Page 2 of Renaissance Bear

Which was exactly why Laurie couldn't go home, shift, and come back tomorrow miraculously healed. Only really,reallybad injuries couldn't be fixed with a few shifts back and forth. Which was great…ifnobody had seen the shifter get hurt.

Jon dropped his voice, too, sympathetic but also knowing he was right. "I know, bro, but a ton of people saw you go down and everybody else is gossiping about it. You're screwed, man. There's nothing you can do about this one."

"I'll tell people it wasn't as bad as we thought it was!"

"Four peoplehad to carry you to the medical unit, Laurie! Look, I get it, I do! It sucks! But man, it's my turn to fight!"

Laurie, sullenly, said, "You don't have the armor for it."

Jon gave him a Look. "We fit in all the same clothes."

That was also true: they were eighteen months apart in age, about half an inch apart in height, and of similar breadth in shoulder, waist and hip. Half the faire attendees thought they were twins, a belief neither of them disabused anybody of. Jon's long hair was darker blonde than his brother's, and his voice was a solid octave deeper, but people often didn't notice those things,and had a difficult time telling the two youngest Torben brothers apart.

It was considerably less difficult when one of them had a brace on his leg, though. "Besides, what are you going to do?" Jon asked with a pointy grin. "You can't chase me if I knock you over and steal your stuff and go fight in your place."

"You wouldn't!" Laurie did a credible look of injury and horror, but he knew perfectly well that Jon would. That was brothers for you.

"You don't want to let the Torben name down, do you?" Jon crooked his fingers, demanding Laurie's leather tunic.

Laurie deflated and put his crutches aside so he could pull the leather tunic off. "It's not the Torben name at Faire," he mumbled into the clothes as he pulled them off and threw them at his brother. One of the tavern wenches whistled. Laurie brightened, pausing to flex as Jon laughed and caught the top as it flew at him. The faire was only just getting started this year, and the Thunder Bear Brewery's pub was opening for the first time in about an hour. They'd gotten the tents up and the rustic wooden seating laid out yesterday, and had brought in the bars, beers, barrels and bites that morning.

And Laurie, showing off for one of the bar maids, had twisted wrong as he lifted a barrel. Everybody within ten feet had heard the horridpopfrom his knee, and everybody in a three-tent radius had heard his shriek and seen his collapse. It had not been a subtle kind of injury.

Jon really did feel sorry for him, but there was no point in both of them manning the pub when one could be out fighting. Itusedto be that they'd switch, one day and then another, and then one week and another, until it had gradually turned into one summer and another, only Laurie somehow kept being the 'one summer' guy while Jon worked the pub every year. It was way past being Jon's turn. He would have been happier if ithadn't taken Laurie blowing his knee out to get his chance, but at this point, he'd take it.

"I'm going to sign up for the fight slots, bro. You want me to get you a turkey leg from Sampson's?" Jon asked as a peace offering.

Laurie's pout worked wonders on girls, but made Jon want to pull his brother's lower lip over his head. Still, Laurie mumbled, "Yeah, please," through the pout, and Jon knocked his shoulder against Laurie's as he headed out.

The main gates weren't quite open yet, and although Jon loved the relentless busy-ness of the faire, he thought he loved the hours just before opening even more. The air vibrated with enthusiasm and everybody was in a good mood, looking forward to the crazy bustle of the first evening. People had new costumes, called 'garb' at the faire, and were ready to show it off. Tonight, after the gates closed again, there would be a fantastic party for the faire workers, a huge celebration of being back together and doing something they loved.

Tomorrow everybody would be hung over, and by the middle of next week, weariness would already be starting to settle in, with a month of Faire still ahead of them. But the first night was just about perfect, in Jon's estimation. He scuffed through sweet-scented sawdust paths, waving greetings at friends he hadn't seen in a year or sometimes more, and breathed in the rich pungency of mulled wine over there, roasted turkey legs back there, cotton candy from farther down the fairgrounds. Pretty soon it would smell like sweat and sunblock, too, but right now it was perfect.

The fighting grounds were awesome: a field in three parts, the largest of which was the jousting run. Signups were being held at the sword fighting ring, and there were already a couple of faire workers there, sharing grins at their own enthusiasm. One of them waved and yelled, "Hey, Laur! I thought you gothurt!" before realizing he was the Other Torben Brother, and rearranged their faces to try to hide their surprise. "Jon!"

"Yeah, Laurie's out for the count so it's me this year. Good to see you, Dale." Jon bumped fists with the skinny fighter, who looked like a strong breeze would knock him over and who—according to Laurie—hit like a rhinoceros.

Not an actual rhino. Not in the way Jon and Laurie were bears. Dale was a true human. So were most of the other faire workers who had shown up early to get their names into the fight rosters. There were plenty of spots already taken: Jon knew a number of people who were basically professional jousters and blade fighters, who took priority in the lists because they put on a good show. The rest of the slots would be filled by tomorrow afternoon, all by people—like Jon—who wanted to make a name for themselves in the fights.

Dale grinned at him as they finished filling out the paperwork. "May the best man win, eh?"

"Loser buys the drinks at Thunder Bear," Jon replied, grinning in return, and stopped for a turkey leg on his way back to help Laurie open the pub as faire-goers began flooding in.

The next afternoon,Jon was in the fight ring, working hard to kick butt and take names in the qualifying rounds.

The weather was flawless, a blue sky broken only by the western mountains that rose up over his home town; the eastern horizon went on forever, though in the fighting ring the air was clouded by dust that he and his opponent, a big man, had kicked up. The other guy had size on him, and had used that size to knock Jon on his ass. But he didn't have speed, or the secret strength of a shifter, although it would be cheating to use that.

It's not cheating,Jon's bear said.Survival is all that matters.

The bear, Jon thought, was aleeeeettlemore hard-core than he was. It had never quite come to terms with the idea that Jon lived a pretty cushy life andchoseto fight, instead ofhavingto.

And for the moment, that was just fine, because he loved having the bear cheer him on too. Sweaty, grinning, convinced he could take his opponent down in the final few seconds, Jon staggered to his feet and gave an appreciative roar as somebody dumped a bottle of water over him, cooling him under the summer sun. An equally appreciative roar went up, mostly from the women in the crowd, although since he was wearing a metal helm because it was the one piece of real armor they had to have for the 'unarmored' fights, it wasn't like they were getting a really great show. Still, Jon wasn't one to dismiss an enthusiastic audience's cheers, or fail to play into them. He shook his wet head, lion-like?—

Bear-like,his bear said, offended.

A rather vivid image of a fat bear shaking river water off popped into Jon's head. It just really wasn't as elegant as a lion tossing its thick mane.

His bear stared hard at him.

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