion, and the bear picked up the lynx in two huge paws and threw it in the air, it landed with a heavy thump that shook the ground.
Charlot frowned, it wasn’t quite what he’d had in mind. He held up a hand, picked up a stick and held it in his mouth, and raised his chin up, then he pointed to the lynx. The bear made an unhappy grunt. Charlot walked over and motioned with the half-bitten off tail, and again did the lifting with mouth motion with the stick. More unhappy whining. Charlot repeated the motion, then went with both hands and tried to lift the cat up by its tail, demonstrating that he could not do it.
With a snort, the silverpaw bear bit what was left of the black lynx’s tail and easily picked up the cat. A thousand pounds! Yet, the bear could lift it without the slightest sign of strain.
“Good! Good!” Charlot praised, and he set about skinning the lynx, quelling his terror at getting so close to the bear. The bear had a strong wild odor, somewhere between a wet dog and an ox. Skinning the lynx would have been a monstrous effort but for the Vitserpadag, which slipped exactly between flesh and skin to slice perfectly through the subcutaneous layer.
Charlot was an expert skinner, and the phase dagger was happy to do his will. Before long, he had the whole pelt off the lynx, completely unmarred. There was barely even any blood on it.
“Drop!” Charlot said, for the bear still held the skinned lynx by the tail. The silverpaw knew this command as well, and the body dropped heavily to the ground. What a smart bear! His wide pointing eyes gave him a slightly idiotic appearance, but he was at least as bright as Charlot’s wolves. The bear had great potential.
The bear was looking expectantly at Charlot now.
“You can eat it. Go ahead,” Charlot offered, and the bear seemed hesitant. The bear gave the skinned cat an exploratory lick, and then looked up at Charlot to see if a reprisal was coming.
“It’s yours. Eat,” Charlot said. The bear had been trained by some hunter, judging by its reluctance to eat quarry. Freed of restraint, the silverpaw devoured the skinned lynx while Charlot dragged the pelt to the stream to scrape and wash it. What a glorious pelt! Vitserpadag was an unequaled tool for this work.
By the time he was through washing the pelt, the bear had picked the carcass almost entirely clean, leaving nothing but viscera. The blade could feel his pleasure, and it hummed with pride at its suitability. He gave it time to bask in pride before he cleaned and sheathed it.
The bear had made short work of the dead lynx, and Charlot reminded himself this was no game. Getting too comfortable around the monster could be a fatal mistake.
“Good bear,” Charlot praised, and the bear looked down at him, his snout streaked with gore. Then, he sat down and yawned widely. Charlot yawned himself. It had been an eventful day for them both. But there was no time to nap. They needed him in Fraughten.
He rolled up the pelt and shouldered it on his uninjured side. He immediately regretted it. His whole body hurt, and the pelt alone had to weigh nearly fifty pounds! It would be a gruesome trek back, but he was unwilling to part with such a prize. He walked to where Flaccaro stood, feeling a little stronger when he gripped the staff.
He’d need to stop often carrying such a burden, and the sun was already dipping low overhead. He was loath to use the art for something so mundane as lifting a burden. Maintaining a dweomer for an hour was the perfect way to give himself a wretched headache. The bear had settled against the ground and lay on its side panting from his gluttony. He would sleep well tonight.
“Farewell, bear! Thank you for saving me. Grow big and strong, and beat the hell out of those two turncoats!” Charlot called. He began to walk away, but then he heard heavy footsteps and a whining sound at his back. He turned, and the bear was right behind him. He sat down, looking at Charlot expectantly.
“You want to come with me, eh?” Charlot said, and the bear’s tongue lolled out. He was quite expressive, though his snout was blackened with gore and his teeth shone red with blood. The blue-black tongue flicked over his snout again and again.
“Gods, how am I going to afford to feed you?” Charlot wondered. “Come along, then.”
The bear’s thundering footsteps echoed his own. Charlot struggled forward with the weight of the skins, and each time he turned back to look at the giant bear, he laid down, setting its head on the ground.
“We have to get to the village, you lazy thing. It’s nearly dark!” Charlot protested, and he puffed ahead. The weight of the hide seeming more insurmountable with each step. They came to a small pool at the stream, and the bear plodded over and dunked his head into the water, then shook water everywhere. Again, and again he did this until all signs of his bloody feast were washed away. Then, he drank, lapping up a saucepan of water with each lick.
Charlot sat on a rock and watched, eyeing the black pelt sadly. He knew already in some part of him that he would have to abandon his prize. Carrying the pelt all the way back to Fraughten simply wasn’t in him. Perhaps he could come back for it later, though he worried insects would ruin it.
Finished drinking, the bear laid down before him with his head against the ground, then made a huffing noise. Was he tired already? Charlot looked him over, thinking perhaps the bear had been hurt somehow in the fight, but he could see no injury. Maybe the beast was simply malnourished. He did seem very skinny compared to the other bears.
“I suppose you need a name. Don’t worry, I won’t give you anything stupid. How about Korak? It means ‘strider’ in Malsk and ‘silver’ in Wyrth. Silver Strider, clever, right?” The bear gave him a walleyed look. He did not seem to agree.
“You, Korak. Korak. Korak,” Charlot pointed to the bear with each repetition, knowing this process would take days.
“Me, Charlot, Charlot, Charlot.”
Wincing, Charlot lofted the lynx pelt again and prepared to set off down the path. Korak the bear made an impatient noise, rose halfway up, and then laid down again, snorting at him.
“What in the Arc do you want? You can’t possibly be hungry.”
It struck Charlot suddenly. The bear must have been trained for riding. He was lowering himself to be mounted. What fearless person had trained this monster bear? Silverpaws were said to be clever for their size, but this bear was truly something special.
Charlot gazed through the planes, searching for any sign the bear was secretly a devil in disguise, or some poor fool who’d been cursed with this form, but Korak was just an exceptional bear. He bore no mark of sorcery.
“Dare I ride?” Charlot asked himself, and the question was not rhetorical. It took some time to summon the courage. He set the shadowcat hide over the bear’s neck, Korak lifted his head and allowed him to tie the arms of the pelt around his neck as an impromptu saddle. Korak must have worn a harness before.
Grabbing the bear’s thick fur with one hand and steadying himself with Flaccaro, Charlot climbed up on top of Korak’s back. The wild musky scent of the bear washed over him. When he was situated, the bear rose slowly, and gave an excited half-bark, half-roar. Charlot squeezed his legs, and the bear moved forward with a loping, careful gait.
Charlot pulled a handful of fur to the left, and the bear moved left, and when he pulled toward him, the bear stopped. Thank the stars, the bear had been trained to ride standard and not in the stupid Yarlee fashion, whose commands Charlot could not remember.
What a sight he must have been! The wizard with his gleaming staff, riding atop a giant bear saddled with the hide of a black lynx. Charlot broke into a wide grin as they climbed the winding path back toward Fraughten.