“Then why send him?”
“What is life without an occasional amusement?”
They sat surveying the silent ruins for only a few more moments before the shout came, a shrill exclamation of alarm echoing from the tumbled stones. Kiral unlimbered her bow and the guardsmen fanned out, swords at the ready as Lorkan burst into view at the city’s edge, cloak trailing behind him as he pelted in their direction, eyes wide with unabashed terror. The reason for his flight soon became apparent, a large brown shape lumbering in pursuit, mouth wide and teeth bared in a challenging roar.
“Didn’t know they grew so large,” Vaelin commented. The bear must have stood perhaps five feet tall at the shoulder, meaning its full height would be nearer ten. Although its pursuit of Lorkan appeared laboured, it covered the ground with deceptive speed thanks to the length of its stride.
“Kill it, for Faith’s sake!” Lorkan yelled, sprinting towards them, the bear now only a few strides behind.
“Don’t!” Vaelin said to Kiral as she raised her bow, his eyes picking out a figure among the ruins, small and familiar with another at its side, only slightly taller and holding aloft a long stick of some kind. The bear skidded to an abrupt halt, scattering gravel, a mournful growl issuing from its snout. It bounced on its forelegs, claws digging into the rocky ground, continuing to stare in challenge at Lorkan who was now on all fours behind one of the guardsmen, panting and clearly on the verge of losing his breakfast.
Scar, like the other horses, had begun to rear at the sight of the bear and was now on the verge of outright panic, tossing his head in protest as Vaelin hauled on the reins. “It’s all right,” he said, dismounting to smooth a hand along the animal’s flank. “He won’t hurt you.”
The bear snorted again, shaking its great head from side to side as if gathering strength for another charge, but then stiffened, became near as still as a statue. “He still young.” A small, fur-clad man holding a bone as long as a staff appeared at the bear’s side, his voice holding a note of apology. “Friend and enemy smell same.”
“Wise Bear!” Vaelin came forward to clasp hands with the shaman, heartened by the strength of his grip. “You are far from the Reaches.”
“You go on the ice,” Wise Bear replied with a shrug. “I show you how.”
“He was very insistent.” Dahrena stood a short distance away, smiling tightly. “Could hardly let him come alone.”
Vaelin went to her, pulling her close, the realisation of how much he had missed her provoking a harsh ache.
• • •
They shared a meal of spitted goat, apparently the victim of the great brown bear’s hunting skill judging by the deep rents in the carcass. “Iron Claw brings good meat,” Wise Bear said. “Only keeps insides for himself.”
When the meal was done Vaelin followed the old shaman as he toured the ruins, peering at the shattered statuary and occasionally jabbing his bone-staff at weed-covered rubble. The bear roamed nearby, displaying equal scrutiny as he poked his large snout into the various nooks and crannies, sometimes using his dagger-like claws to pull the stones apart.
“Iron Claw wants bugs,” Wise Bear explained. “Bear belly never full.”
“How did you know to come here?” Vaelin asked him.
Wise Bear gave him a quizzical look, as if the answer were obvious, raising his eyebrows when Vaelin failed to discern his meaning. “Big . . .” He frowned, fumbling for the right words. “Big power, big . . .” He made a wide, flailing gesture with his arms, blowing air through his lips.
“Disturbance?” Vaelin asked, adding, “Storm?” at the shaman’s blank gaze.
“Storm, yes, big storm in the . . . sea. Power sea.”
Wise Bear barked a laugh. “None can see it all. Just feel storms, feel those touching it, hear songs if they sing. Felt the storm brewing, heard the girl’s song, followed it here with Flies High Woman.” His frown returned as they came to the great stone head Vaelin recalled from his first visit here, the bearded man with a troubled brow.
“The storm is coming here?” Vaelin asked, watching him tentatively touch the tip of his staff to the stone face.
“Storm came here before.” Wise Bear lowered his staff to place a hand on the bearded man’s forehead, closing his eyes. “Now just echo.”
“Of what?”
“What was, what will be.” The shaman removed his hand from the stone head, sadness dominating his wrinkled face.
“I thought he might be a king, a chief,” Vaelin said but Wise Bear shook his head.
“No, wise man, keeper of many stories.”
“But not wise enough to stop the city falling?”
“Some things nothing can stop. He build this place, shamans filled stone with power to sing its song.”
