A Bard's Prophecy: Song Of The Bear 4

by Shelby Morgen

  Another one bites the dust. And another one gone, and another one gone. Another one bites the dust. “Are you happy, are you satisfied? How long can you stand the heat? And another one gone, and another one gone!”

  “Grandmother? Are ye all right?”

  The last of her song still echoed off the rock walls. Tyrell hunched beside her, his tall frame looking silly jammed in the small tunnel.

  Oops. Ayailla laughed as the last of the spiders disappeared. “Queen’s a bit before thy time, Tyrell, but I think ye would have liked them.”

  * * * * *

  “What are you making, Sandish?

  Sandish kept his eyes focused on his work, knowing better than to look up. Zañya was on the prowl again. He could smell her, already ripening. She’d be ready to mate soon enough. Well, he wasn’t interested. Not this time. No matter how hard his cock twitched at the scent of her. “A tool.”

  “It doesn’t look like a mining tool. What it is for?”

  “‘Tis a special punch, used to break rivets.”

  Had she cared enough to ask, he might have been fool enough to tell her what rivets, but Zañya did not ask. He had not expected her to. Her hand slid to his arm, headed straight for his crotch, he was sure. He swung the hammer again, making this strike harder than it needed to be. The reverberation echoed throughout the cavern. Zañya pulled back, fright flickering across her face for a quick moment.

  She recovered all too quickly, her fear turning to predatory lust as she watched the muscles flex against his soot-darkened skin. He could read her like a template. Understood what she was thinking before she had puzzled the thoughts out for herself. He curled his upper lips in disgust. “I’m not interested, Zañya. Take what you’re selling elsewhere.”

  Innocent protest lit her face. “I’m not selling anything! What would I have to sell? I came only to speak to you, Sandish. Is there offense in merely speaking to you?”

  “Do not try your games with me, Zañya. Do you think me a fool, to be led about by the cock? I have no wish to fertilize your womb. Find yourself another sperm donor.”

  “You know the rules, Sandish. We are ordered by the Council to take every means possible to ensure the delivery of new cubs. Four of your last six matings have produced live cubs. I wish only to do my civic duty to the Clan.”

  His nostrils flared as he looked down at her, his hammer paused in mid swing. “‘Tis the quality of the cubs that concerns me, Zañya, not the quantity.”

  “Am I not attractive to you? Men praise my beauty.”

  “You are quite beautiful, Zañya. You know that. That does not make me attracted to you.”

  Uh-oh. He’d clearly exceeded her capacity for understanding. Her face screwed up in a parody of a frown, as though she wished to avoid wrinkling her brow prematurely. “I thought this was what a man desired in a mate.”

  How could he make her understand that he wanted more than the use of her body during mating season? That he had come to desire a relationship that might last for more then the span of days he could count on both hands? “I have a dream, Zañya. It comes to me in the night. A vision of Clan Bear as we once were, basking in the great light of the above. I want the things we once had. I want to not only father cubs, but to raise them to know freedom and responsibilities and family. I require in a mate that she share my vision for the future. Can you do that? Can you think beyond the mating to the life your cubs will live? Do you want them born into a life of slavery, where they will never see the light of day?”

  The confusion on her face lifted slowly, to be replaced by a sardonic smile that argued with his view of reality. Her entire body language changed. Her left eyebrow tilted up as she folded her arms across her chest, gifting him with a view of a woman he had not seen before. “I would not be voicing these thoughts too loudly, Sandish. Someone might think you had been counting the days since Braunnan and Cullaelon disappeared, speculating on why they had not returned. Someone might wonder if your punch was not designed to loose the rivet from a torc, perhaps.”

  He drew his breath in sharply, his nostrils flaring wide at the scent of her. “If someone had such thoughts, why would someone wish to appear…”

  “Vapid? Devoid of the sense the gods give a newborn cub? Such an act has been known to get a woman what she wants.”

  “I suppose such an act might work. Depending on what the woman in question wanted.”

  “If a woman wished to leave this place behind, to travel through the tunnels in search of the light, she might wish to learn all she could before she began her adventure. She might wish also to store away fertilized embryos, so that should she survive, only to find herself alone in a habitable world, her race might not die with her. She might also wish for a Smith, with a mallet and a punch, who might remove the symbol of her subjugation from about her neck.”

  The smell of her was overpowering. Beauty. Brains. Enough of a sense of intrigue to have confounded him with her act for several seasons now. Sandish fought the urge to pull her into his arms, throwing her to the ground there in front of his forge. He forced himself to think with the head capable of reason. “A man might wonder, were he asked such a thing. To remove a prisoner’s torc is to risk discovery and death.”

  Her eyes had darkened, showing large and liquid brown now, her breath coming in hard pulls that sent her breasts heaving as her chest expanded to draw in more air. She grinned, her teeth showing. “Then perhaps a man might pack his tools and carry them with him, so that this thing might be done where none would know. Or care.”

  His hammer dropped unnoticed to the ground. He caught her as she lunged at him, her legs settling around his waist as he pulled her against the hard bulge of his erection. The smell of her was driving him crazy. He had to have her. Had to have her now.

  Evidently the feeling was mutual. Strong hands pulled at his clothing, ripping at the laces that held his leggings shut. Sharp teeth closed over his tunic, grazing the nipple beneath. He reached for her tunic, anxious to find the soft skin that lay beneath it. Doing so allowed her to slide down his waist until his cock ground against her thrusting pelvis. Shit. This was never going to work. He needed more hands.

  Next to his forge sat a water barrel, used for cooling molten metal pulled from the fire. Well, he knew of a few things that needed cooling right now. He sat her atop the barrel, freeing his hands to pull the tunic over her head. Beautifully sculpted breasts fell now at eye level, like ripe fruit ready to be picked. He grabbed one with his lips even as he fought with the ties on his leggings.

  “Yes!” she gasped, shoving her nipple farther into his welcoming mouth. Her hands clawed at him as he lifted her down over his throbbing cock. What was left of his rational thought argued that this was wrong, taking her here like this where they could be discovered at any moment. His cock didn’t care. She was already dripping with need as he shoved into her, pulling and clawing at him with the greed of her desire.

  Sandish pushed her back against the forge’s center beam, a massive chunk of oak that had been hauled in from above long before his birth. He had to curl his neck too far to maintain his hold on her breast, so he bit instead at whatever he could reach. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her hard and fast as he ground against her, seeking relief from the fast rising torment that touching her brought to him.

  It didn’t matter that just a few minutes before he’d thought her a vapid tramp looking for nothing more than the seed he could give her. He’d analyze his feelings later. For now, hot, dirty, gritty, sweaty need ruled all.

  The harder he pounded his raging cock into her the more she demanded, clawing and scratching and biting as she pulled him even closer, her heels digging into his ass. “This won’t take long,” he gasped, reaching for her ear with his teeth.

  “Good!” Her fingers found his nipple, sending a jolt through his system as she squeezed just a little too hard.

  Too much! His cock surged within her, pounding furiously as he sought his relief. Her muscles clench
ed around him, her face contorting as she stiffened in his arms, crying out as she clawed at him again. He grinned in satisfaction as he ground against her for a moment, giving her time to remember to breathe.

  The flood of her orgasm washed over his cock, the bitter juices stinging slightly. He picked up the pace, feeling his balls draw up high and tight against the base of his cock, ready to explode. She wanted his seed? Who was he to deny her what was hers by right? Sweat stood out on his skin as he pistoned against her, shoving her back hard against the ancient oak beam. Harder. Faster. Harder! Faster! He lost all semblance of control as the final frantic thrusting took over, shaking his body with the strength of his urgency.

  Dimly, somewhere in the back of his other brain, he felt the presence of others not far away. It mattered not. Let them see. Others might claim her later, but for this mating at least, he had been the first. He roared out his defiance as he broke, branding her with the heated flood of his seed, pumping into her with wave after wave of sweet release as he emptied himself into her greedy cunt. They clung together, gasping for breath, too limp and weak to even move.

  At last Zañya stirred, reaching for something. She got as far as lifting a hand, then let it fall back to her side. “We have company,” she panted against his ear.

  Sandish saw what she was after, but he couldn’t reach it either. Not without moving. He tried, and failed. “Give me a moment.” Sure in a minute or two he’d have the strength to at least reach her tunic.

  “We’ll send a herald next time to make sure the timing’s better,” a voice from beyond the pavilion answered.

  He knew that voice.

  Braunnan was back.

  Chapter Seven

  “Do it again.”

  Sandish watched in disbelief as Braunnan shifted smoothly from her own form to that of a thirty stone female Grizzly. Cullaelon followed. For a moment the massive giant stood pawing the air, his roar a warning to all who were nearby that Braunnan was spoken for.

  The message was clear enough. Sandish grinned. One woman was surely enough for him, at any case. “Keep the noise down. You’ll be hard to explain to the guards.”

  The old woman—some of them called her Grandmother—tapped her walking stick on the ground authoritatively. “We have little time. General Tranorva’s army awaits us above. They will hold the attention of the Élandra as long as they can, but the cost will be high. When do the guards change their posts?”

  Sandish glanced at the lights on the wall of the great cavern. “The guards change shifts at the same times as the shift changes in the mines, so that for a short time there are four guards instead of two. We have just under an hour until the next shift change.”

  “There are but two guards?”

  “At present, yes Mistress.”

  Ayailla nodded her head thoughtfully. “We will need a diversion. We need someone to run to the guards for help, calling them away from their posts.”

  Zañya volunteered immediately. “I’ll get them. I’m a great actress!”

  Sandish found that silly grin plastered to his face. He’d have a damn hard time arguing with her assessment. She was a fine actress. She tugged on his arm, pulling him toward the open side of the forge. “Lay here, where they can see you, as if you’ve been injured.”

  Sandish complied, stretching out beside the hammer he’d dropped earlier. Braunnan’s party stepped behind the shelter of the forge, just out of sight. Zañya turned to run for help, then turned back, dropping to place a kiss on his forehead. “We’re going to make it, Sandish. I know we will. Our cubs will be born in the sunlight.”

  “She’s pregnant?”

  Sandish couldn’t suppress a wide grin, though he knew they could not see him. “Bit too soon to tell.”

  He could hear Braunnan start to snicker, then another sound, like her laughter being muffled by—by something.

  No. He wouldn’t picture Cullaelon kissing the woman he’d once thought himself in love with. He was in too good a mood.

  “Help! Help me!” Zañya’s shrill scream echoed back across the great chamber. “Help me! Please, come quickly!”

  Her voice faded away, but soon the sounds of running feet grew louder as the guards followed the hysterical woman back through the long chamber. “I found him like this! There’s so much blood! I didn’t know what to do. Please help him!”

  “I don’t see any blood.”

  “Look closer!”

  Sandish wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, precisely, but he wasn’t about to produce any blood for the guard who leaned down to poke at him, so he made a miraculous recovery, grabbing a guard under each arm as he regained his feet. “What do you want me to do with them now?”

  The old woman stepped out of the shadows, her hand over her mouth as she tried to suppress her giggles. “Well at this point we subdue them.”

  He looked down at the two flailing guards. “Then what?”

  “Set them on their feet so we can get a good look at them.”

  Sandish did so, clamping a hand around the base of each one’s neck.

  “Ouch! Let go of me damn it! You’re pulling my hair!”

  “Sorry Darvon. Don’t wiggle so much. Garrot, I’m really sorry about your uniform.”

  As if on cue, the two slim, pale ones from Braunnan’s party shifted, but not to take on the form of the bears as they had first appeared. As they circled the guards he held, both of the pale beings became Élandra. Interestingly enough, they both appeared to be male now, their features rather bland and nondescript. After a few moments they became Darvon and Garrot.

  “Ouch! Let go of me damn it! You’re pulling my hair!”

  Sandish blinked. The voice was perfect, as well.

  “Sandish? What’s going on? Would you please put me down now?”

  “Sorry, I can’t. Much as I like the two of you, if I let go of you, you’ll run upstairs and get me in big trouble.”

  “Sandish? What’s going on? Would you please put me down now?”

  Garrot with a woman’s voice was just too funny. Sandish swallowed his laughter. “A little deeper.”

  “Sandish? What’s going on? Would you please put me down now?”

  Sandish nodded his approval. “That’s perfect.”

  The two replacement guards nodded to one another. “When the others come on duty we will send one back upstairs to tell the others we are remaining below. There seems to be trouble brewing.”

  Trouble would be putting it mildly.

  “Clan meeting. Third shift’s Great Hall. Pass the word.” The message rumbled through the shift change like an echo of treason. “Clan meeting. Third shift’s Great Hall. Pass the word.” For the first time in decades the sounds of the pick axes file silent. “Clan meeting. Third shift’s Great Hall. Pass the word.”

  “When?”

  “Now. Clan meeting. Third shift’s Great Hall. Pass the word. “

  “Clan meeting. Third shift’s Great Hall. Pass the word.”

  They stumbled in, some tired from hours of mining in the bowels of the earth, other roused prematurely from their sleep by the criers, yet others dressed and armed for work, their hammers in their hands and their clothes still free of the black dust that clung to everything.

  Ayailla watched them find their places, like a choreographed performance, seated on the stone floor before her in straight lines, arranged she was sure by house and by rank.

  Braunnan spoke first, her voice loud enough to carry to the back of the gathering. “Many of you know me. I am Braunnan, Third Shift Supervisor. I am also known as Mistress of the Fifth House, Clan Bear. For years I used this title merely to mock myself, and the legend of what we had once been. I have been on a long journey of self discovery these past months. I stand before you now with no mockery in my heart today. I am Braunnan, Mistress of the Fifth House, Clan Bear!”

  A roar went up from the crowd, whether because they understood what she was trying to tell them, or because of the passion in her voice, Ayai
lla was not sure.

  “These people you see here beside me believe in Clan Bear—in what we once were, and what we shall be again! This is Cullaelon, my mate. Beside him stands Roahr VinDall, once an Élandra slave like us, who escaped to freedom these many years, and now Lord of House VinDall. Next is Donovan, a Bard who also escaped, and has returned. Why would he come back? Why would any who finds life beyond these halls return? Because they believe in Clan Bear! Because they believe in what we will be once again!”

  The crowd rose, roaring their support, their fists raised high.

  Ayailla tapped her staff to the ground once, concentrating on the ceiling overhead. The room darkened, and the ceiling disappeared, a night sky filled with stars taking its place. The Bard stepped forward, his deep voice filling the silence as Clan Bear stared at the carpet of stars for the first time in over thirty years. As Donovan sang, Ayailla let the night sky fade into a fresh spring day, painting the scene the Bard sang on the stone walls.

  The Bear awakes in the spring.

  As the goddess she comes

  To rend the Earth.

  Hungry and powerful,

  Angry and desolate.

  Like the lone avenger she comes.

  Come to me, my people,

  At the water’s edge.

  Come to me, my Warriors.

  Let the blood flow.

  Come to me, my children.

  Let us cleanse the Earth.

  Let us sing the Song of The Bear.

  She cries for her children,

  Ripped from her arms.

  She cries for her mate,

  But he is no more.

  She cries out for blood,

  In a voice that will not be still.

  Come to me, my people,

  At the water’s edge.

  Come to me, my Warriors.

  Let the blood flow.

  Come to me, my children.

  Let us cleanse the Earth.

  Let us sing the Song of The Bear.

  Let us rend that which destroys.