The Bear and His Daughter Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cast of Characters

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  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  This story is for Elizabeth—

  sister, friend, inspiration.

  Cast of Characters

  HOUSE HONE—A FRONTIER FAMILY, LIVING ON THE EDGE OF AARYN’S CRY ABOVE-THE-TRANGE

  DARRO HONE, Branten Hone’s brother, killed by Balmás Dallanar in F.Y. 12,014.

  BRANTEN HONE, a trapper, hunter, woodsman, and more.

  MARGARET HONE, Branten’s wife and confidant.

  TEAGAN HONE, a boy of 18 years; injured as a newborn.

  EVAN HONE, a boy of 16 years.

  ELIZABETH HONE, a girl of 15 years.

  SOLDIER, the Hone’s 7-year-old rock mastiff.

  LITTLE ROSIE AND COMPANY, a pack of hunting hounds; various ages.

  A GREY BEAR CUB, just over six months old.

  SOME LOCAL VILLAGERS, HUNTERS, AND FRONTIERSMEN

  MR. OTTO JARLUND, a Konungur stockman and loremaster.

  MR. AIMO BARNABUS, a merchant; seller of dry goods and tackle.

  BELIOS BARNABUS, a boy of 16 years.

  BEIRO BARNABUS, a boy of 15 years.

  MR. PAAVALI FONHAMMER, a trapper, hunter, and woodsman.

  JUREK FONHAMMER, a boy of 19 years.

  ANSA FONHAMMER, a girl of 17 years.

  INARI FONHAMMER, a girl of 15 years.

  MR. SULO TULF, a Konungur trapper, woodsman, and agitator.

  LORD TOMAS MODRÓ, a poacher, thief, and killer from the Duchy of Farák.

  CAPTAIN COLJ’S SQUAD

  CAPTAIN FELLEN COLJ, an ogre of Jallow, the Tarn’s Captain of the Guard.

  MASTER BENGAMON ZAR, the Master of Arms of House Dradón; an Anorian veteran.

  GREGORY, a messenger dragon of Dávanor, Master Zar’s pet and friend, 11 palms long, 399 years old.

  NIVAR XEN VARREN, a Targead assassin and arbiter, the 17-year-old son of Varren xen Cenoren, the Grand Master of Assassins, House Targon.

  SISTER DARIAN FAER, an Anótean seer, the 14-year-old daughter of High Seer of Anótos, Doron Faer.

  OOMA, a Helvanthían air squid.

  LORD DORÓMY’S ENTOURAGE

  HIGH LORD DORÓMY DALLANAR, High Chancellor of Remain, Brother of Bellános Dallanar, the Silver King, and wielder of the Vordan; also known as “the Iron Lion.”

  HIGH RANGER GIÁCOMA NORFELL, a bear rider, warden of the Tarn, and Dorómy’s adopted daughter; murdered by persons unknown in F.Y. 12,032.

  LORD GAREN DALLANAR, Lord Dorómy’s 12-year-old nephew, son of Bellános Dallanar; a young prodigy, scholar, and healer unmatched in the Realm.

  LORD LAYNE TEVÉSS, a braggart, fool, and Lord of Dávanor, a young man of 21 years.

  CAPTAIN ERIK DYER, a dragon knight of Dávanor, Captain of the Sundaggers.

  VOIDBANE, a war dragon of Dávanor, Dyer’s mount, jet-black, 61 paces long, 99 years old.

  The Kingdom of Remain spans all space and memory.

  It is the Eternal Kingdom, the Silver Kingdom, an ancient sphere born of our love and our sorrow, our blood and our joy.

  The Kingdom of Remain encompasses countless stars and minds. It has served our people for millennia. And we have served it in return.

  The Kingdom of Remain is our place. It is our home.

  The Kingdom of Remain is our legacy. It is our story.

  It is the only tale we have worth telling.

  The following events take place in the Twentieth Year of Bellános III, Founding Year 12,032.

  “Deception lies at the Heart of Politics, Diplomacy, and War; these cannot exist without Deceit. For this Reason, a wise Prince will study the Falsehoods of his Family, his Friends, and his Enemies as carefully as he studies the Facts he knows to be true. The Ability to know Dishonesty—and to use that Knowledge wisely—is a Mark of true Power. But above all else, there is this: A Prince who would keep his Throne can lie to everyone forever, but he can never lie to himself; Deceit can live everywhere, save his own Heart.”

  – Katherine II, The Canon of Tarn, “Prolegomena to Imperial Tactics and Diplomacies.” F.Y. 189

  1

  “What’s that?!” Teagan cried into the freezing wind. “You hear that, Liz?!”

  “Yes.” Elizabeth Hone nodded calmly. She’d already stopped on the snowy path and cocked her ear at the sound.

  Over the mountain’s winter wind, through the snow-laden firs, the dogs were barking savagely.

  But it wasn’t the bay of pursuit.

  It was the sound of a fight.

  Teagan lifted his furry earflap and tilted his big head in the direction of the dogs’ barking. Liz slid her hunting bow from its scabbard. The night sky raced with clouds. The moon was rising white behind the big mountain. When Teagan glanced back at Liz, his eyes were bright with worry.

  “That’s not right.” Teagan looked away, shaking his head, muttering. Liz could barely hear him over the wind. Teagan looked back at her. Snowflakes caked his eyelashes. His cheeks were flushed with cold. “I mean . . . . You hear that?!”

  “I hear it, Tee,” Liz said patiently. She took off her mittens, adjusted her cap, and smoothed a lock of blond hair that had come loose from her braid back behind her ear. Then she bent and strung her bow. Liz was only fifteen years old, but she had an eagle eye and was already an accomplished archer. “Girl can hit a copper sun at fifty paces!” Father would brag to old man Jarlund and the other men down at the village tavern. An icy gust flurried fresh powder from the trees. The moon’s hard light made the snow glow.

  Another burst of savage barking tore through the wind.

  “Come on!” Teagan shouted. He turned off the path, moving between the trees toward the barking dogs, pushing through the knee-high snow up toward the northern ridge. “Come on, Liz!”

  Liz followed, walking in her older brother’s wake.
The drifts got shallower between the fir trees and the wind was less brutal, but the heavy branches were densely packed with snow and made for hard going.

  A yelp of pain ahead of them—then a deeper, more serious barking.

  “Soldier!” Teagan shouted, pushing even harder through the drifts, his big, clumsy arms held up as if wading through waist-high water. The ends of his furry cloak brushed the snow crust. “Soldier! What is it, boy?! What is it?!”

  Liz slid an iron-tipped arrow from her quiver and nocked it. She understood Teagan’s concern. Losing a hound was one thing. Bad—but ultimately forgivable. Things went wrong when you were out on the trap lines. But if something happened to their only mastiff, Father would skin them both alive, sure as it was winter.

  At the base of the ridge, they pushed into a wide spot between the trees and Teagan stopped short.

  Liz edged around him to get a better view—and frowned.

  Their rock mastiff, Soldier, and their five hounds had cornered a massive grey bear.

  But the bear was dead.

  Its left eye was closed peacefully, as if it was sleeping. Its right eye was a bloody squirrel hole, the back of its skull red with gore. Both its front paws had been hacked off at the joint. In the white glow of the moonlight, its silver-grey fur glittered like fresh frost, a frozen statue of a napping bear, the snow ‘round it clotted red with blood.

  Liz’s frown deepened.

  Father would be furious.

  The hounds edged in at the bear’s huge corpse, barked at it like the poor beast was the most dangerous foe they’d ever faced, feinting in and out, stumpy tails poised and alert. Little Rosie’s bottom wiggled like mad. Half a palm of snow covered the bear’s huge hump. Liz assessed the depth of that snow carefully. Big guy must’ve been killed some time ago. Two, three days at least.

  Liz didn’t relish the idea of telling Father what they’d found. Father had no patience with poachers, especially those that operated near his trap lines. In fact, the last poacher Father had caught up here had been sent down to Korfort to turn himself over to the rangers—after he’d received the beating of a lifetime. It had been so horrible. Near the end of it, Liz had actually started feeling sorry for the man.

  Teagan had finally realized that the huge bear was dead. He sighed with relief, pushed his furry cap back on his head, and rubbed the scarred depression at his left temple. Tee had been injured as a baby and always touched at his scar when he was confused or nervous or didn’t know what to do. Which was often. Then he blinked, looked at the dogs, and cried, “Soldier! Here! Good dog! Leave that be! Leave it, Soldier! It’s dead! Soldier! Soldier!”

  The big mastiff ignored Teagan completely, his attention fixed on the dead bear, huge muscles bunching beneath his smoky fur as he paced behind his hounds, a general directing the action.

  But there was something else going on, Liz realized.

  In front of the hounds, something she couldn’t see . . . . She made to step closer, but her brother stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “You ever seen a bear so big?” Teagan asked. “He’s a monster! His paws must’ve been worth something dear! That’s a grey bear, right? I mean . . . look at that silvery fur! And look at that shot! Pow! Right in his eye! A carbine do that?” He stopped, blinked, then stared at the dead bear. “Father’s gonna be real mad. Not at us, though. Right? Right, Liz? Not at us?”

  “Right, Tee.” Liz nodded, pushing her braid over her shoulder.

  The hounds’ barking went louder. Liz looked around Teagan, past the pack—and saw something move, something small and grey beside the bear’s corpse.

  Her eyes widened.

  Teagan had been right about Father being mad. And he’d been right about the killing shot. But he was wrong about something else.

  The giant, dead bear wasn’t a “he.” It was a “she.”

  And it had been a mother.

  2

  The hounds went quiet and there was a lull in the wind. Then Rosie darted in, yelped, and scuttled back, whimpering, yapping like crazy, her little tail aquiver. Liz pushed past Teagan to get a better look, her bow and arrow held at the ready—but she didn’t think she’d need them.

  Beside the dead bear, a tiny cub snarled and whimpered. The little fellow sat with its back against its mother’s silver-grey fur, swaying with exhaustion, its skinny rump bumping against the furry wall of its mother’s corpse. Its ribs stuck out like a skeleton and its stomach sank like a hollow. A blaze of white fur marked its small chest, just a little left of center, over its heart. When Liz approached, the cub looked at her for a long moment. Its eyes were grey and large. Then it blinked and looked away. There was blood on the cub’s muzzle. Fresh blood spattered the snow around it. The cub tried to stand, wobbled, sat back down. Liz frowned. Having a hard time, aren’t you, little guy?

  The wind went still once more and the hounds fell silent. In the sudden quiet, Liz could hear the bear cub’s breath: a terrified, wheezing whistle. Liz slid her arrow back into its quiver and unstrung her bow. The hounds started barking again.

  Teagan took his furry cap off, scratched his head, touched at his scar. “What do you make of that, eh?” He wiped some snow from his eyes. The sunken white wound along Teagan’s temple stood out proudly in the cold. He put his hat back on crookedly, looked at Liz. “Huh? I mean . . . what do you think?”

  “Not sure,” Liz said. Then she whispered: “Soldier—here.”

  The big rock mastiff immediately turned from the bear cub, leapt back through the snow, and turned at Liz’s heel. There, he sat and scooted his bottom down into an accommodating drift, looking up at Liz. Sitting up on the drift like that, their heads were almost at the same height. Liz was tall for her fifteen years, and Soldier was huge for his breed. When Soldier stood on his hind legs, he was taller than Teagan—and Tee was almost nineteen years old. Little Rosie gave another yelp and the pack went nuts.

  “I mean . . . . Should we kill it?” Teagan asked. “I don’t want to.” He eyed the bear cub nervously and adjusted his cap. One mitten went to his horn-handled knife, the other fidgeted with the hem of his furry hunting cloak. “What do we do?”

  Again, Liz understood Teagan’s worry. If something happened to the dogs, there would be real trouble when they got home, especially if Father’s leg was hurting. If something happened to Soldier, Teagan wouldn’t sit down right for weeks. And these days, it might be worse than that . . . .

  “What should we do?” Teagan asked again.

  “Don’t kill it,” Liz said. Then, to Soldier: “Soldier—bring ‘em back.”

  Soldier stood and gave two deep barks from his barrel chest. All the hounds froze, turned, and came back to him, huddling ‘round his flanks—all save one: little Rosie, of course. Soldier glanced at Liz, turned back to Rosie, and gave a low growl. As usual, Rosie didn’t listen. Instead, she kept worrying at the little bear cub, her butt in the air now, playfully wagging her stumpy tail. The bear cub wobbled to its hind feet. It looked like there was something wrong with one of its rear legs; Liz couldn’t tell for sure. Soldier barked again. Rosie paid him no mind. Liz saw Soldier’s muscles gather.

  “Soldier—wait,” Liz said. “Rosie—come here.”

  Rosie ignored her.

  Soldier looked at Liz. Liz looked back at him, then nodded. Soldier sprang behind Rosie, growling much deeper this time, huge teeth menacing, and gave the little hound a nip on the rump. Rosie yelped and jumped away from Soldier toward the bear cub, who promptly swiped her nose, drawing blood. Rosie scooted back toward Soldier, the big mastiff taking a step back to let her pass, his growl low and deep. Tail down, Rosie’s head dropped and she sulked back through the snow to the rest of the pack. Soldier stayed where he was, three paces in front of the bear cub.

  “Good girl!” Teagan cried, rubbing Rosie’s ribs when she came up to him. She immediately perk
ed up, pink tongue lolling. “Who’s the good, best sweetie-girl comes back when she’s called? Let’s put some snow on your war wound, sweetie. My darling little sweetie-sweetie.” Rosie yipped, her stump tail wagging like crazy. She licked Teagan’s face, smearing blood along his cheek.

  “Don’t praise her,” Liz said absently. She was staring at the bear cub. So was Soldier.

  The cub was still growling in fits and starts. But it was more like a series of desperate gasps and gurgles than any real threat. And the cub was young, Liz realized. Maybe six months old? Barely out of the den. And very small. Runt of the litter, for sure. Little thing shouldn’t have been out here in the first place.

  The little bear looked Soldier in the eye, but it was so tired, it could barely keep its head from drooping. Its neck was reed thin. Its paws and head seemed way too large for its body. Its silver-grey fur looked amazingly soft, the white blaze on its chest shining in the bright moonlight. The cub blinked its grey eyes. Then, quite suddenly, it bared its teeth and tried to stand. It bumped against its mother and growled ferociously, raising and lowering its front claws—up and down, up and down. When it stood like that, Liz noticed that the cub’s right rear leg was deformed. Not broken, but crooked, the shin slightly bent down and to the side. And there was a weird black claw sprouting off the side of its foot, just above the ankle—like a dog’s dewclaw, but much longer, about the length of Liz’s palm. More like a quillcat’s spine than a claw. Liz doubted the cub could stand properly on two legs, even if it wasn’t starving. She frowned.

  “Soldier—here,” Liz said. Soldier turned from the cub, walked back to Liz, and sat at her side. Soldier’s deep brown eyes were absolutely calm. Liz put her mittened hand on the mastiff’s back, pushed her blond braid back over her shoulder, and watched the cub for a moment.

  “What do we do, Lizzy?” Teagan asked, rubbing Rosie’s side as the little hound licked the underside of his jaw.

  Liz unslung her game bag and unhooked her backpack. She fished in the pack for a moment, finally coming up with her leather food pouch. She opened the pouch, broke off a corner of the crusty hardtack she kept inside, then cut off a piece of smoked snow grouse that Mother had given them before they’d left. Liz had hoped to bring some of the meat back home, but this surprise—a grey bear cub, a live grey bear cub—would be better, by far.