The Fur Trader (10 page)

“Is it on the way?” William asked.

Garrin shook his head. “Not entirely out of the way, but it is a bit off to the north.”

“We don’t have the time for detours,” William said.

Garrin nodded. “Then I suggest from here on out you do as I tell you. Stopping and fighting bears, or worse creatures deeper within the mountains, will slow us down much more, especially if the animal wins. We’ll detour today and be back on the proper path by tomorrow. Perhaps that will help you understand how serious this is.”

“I understand,” William said as he rose to his feet. “But, for the love of the Gods, let’s just get on the road.”

Garrin shook his head. “The skin is fresh. It will attract animals as well. It’s too large to hang up in a bear hang.”

“Then let’s leave it,” William said, almost pleading.

Garrin stepped in and shoved the folded skin into William’s arms. “No. I never kill wantonly. We took the bear’s life. Now we will use every part we can. The pelt is going to my tanning station, and that is final.”

William nodded and soon they set out upon the road once more.

The trio wound their way through the mountain forest and snow, heading north upon little-used trails. They made the tanning station two hours before nightfall. A square building of stone with a slanted roof made of slate stood in a small clearing. A pair of stone chimneys protruded from the building’s roof, pointing to the cloud-filled sky. The door was only partly visible because it was covered by a large, round slab of stone.

Garrin let the split-tails loose and they put their noses to the ground, sniffing intently and running off into the forest. The horses and pack mule were left to forage for what little vegetation they could find nearby while Garrin unpacked one of the sacks of oats stacked onto the sled and then fed the horses from there. In between bites, he snuck each of the horses a pair of sugar cubes and patted them along their necks. The mule turned its nose at the oats and continued to stick its nose to the ground, searching for tender plants below the snow.

“Let’s take all of our supplies inside.” Garrin walked to the large, round slab and reached out to a sturdy, iron lock. He removed his right mitten and fished a key out of an outer satchel hanging from his belt. The lock clicked and squeaked as he disengaged it and then pulled the metal latch away that secured the slab of stone to the outer wall. Garrin grunted as he put his hands to the large wheel of stone and got it rolling away from the door. He then used the same key to unlock the wooden door and pushed it open.

“I bet that keeps the critters out,” William said as he pointed to the stone slab.

“Keeps rival trappers out as well,” Garrin replied evenly. “It isn’t unheard of in these parts for items to go missing.”

William glanced around the snow-covered trees circling them about. “Ever get groups of highwaymen out here?”

Garrin nodded. “It happens more often than you might think. Don’t worry though, I’m sure your little needle will scare them off.”

William shook his head and motioned for Richard to move into the stone building after Garrin. The trapper was already inside and building a fire in one of the two fireplaces. Within minutes the fire crackled and sparked into life, heating the interior of the stone cabin very quickly. Garrin then began sliding tanning racks to make space. There were seven bear hides, one moose, and several deer hides all stretched on the racks. Garrin shoved them up against the back wall and then helped bring all the supplies in.

William made himself useful by going to the second fireplace, which was equipped with a large cauldron and utensils for cooking. He took some of the bear meat that had been left over and began making a pot of soup. He found a large glass jar of water, sealed tightly, that he poured into the cauldron before he began cutting hunks of meat and plopping them in.

“You’ll find carrots and potatoes in the pantry to the left,” Garrin called out as he brought in the last of the supplies from the sled.

William nodded his thanks and opened a wooden door to find vegetables as well as a braid of garlic. The wooden box was well made, with no holes large enough for a mouse or other animal to squeeze through, yet there was a small vent made of several minute holes in the top of the box that allowed for some air flow.

“Build this place yourself?” William asked.

“I did,” Garrin said as he put some wood into the second fireplace and built the fire up for cooking. “Two fireplaces help evenly distribute the heat so I can use it for skins in the winter. In the summer, the stone walls keep it cooler than the outside air as well. It has served me well. Sometimes I come out here for days, and use this as my home away from home, so to speak.”

“Why do you live out here?” Richard asked suddenly.

Garrin looked to the boy and saw that he was fingering the hole in his coat that the bear had created during the attack. The trapper smiled and cocked his head to the side.

“I like being out here. The trees are good friends. The mountains are wise, and have a lot to teach if you are willing to listen.”

“What do they teach?”

Garrin pulled his coat off and tossed it over the small bed in the corner of the room. Then he turned to the pelts on the racks and pointed to them.

“The bear teaches about strength. The moose teaches courage. The deer teaches caution and the value of being alert to one’s surroundings.” Garrin then folded his arms and nodded to Richard. “The woodpecker teaches the value of persistence and faith as he pecks at the wood to find his food. The squirrel teaches about frugality, and preparing for harder times.”

Richard smiled back and nodded, but he didn’t say anything. His fingers were still feeling the tooth marks in his coat.

“The split-tails teach of loyalty,” Garrin added. Then he moved toward Richard and pointed at the largest tooth mark. “They also teach that groups that work together can always overcome any threat. A bear may be large and strong, but he is no match for a cunning boy, his fearless uncle, and a couple of split-tails.”

“You forgot the strong warrior,” William noted quickly, tossing the words over his shoulder at the pair.

Richard nodded then, and it appeared that the worry had left his face now. He smiled wider and then moved toward the bed. Kaspar nudged his way out of the canister and bounded over to curl up next to Richard.

“I think he does like me,” Richard said.

“He has good taste in friends,” Garrin said.

Richard smiled and stroked a hand down the soft fur on Kaspar’s back.

“I mentioned before that I took someone else through Geberron Pass, right?” Garrin said.

Richard nodded.

Garrin smiled and slid a chair over next to the bed. “He was a bit like you. He was young, inexperienced, and a bit frightened, but he made it through just fine.”

“Did he come from Richwater?” Richard asked.

Garrin shook his head. “No, in fact, he came from Brantwyn Keep, which is north of Brywood some distance.”

“I know where that is,” William cut in. “What was this man’s name?”

Garrin tossed the words over his shoulder without taking his eyes off of Richard. “His name is Derigrin Sponderak. He was training as a scribe there in Brantwyn Keep.”

“What in Hammenfein made a scribe from Brantwyn Keep travel across Geberron Pass?” William asked, half choking on laughter.

Garrin nodded and looked to Richard. “I can tell you if you like,” he told Richard.

Richard nodded enthusiastically, finally seeming to forget about the bear from the previous night.

The trapper leaned forward in his chair and cleared his throat. “Have you ever heard of Alimar Dondaric the third?”

Richard shook his head.

Garrin smiled wide. “Ah, well, you see, Alimar was a master scholar of the Order of Anorit. It was his job to collect folk tales, legends, and songs from as many peoples and countries as he could in his lifetime. He was a wise man who spoke many languages fluently. Some say he spoke Peish like a dwarf, and yet could switch into Taish and sound just like an elf. Well, you see, Alimar Dondaric met Derigrin Sponderak in Brantwyn Keep one day. The master scholar told the young scribe of his quest, and of past adventures. Derigrin couldn’t help but join the master scholar.

“Derigrin traveled with Alimar for two and a half years. The young scribe made it his mission in life to assist the master scholar collect stories and myths. Due to the young man’s inexperience, he let Master Dondaric convince him that the trolls and giants in the mountains had treasures of knowledge to be discovered.

“They trekked upriver to Silverdale. They stayed there for three days gathering supplies and preparing for the journey east to the mountains north of Kot.” Garrin shook his head then and sighed. “They were foolish to go up there. I used to fight up there, you see. That’s where I got my first taste of broken ribs, courtesy of a large Tarthun warrior.”

William called out from behind, “Is there a point to this story, or are you just trying to give him nightmares?”

Garrin held up his hand and waved William off. “Derigrin said his travels were enlightening. They were fortunate enough to link up with a merchant caravan for the first half of the trip. However, their luck took a turn for the worse after they split from the merchant caravan. Unbeknownst to them, a group of Tarthun raiders had been watching them, and once they separated from the caravan, the raiders fell upon them like an eagle might light upon unsuspecting mice in the field. Alimar Dondaric, being seventy-two years old, had no strength to fight, and Derigrin had always been better with a quill or pen than a sword. However, Alimar was clever enough to keep them alive. He recounted to the Tarthuns the story of The Moondragon. His lively retelling of the tale enchanted the pagan savages, and they marveled that an outlander should know one of their childhood stories.

“The Moondragon is not a Tarthun legend,” William argued.

Garrin turned around and nodded emphatically. “Yes, it is.”

“How do you know this Derigrin was telling the truth, huh?” William shouted with a flourish of his hands. Richard giggled and covered his mouth.

Garrin turned back to the boy. “I saw the manuscript. I saw Alimar’s book. The Moondragon is a Tarthun legend. In any case, that isn’t the point of this story.” Garrin turned over his shoulder. “No more interruptions.”

William put his hands in the air. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I’d hired a bard, I thought you were a burly, rough and tough mountain man.”

Garrin turned around and screwed up his face, turning his eyes in to cross each other and letting his tongue hang out. Richard enjoyed the jest and laughed out loud for the first time since Garrin had known him. Then, the trapper continued.

“As I was saying, the Tarthuns were so enamored with Master Dondaric, that once he finished, they allowed the two men to live so long as they continued to tell the Tarthuns stories. So, each night as the raiders ate and drank themselves into a stupor with wine, Master Dondaric would tell them a story from this compilation. During the day, Alimar and Derigrin walked along with the Tarthuns, for the Tarthuns had stolen their horses, and by night they entertained the savages with stories of honor and heroism.

“Whether it was because the Tarthuns had grown accustomed to Alimar and Derigrin, or they were celebrating the day’s raids, no one can be sure, but on the eleventh night the Tarthuns drank themselves to sleep much faster than on previous nights. Seeing that they were in the foothills near the mountains, Master Dondaric and the young scribe fled to the forested peaks to take shelter.

“Icadion smiled upon them once more and they were able to slip away from the Tarthuns for good. They spent the next two years hiking through the mountains, cataloging animals and birds, always looking for giants or trolls. They saw very little of civilization, and almost no humans crossed their path. It was interesting work, but it was certainly not the glamorous adventure Derigrin had hoped it would be. There were nights when they built up fires with thick smoke to drive off the swarms of mosquitos that plagued them. Other times they slept in trees with their bodies tied to the branches so they wouldn’t fall down to be devoured by the savage animals below.”

“Garrin…” William called out, the patience obviously ebbing away.

The trapper ignored him. “I don’t even want to mention the dysentery they both contracted after drinking from a stream they thought was clean.” Garrin pinched his nose and made a foul face. Richard laughed again and pulled his legs up under himself to sit upon his knees.

Garrin continued. “After two years, they quit their search and went farther eastward, arriving in the famous Twin Cities. They spent several weeks pouring over tomes in the archives, but Master Dondaric found nothing on his desired subjects. Oh, they found a couple of chronicles that mentioned cave trolls being spotted in the mountains, but nothing of any detail. Finally, Master Dondaric let his frustration get the better of him. They set out for the next range of mountains, north of the inner sea above the Twin Cities. It took a week to cross the inner sea, and Derigrin was more than grateful to step upon dry land again when they reached the base of the mountains, for the sea made his stomach sick. Master Dondaric was none the worse for wear, and was far too excited about finding trolls to inquire about Derigrin’s health at the time. So, they went straightaway into the jagged, rocky peaks. They camped only at dusk, and would rise to travel with first light. It was a grueling pace.

“They used every tip and trick Master Dondaric had ever collected to find the elusive trolls and giants, but nothing worked. They did come face to face with a few more bears than one would have wanted, but they were able to survive those encounters without injury, except for perhaps to Derigrin’s pride when an angry sow chased him up a pine tree and Master Dondaric was able to shew the beast away with only a yew branch.

“Their travels ended a few months later. They were setting camp for the night. Derigrin was roasting a freshly caught trout that he had wrangled out of a small stream and Master Dondaric was smoking a cherry-wood pipe and contemplating as he often did before supper. No sooner had Derigrin plated their meal when something burst through the trees and stamped out their fire. It was big, gray, and it had a grotesque bulging belly that overlapped its ragged, leather loin covering and heaved with each step. With one hand it knocked Derigrin clear from the camp and he landed in a briar patch. Thorns and briars ripped and pierced his skin, holding him pretty well in place no matter how much he struggled.