Lords of Grass and Thunder by Curt Benjamin Read Free Book Online Page A

pain of the healed wound still pulled him from his sleep. So did the nightmares.
    The magician was dead, however, and the Onga River itself was the most perilous danger lurking in this familiar wood. He had only to stay away from its banks—a rustle of fallen leaves pulled his head around, listening. There it was.
    A roebuck, its antlers in full maturity this late in the summer, stepped delicately between the trees almost close enough for him to touch. For a moment he hesitated, thinking of a friend who had traveled in the shape of just such a creature. Only animal intelligence moved behind these eyes, however. He aligned his body with the target and pulled, his bow hand level with his eye.
     
     
     
    From the shadows, hidden among the trees, Qutula watched as the prince nocked his arrow. He had grown used to the idea of killing Mergen’s heir. The thought of slipping the point of Jumal’s spear between the princely ribs gave him only the slightest twinge of doubt. He hesitated, however, to end his cousin’s life until after the taking of his prey. He had his father to lead him to the home of his ancestors, of course, and his mother. But it always helped to bring an offering for the spirits with you. Qutula’s hand clenched around the shaft of the spear. He would do it—
    A rustle in the underbrush signaled the arrival of his companions. Too soon. If he’d acted, he’d have been caught. Grateful to whatever demons or spirits were looking out for him, Qutula turned to hush whoever had come upon them as they would expect him to do—Tayy still had to take his shot.
    “Roooaaaar!”
    Oh. Not his fellow guardsmen after all. A great black bear reared on his hind legs. Towering over him, the bear stretched his mouth wide to threaten him with sharp teeth long as his fingers.
    Time slowed as it does in battle. Qutula felt the beat of his heart pressing the blood through his veins, heard it pounding in his ears. The tattoo on his breast stirred with anticipation. No time to set an arrow; he pulled back and threw the spear he carried, held his breath as it flew through the air and plunged deeply into the flesh of the bear’s shoulder.
    “Roooaaaaar!” The black bear dropped on all fours, limping, and shook his head. Maddened slobber frothed at the corners of an old purple scar that cut across his muzzle. He charged, and Qutula reached for the knife at his waist, knowing there was no time to draw it, that it wouldn’t stop the beast. He’s mad, he thought, looking into beady eyes red with ancient rage. I’m going to die.
    An arrow snapped past his shoulder, so close Qutula felt the breath of its passing against his face. It pierced the beast’s eye, penetrating deep into his brain. The power of his dumb limbs kept the bear moving a pace, two, until his body finally realized that he was dead. Then he tumbled forward, crashing over on his side no more than a pace away.
    I’m alive, Qutula thought. The terror had gone, leaving a melting lassitude in all his limbs. He hadn’t died after all.
    “Qutula! Are you hurt?” The prince stood at the ready, a second arrow set to fly. But the bear was dead. “Are you all right?”
    “I’m fine. He didn’t touch me.”
    His voice sounded distant, disinterested even to his own ears. Jumal and Bekter crashed through the underbrush then and for a moment he allowed himself the foolish hope that Bekter had made the killing shot. But the newcomers were both out of breath and he recognized the fletching on the arrow.
    “You saved my life.”
    “ ’Tula? What’s wrong with my brother?” Bekter was still gasping for air. Later, there would be pointed questions, but now he accepted the prince’s answer, “Shock. He says he’s unhurt.”
    Jumal had followed Bekter. His eyes were more for the creature when he asked, “What happened?”
    That’s a bear at my feet with the heir’s arrow in its eye. It should be pretty damned obvious what happened.
    “ ’Tula?”
    Qutula looked