Read Online Thornbear (Book 1) by Michael G. Manning - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael G. Manning
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Cyhan began to circle him, stopping when he was behind the young man, just out of his peripheral vision.
Time passed and he said nothing. Gram began to itch. Sweat was slowly beading on his skin in the hot afternoon sun, and small flies were swarming about him. They weren’t biting flies, but they did land on him occasionally, walking about on his skin before taking off again. He swatted at them.
“Be still,” ordered the man standing behind him.
The words carried a warning, and Gram ceased his movements. The itching grew in intensity, made far more unbearable by the knowledge that he wasn’t supposed to move. Gritting his teeth, he held himself motionless. This is a test, he told himself. I can handle this.
An hour passed, and then perhaps another. It was difficult to be sure, only the movement of the sun gave him any indication of how long he had been sitting there. His legs hurt and his butt had gone numb. Gram was regretting his choice of sitting positions already, but he kept himself still. He itched everywhere, and his eyes searched the grass before him desperately for anything that might allow him some distraction.
Even his hair began to bother him. Faint breezes would shift it at times; and while that was normally a pleasant experience, now it maddened him. The movement tickled his ears and neck, which he knew he must not scratch. Over time his itching seemed to move, being most intense in one area and then later moving to another, but it never disappeared or relented.
It was the longest afternoon of his short life, stretching out before and behind him like the road to eternity. He began to fear it would never end. Time has stopped. It should be nightfall by now, he thought. Maybe he intends to keep me here even then.
And then he heard a voice, “Stand up. It’s time to go in.”
His body twitched, eager to do just that, but his mind hesitated. Maybe I imagined it? It took him a moment to decide the command had been real. He stood and almost fell when he tried to take to his feet. Pain, followed by tingling and numbness, engulfed his lower body. A low groan escaped his lips, but Cyhan ignored the sound.
His teacher watched him for a minute before beginning to walk. Gram stumbled along in his wake. As they passed through the gate into the castle yard, Cyhan spoke again, “Zaihair is a word from my home. The simplest translation would be ‘teacher’ or ‘master’, but the most precise, is ‘life-holder’.”
Gram made no reply.
“When we pass through the door, your training is over for the day and you may behave as you normally would, but you will not ask me about today. Tomorrow you will meet me again after the noon meal, and your training will begin again.”
Gram said nothing then, but once they had passed through the main door he finally spoke, “Thank you, sir.”
***
“Your arm looks better,” said Grace the next day. She was addressing him from a table in one of the side corridors that led away from the main hall. He had just finished breakfast.
“Thanks,” said Gram, pausing since it was obvious that she intended to come with him. He lifted her when she got closer. Just a year or two previously, he might have been too self-conscious to be seen in public with a stuffed animal, but he wasn’t worried about such things as much anymore.
She cast an appraising eye on the fading bruises. “She did a good job,” she noted with a certain pride.
“She did,” he agreed. Inwardly he winced whenever he remembered the paralysis she had inflicted on him before rendering him unconscious.
“She gave her brother a bad time about not having paid enough attention when the Count was teaching them the basics of healing, but I don’t think he paid her much heed,” commented the small bear. “He’s been very involved in some new project. He’s hardly been eating.” She watched the young man’s face as she spoke.
Gram was familiar with the technique, for his mother was a master of
Time passed and he said nothing. Gram began to itch. Sweat was slowly beading on his skin in the hot afternoon sun, and small flies were swarming about him. They weren’t biting flies, but they did land on him occasionally, walking about on his skin before taking off again. He swatted at them.
“Be still,” ordered the man standing behind him.
The words carried a warning, and Gram ceased his movements. The itching grew in intensity, made far more unbearable by the knowledge that he wasn’t supposed to move. Gritting his teeth, he held himself motionless. This is a test, he told himself. I can handle this.
An hour passed, and then perhaps another. It was difficult to be sure, only the movement of the sun gave him any indication of how long he had been sitting there. His legs hurt and his butt had gone numb. Gram was regretting his choice of sitting positions already, but he kept himself still. He itched everywhere, and his eyes searched the grass before him desperately for anything that might allow him some distraction.
Even his hair began to bother him. Faint breezes would shift it at times; and while that was normally a pleasant experience, now it maddened him. The movement tickled his ears and neck, which he knew he must not scratch. Over time his itching seemed to move, being most intense in one area and then later moving to another, but it never disappeared or relented.
It was the longest afternoon of his short life, stretching out before and behind him like the road to eternity. He began to fear it would never end. Time has stopped. It should be nightfall by now, he thought. Maybe he intends to keep me here even then.
And then he heard a voice, “Stand up. It’s time to go in.”
His body twitched, eager to do just that, but his mind hesitated. Maybe I imagined it? It took him a moment to decide the command had been real. He stood and almost fell when he tried to take to his feet. Pain, followed by tingling and numbness, engulfed his lower body. A low groan escaped his lips, but Cyhan ignored the sound.
His teacher watched him for a minute before beginning to walk. Gram stumbled along in his wake. As they passed through the gate into the castle yard, Cyhan spoke again, “Zaihair is a word from my home. The simplest translation would be ‘teacher’ or ‘master’, but the most precise, is ‘life-holder’.”
Gram made no reply.
“When we pass through the door, your training is over for the day and you may behave as you normally would, but you will not ask me about today. Tomorrow you will meet me again after the noon meal, and your training will begin again.”
Gram said nothing then, but once they had passed through the main door he finally spoke, “Thank you, sir.”
***
“Your arm looks better,” said Grace the next day. She was addressing him from a table in one of the side corridors that led away from the main hall. He had just finished breakfast.
“Thanks,” said Gram, pausing since it was obvious that she intended to come with him. He lifted her when she got closer. Just a year or two previously, he might have been too self-conscious to be seen in public with a stuffed animal, but he wasn’t worried about such things as much anymore.
She cast an appraising eye on the fading bruises. “She did a good job,” she noted with a certain pride.
“She did,” he agreed. Inwardly he winced whenever he remembered the paralysis she had inflicted on him before rendering him unconscious.
“She gave her brother a bad time about not having paid enough attention when the Count was teaching them the basics of healing, but I don’t think he paid her much heed,” commented the small bear. “He’s been very involved in some new project. He’s hardly been eating.” She watched the young man’s face as she spoke.
Gram was familiar with the technique, for his mother was a master of
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