The Thorian Sagas. 1. The Trader.

Stoker sensed the uncertainty and the terror of those behind him, now safe on the upper floor.

This was what he knew, what he had trained for since being a boy.

Many of those stair treads would not support the weight of the animal now coming at them, so they would be safe where they were, and would have enough time for others to get to them, to save them if he fell beneath this attack.

He would not fall. There was too much at stake.

He could smell it already; the rancid smell of a bear. He could read its thoughts even, now that it was so close. But it could also read his, knowing where he was, inside, waiting for it. It was a Rogue, having already killed others of Stoker’s kind.

“I smell your fear already, Thorian. I have killed many like you, and I will kill many more after I have killed you and those you think to protect.’

Stoker laughed at it.

“Many, have thought as you think, Bear. They are all dead. Just as you will soon be.’

Stoker, then closed his mind to it; shutting it out, for the moment.

This time of emotional weakness for him, had let this rogue bear get too close. He should have paid more attention to what was going on outside of his own little world with these women who held almost all of his attention, especially that one of them that meant so much to him; Erianne.

He felt her concern behind him, where they were all safe. He sensed anger within her, as well as fear for him.

‘Do not be afraid, my little one, this is a contest I know well.’

‘I do not want to lose you, Stoker. I love you.’

It was good to hear that.

‘I know.’

He would be the one to pay the price for this lapse, but he had still been ready. He was always ready. But it was not that simple. Without these tributes under his care, he would have taken this bear on, whenever and wherever it had come at him; drawn to him alone by what it knew of him and by the unwary thoughts of those with him. With these tributes, he would have had to avoid risking their lives too, but this bear was giving him no choice.

Had he been more alert he would have had a little more warning from those who were following behind it, trying to get to it before it reached Saltash, and them.

His dog was to one side of the door, almost out of sight, waiting. The dog would nip at the bear’s heels, dancing around, distracting it as it knew so well how to do, as Stoker found one opening after another.

The bear thought it had only one opponent, but it had two.

The door crashed open to hang on one hinge, askew; shaking the building and setting the flags above Stoker’s head fluttering in the sudden blast of air.

A red-haired giant of a bear, hair erect on its head and upper shoulders, stood framed in that space with the brighter light behind it, its eyes adjusting to the relative gloom of the large room as it stood on its hind legs.

It had at least a six-hundred-pound advantage over the man, if not much more, but the man had the most to lose, so would be the more dangerous for it.

Without hesitating, knowing that he must take advantage of every opportunity presented to him against such a powerful adversary, Stoker leapt forward with his metal-shafted spear, driving the sharp point and razor-sharp blade, deep into the chest of the bear, wrenching it around to cut sinew, flesh and bone, setting the blood spurting and flying, even onto him.

The heart was always hard to get at, and even striking that, more by luck than intent would not be the immediate end, as it would be with any other animal.

This kind of bear… a Rogue…took much more to kill than any other bear.

It was a bear like this one that had killed his elder brother, Homer, on his eighteenth birthday.

He and Stoker; sixteen at the time, had gone out together to find that ‘one bear’ for his brother, but instead, they had encountered a Rogue, just like this one. Or it had found them.

His brother did not have the experience to take on such a bear, and the outcome had been inevitable.

Stoker soon joined in that unequal contest of death, and as his brother had fallen, Stoker had leapt in with his sword, passing it through the neck of that bear and then wrenching at it to do the most damage, cutting at veins and arteries before he too was felled.

When he’d recovered, some little time later, he discovered that he was still alive, with his brother and the bear dead, as other Thorians fussed around them, seeing what had happened.

The bear had not touched his brother’s body before its own death, so that was one good thing.

Stoker crawled to that still twitching bear, pushed his hand into the bear’s open chest, grabbed its still warm heart and made his claim as an Alpha Thorian who had killed a Rogue, despite his youthful age. No one at sixteen had ever killed a Rogue before.

His claim could not be refused.

His brother, Homer, had been with him ever since, as had been the hide and claws of that same bear.

‘I see your deepest thoughts, Thorian.’

‘You should, Bear. Two more kills after you, will make ten of you that I have killed, and I will then be able to claim my brother back from where he is.’

‘Another like you and I may also claim my eldest brother too. The one you and your brother killed fourteen years ago. I have searched for you hard, and long.’

They taunted back and forth.

‘Good luck with that, Bear. My brother was intact, but your brother was skinned. I have his hide for my coat, keeping me warm, and his claws on a necklace around my neck. Come and claim them if you can.’

The bear wrenched his body around on that spear, roaring at the pain, swinging both spear and Stoker to one side, throwing him across the floor; doing even more damage to its own insides, but unable to stop until this man was dead. Or he was.

That spear was not coming out easily even with the bear throwing itself around, unable to drop to all fours and charge Stoker with this weapon in its chest.

It would soon work loose.

Stoker picked up another spear; feeling pain; conscious of the damage that had been done to him as his own spear shaft had hit him hard on the side. There were broken ribs.

That second spear had been dropped down to him from the balcony above as the tributes, seeing the battle unfolding on their behalf, and pumping adrenaline at witnessing such never-before-seen violence… to protect them… stripped the armor from the walls and dropped it to the floor for their protector to find.

They now understood the true meaning of that expression… ‘protector’. To the death!

Stoker ran in again and pushed the second spear up into the bear’s neck and chin, even as the other spear dropped to the floor with a ‘clatter’.

He had to keep his advantage.

That other spear was knocked aside too, by a sweep of the bear’s claw at the man, ripping apart his tunic, drawing blood, giving the bear an opportunity, but by then Stoker’s dog was worrying at his heels, distracting him in a minor way, but it was enough.

Stoker picked up a heavy axe from the floor, swinging it at the bear’s head, even as it began to charge him.

The force of Stoker’s blow on its skull, felled the bear to sprawl out along the floor, stunned for a moment, with the axe lodged in its brain.

Still, it did not stop.

As it climbed back to its feet, Stoker drew his sword and swung it with all of his force, ignoring the pain from his body, and hacked at the bear’s neck; repeating it again and again until it no longer moved. This bear would never climb to its feet again.

He heard strident shouts of warning inside his head, but he was in too much pain to respond and to turn quickly.

Erianne and the others were warning him of something else!

They had found the key to get into his mind as Erianne had, and knew now, what he knew.

He felt himself lifted from the floor, thrown, to come up hard against the wall of the room feeling as though his back had been broken or his head torn off.

There was another bear behind him! Another Rogue! It had swept him out of its way. There had been two of them?

He reached out and picked up one of the swords from by him on the floor, placed the pommel on the floor with the blade pointing upward and waited for this bear’s attack coming at him.

There would be no surviving this attack, but he would make it pay dearly for it.

He also saw Erianne at the edge of the balcony, lifting another war axe from where it had been planted at the top of the stairs with one of the rope of flags tied around it.

She quickly fashioned another such rope around the head, where an extension from the metal blade, made a two-foot spear addition to its length.

The other tributes were throwing weapons down upon that bear trying to hit it, distracting it from him, as his dog danced around, ferociously tugging at the bear’s legs, chivying it.

Stoker tried to stop her, shouting at her both mentally and vocally, not to do what she clearly intended, as she launched herself from the balcony as if on a trapeze, but riding that axe down, point first at this new bear, guiding it with her forward foot and her hands on the ropes as the flags fluttered out behind her.

Stoker rose to his feet, ignoring all pain, stumbling to intercept her in some way, seeing what she intended. She let go of her precarious ride to fall the ten feet to where he caught her, knocking them both to the floor, to lie there.

The whole building shook as the axe and its point drove hard against the wall, pinning this second bear by its head to the woodwork, holding it there from falling, but as dead as any bear could be in that one final instant.

Silence reined!

...Except for the little dog still worrying at the heels of the second bear, but soon falling silent.

They all lived!

Erianne had achieved the unthinkable, but what else could she do when the man she loved was in danger of losing his life for her; for them all?

The other tributes poured down the stairs to help where they could, having lost their first fear. Sensing no other danger close by; overwhelmed by what had happened; seeing for the first time, what life was truly about if it was to be appreciated and lived. ‘Death,’ and ‘Life’, were close sisters, bedfellows. Life could not be appreciated without flirting with that other.

Never before had they seen such animals as these bears. Never before had they seen such ferocity, such violence, such love… such bloodshed, with the floor slippery with blood. But never before had they seen such heart-stopping courage of a single man to take on such a task to protect them… mere tributes!

He would have died to protect them! He valued them, more than he valued his own life? They did not immediately understand it, but they were beginning to.

They had seen the same things that Erianne had seen in Stoker’s mind, and now knew something of what their own futures held for them.

It was a future that was limitless; no bounds, no rules. The only imperative was to ‘live life to the full’, loved by a man such as this one; except he, was ‘taken’.

Their fears subsided, but they were left with the knowledge that they’d been lied to, even in their own cities. The Thorians had never been their enemies. Those who ruled the cities within, were the true enemies of them all.