How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the Last Mighty T-Rex (27 page)

Lenna spat and sheathed his knife while Enro stroked his own gray beard. Wordlessly, Enro climbed atop Thimbar and Lenna mounted Anderro, and the two hairy beasts lumbered into the darkening woods.

The meadow quieted.

Quintar’s thoughts drifted while he watched scavengers pick the Chakra’s remains. He noticed a Great Thrikar circling against the ever deepening sky; its enormous wings unfurled and bulbous eyes shifting. The bird swooped over the bloody entrails, sending furry scavengers squealing and scattering. The Thrikar hovered for a moment and then rushed downward, snatching the pig’s head in sharp talons. Majestically, it whooshed skyward, carrying away its prize.

Quintar sighed deeply. Shila sprung forward, carrying him away and into the forest.

Quintar closed his eyes as the forest rushed by. Thimbar led the giant Yaak single file through the brush and woods. Quintar held tight to hairs on Shila’s lower neck while the strangeness of the object along the riverbank haunted him still.

The three beasts ambled over a ridge and then descended the bank of a mountain stream. They followed the stream down a narrow, twisting path. Quintar listened to the splash of enormous feet through shallow water.

Darkness overcame the forest and the trio of beasts slowed. Quintar noticed glowing campfires on the opposite shore.

He thought only of rest.

**********

Quintar lay under his canvass shelter wrapped in woolen blankets. Ominous clouds moved from the north and both moons disappeared from the night sky. Quintar saw his warm breath by the campfire’s light. He drifted into a restful sleep.

He was alone atop a high pinnacle where the air was clear and also quite thin. Above his head, fluffy white clouds rolled effortlessly towards a horizon with no end. The sky was a deeper blue than he had ever seen. But he could see no sun!

A vast, green valley lay before him, sliced by a wide river, and cradled by steep slopes and rolling hills. To the north, the river split at a vast confluence surrounded by checkered farmlands. Below the river’s convergence on the river’s western shore, he beheld a congregation of homesteads bellowing white smoke and set upon tiers connected by a labyrinth of seven twisting roads.

Quintar recognized the settlement of Tyrie: the greatest of three colonies that encompassed the lands of the Great Confluence. And the place he had grown to manhood.

An odd-looking, gold and black Thrikar flew over his head and perched on a rock ledge beside him. “Behold,” said the bird to an astonished Quintar. The bird pointed its wing downward, toward the confluence’s farmlands.

Quintar envisioned his youth nearly four seasons past: the towering figure of his father atop his plow, driving snorting Zampha-ox through fertile fields washed by spring’s massive floods. And his father’s smiling face as he lifted Quintar to hold its reins.

“There will come a time when you and your brother will take over,” Quintar heard his father say. “Then you can teach your sons as I’ve taught you, and carry on our most honorable traditions. You will be the fifth, Quintar; you will be our fifth generation.”

Quintar saw his young self, withdrawn and silent.

Quintar recalled the first time he witnessed the brave Yaakriders emerge from the wilds on their mysterious beasts, their manner stern and their faces hardened from years of unimagined adventures in distant regions. He thought of nothing else since. He had become obsessed....

He remembered the day he received the letter bearing the Supreme Yaakleader’s seal, and his great joy, followed by deep sadness. He recalled his mother’s tears on the day he left to begin his apprenticeship and his sister’s embrace. He remembered approaching his father working the fields, but the farmer wiped his brow and looked away, and Quintar could do little else but move onward.

Quintar lowered his head, and then he scowled. “You have shown me nothing that I don’t already know, bird. Why torment me so?”

The bird squawked. “You do not know all, Yaakrider. Many things of this world are shrouded in darkness. But if want to see, you must first let yourself fly. Do you wish to be blind forever?”

Quintar furrowed his brow. “But I cannot fly, I have no wings. I’ll plummet to the ground to my death.”

“You will not fall, if you search for the truth,” the bird cackled. Then the bird launched from its perch and flew away toward the eastern horizon. Moments later, it was gone.

Quintar looked around, and to his astonishment, his arms became wings made of bright, multicolored feathers. He looked downward and beheld huge talons where his feet should have been. He moved his wings tentatively at first, but as he gained confidence, he flapped harder. Suddenly, he lifted from the ground.

The feeling was like none he had experienced before. He felt a sense of exhilaration and freedom. He soared above the highest perch, above the highest mountain and down the valley of the Great River. He glided above the tallest trees, across green meadows and fields and over deep-blue lakes.

“Look up there! The Thrimara,” the people of the valley cried. “He will make us see. He will show us!”

“I am not worthy,” Quintar replied, with eyes downcast.

“Lead us,” they said. “Or we will live forever in darkness.”

“I will try. I can only try, but I can’t promise...”

He flew out of the valley towards the distant eastern mountains and upon a strong updraft, spiraled into blue sky. When he reached the farthest mountain, he began to struggle; his wings felt like stone. He felt as if he were flying through water.

He could go no farther.

He looked down at his feet and gasped— his thin bird-ankles were bound with heavy metal rings.

He plummeted, but he never reached the ground.

Quintar awoke to the sounds of snoring Yaakriders. Dawn had not arrived, yet the camp glowed in a dull light. He propped himself up for a better look.

A blanket of fresh snow covered the forest’s floor.

CHAPTER
 
2 (The Yaakmen of Tyrie)

Q
uintar pushed through throngs of swirling citizens and barking peddlers in Tyrie’s Central Marketplace just as the late morning sun peeked above the snow-capped peaks enveloping the Valley of the Great Confluence. He stopped and closed his eyes, allowing memories of the long hunt to evaporate, replaced by pungent aromas of roasting meats and boiling stews.

“Looking for somewhere to spend your credits, good Yaakman,” a merchant bellowed, bowing curtly. With exaggerated grace, he waved his hand slowly over his wares. “Well, as you can see, I present the finest goods from all three of Tyrie's settlements. Perhaps you’d be interested in a nice wool coat, stitched by the finest seamstresses in the northern settlement of Norelda or lush furs gathered at outposts on the wilderness’s edge. I also have smoked fish, pulled from Lake Adair's crystal-clear waters and prepared south of the falls of Kahnor in the noble settlement of Adair.”

Quintar grinned, running his fingers through freshly clipped hair. The Yaakman understood the merchant’s routine all too well. Seasons ago, he and Lenna had spent many a summer day playing amid the markets, getting into mischief or running errands for a credit or two.

The merchant rubbed his chin. “Come, Master Quintar, there’s little reason to be coy. The markets have been buzzing for days with tales of your recent bounty. Most agree it was the finest Chakra-pig presented at auction in recent memory. Sadly, an unpretentious merchant like me could not dream of matching the highest bids.”

“My humble regrets,” Quintar said teasingly.

“Maybe you wish to treat your beasts to some tubers as tribute to their service. A gesture of good fortune, is it not?” The merchant turned, gathering a yellow-green root. “Just look at this fresh Charkur. Do your beasts not deserve the best?”

“Farm-grown?” An all too familiar voice sliced through the browsing citizens. Even Quintar, if for only a moment, felt his heart flutter and his breath deepen. The man strode forward, parting the remaining market-goers like he bore a deadly plague.

“Master Carathis,” the merchant stammered. “I…”

“I asked whether this Charkur is farm-grown,” the Supreme Yaakleader said, stroking his neatly-trimmed mustache and grey-streaked beard.
 
“I cannot state my question any clearer.” Carathis's green eyes never wavered from the beleaguered merchant. Carathis's brooding eminence was legendary amongst Tyrie's citizens, and it was said that only a man or women with great nerve could withstand the Supreme Yaakleader's deadly stare for more than a handful of breaths.

The merchant swallowed hard, gathering his courage. “I can assure you this root is certified-grown by the farmers on the Great Confluence, Master Yaakrider. Fair-minded merchants are well aware of the statutes forbidding the collection of the beast’s wild feed.” He bowed.

Carathis snatched the root and sniffed. He caught Quintar’s eye and then nodded. “Come, Quintar, let us walk together and away from these crowds. I have something of great importance to discuss with you.”

The two Yaakriders strolled wordlessly through the bustling market, its cobbled streets congested with peoples of all status and dozens of carts filled with wares of every imaginable sort, drawn by shaggy two-horned quadrupeds. Quintar lagged a respectful half-step behind Carathis's brash presence, knowing well the Supreme Yaakleader's aversion to idle chatter.

Carathis led Quintar out of the markets and across Tyrie’s lowest tier. Soon, they passed Tyrie’s Great Meeting Hall and Hall of Commerce and a number of large, private homes owned by Tyrie’s successful merchants and traders or political leaders or organizers of metalworker or mining guilds. Above them and to the west, the road twisted upward and the homesteads became more modest, constructed for a growing class of smaller merchants, tradespeople, weapon makers, carpenters, and builders. Quintar recalled that Druiden, master of Adair’s Academy of Knowledge and census taker, reported that over nine thousand humans now resided just below the Great River’s confluence.

 
Beyond the buildings to the east, the sloping floodplain ended at the bank of the Great River— its blue-green water seeping gracefully southward.

They continued up the road until the crowds thinned. Finally, Carathis turned to Quintar. “I have named you to represent the Yaakrider’s guild at this year's Great Council.”

Quintar halted abruptly, his eyes widened. Quintar slowly shook his head.

“Do you have any questions?” Carathis asked with a devilish smirk. “Perhaps a simple comment to pass our time? I have named you to one of the most prestigious positions in the lands, and you stand before me mute? I expected more of you.”

“No Carathis, I am honored. Yet I can think of many Yaakleaders more senior and perhaps some more deserving.”

“Quintar, you are always the humble man. But I have chosen you, and I alone have the only vote of consequence in this matter. And I do so with the authority granted to me by the bylaws of our guild.”

Carathis and Quintar continued onward. Quintar took a few steps, digesting what he had just heard, asking finally, “When will the Great Council meet?”

“Twelve days following Ellini’s full cycle, and, of course, after the members are assembled.”

“Under a moonless sky? During the celebrations?”

“Yes, a day chosen by Ruma himself. I guess he reasoned it would assure good fortune.” Carathis shrugged. “I don't bother myself with such trite, yet alas, it is his privilege to do so.”

“Good fortune is always welcome,” Quintar said, “although never guaranteed.” Quintar rubbed his chin as the reality of his newly elevated status finally began to sink inward. He turned and matched Carathis's steely gaze. “I give you my word as Yaakrider of Tyrie that I will represent our guild with earnestness and dignity.” Quintar bowed slightly.

“Good, good. And I will give you ample opportunity to structure your thoughts. I’m ordering you north to meet the Noreldan representatives at Lake Norelda’s ferry docks upon Alberon’s half-phase. I’m commanding Hassen south to Adair to escort the representatives from the southern settlement.”

“And who will speak for Norelda at Council?”

“Samael will represent the Noreldan merchants, a newly elected man named Balyar will represent the ranchers on Norelda’s slopes, and our old friend Tharmstron will speak for the northern trapper communities.”

“Everyone in Norelda knows Master Samael,” Quintar said. “And I have met the trapper Tharmstron, but I have never heard of a rancher named Balyar.”

“And there will be a fourth person— another trapper— who will attend the meeting at the behest of Master Druiden of Adair and tell a story the subject of which even I know nothing.”

“A second trapper?”

“Yes.” Carathis shrugged. “Yet in matters of the Great Council, we Yaakriders do as we’re told without question.”

“Still, I must—”

“What you must do is prepare! A man confident in his facts should not fear speaking before others. I have listened to you lecture those under your command, and I have no doubt of your competence.”

“Yes,” Quintar replied, once again bowing curtly.

**********

Farissa's Inn and Pub was a landmark amongst the people who inhabited the lands of Tyrie. Nestled amid the settlement’s second tier, Farissa boasted the finest brew found in all the lands and distilled Jenna that many testified was unmatched in quality and smoothness.

Farissa himself was an affable fellow, who ran his establishment with his wife and eight children. Yet even Farissa had his limits, and he had little tolerance for unruly behavior amongst his patrons.

Quintar and Lenna sat under Farissa’s soft lanterns in the crowded pub’s corner. Quintar took a sip of brew and wiped his lips. Lenna raised a huge glass of Jenna. Belching loudly, Lenna wiped a tiny stream of the golden-brown liquid from his unshaven chin.

“It’s best to beware Farissa’s Jenna, my friend,” Quintar said, eying his companion somberly.

“Representative to the Great Council of Tyrie…?” Lenna shook his head, raising his glass. “I would have wished to see the look on Hassen’s face.”

“Carathis could have selected any Yaakleader. He cares little for seniority.”

“Nor does Carathis care of others grumbling within the guild, so it appears.”

“I cannot speak for others, yet I doubt any rider would have questioned Hassen’s appointment.”

Lenna took another long swig of Jenna and waved his finger. “Nor does the majority of the guild dare question any of Carathis’s decisions. There are riders who believe Hassen’s time has passed, while an equal number say Quintar’s time draws closer.”

Quintar slowly sipped some brew. He lowered the mug gently to the table’s polished surface. “Hassen has rightfully earned his status as Carathis’s second.”

“With that, I can agree.” Lenna turned his wavering eyes toward three burly, bearded men sitting at a nearby table. Each bore clothes fashioned from wild animal skins and their voices boomed above the Inn’s customary chatter. A rack of rich furs lay against the closest wall. Lenna leaned over and spat on Farissa’s floor. “Trappers,” he said loudly. “I can smell their stench.”

Quintar eyed Lenna sharply.

Lenna sighed. “Yet, perhaps in your case, Carathis is motivated beyond loyalty?”

Quintar leaned slowly back in his chair, feeling like he had eaten the bitterest of root. “Ruma?”

“Your father leads the Council, does he not?”

“Carathis knows politics. He understands that Ruma and I are father and son in blood only. What advantage could Carathis seek?”

“Blood carries a strong bond, my friend. And do not overlook that your brother Hayden has been chosen to represent the confluence’s farmers.”

“Hayden and I have not spoken since childhood.”

“Still…”

Quintar leaned close. “Listen Lenna, Hayden has spent half his life trying to ride Ruma’s reputation into the Great Meeting Hall. I have even been told he brags openly of replacing Ruma when my father passes. I wish my brother well, yet unless Carathis has chosen me simply to enrage Ruma, I can only predict my father’s indifference.” Quintar shrugged.

Lenna grinned broadly. “So you do take an interest in politics?”

Quintar waved his hand. “I have little interest in days filled with boring speeches, endless debates, and dissatisfied citizens.”

Lenna again took a gulp of Jenna. He slammed the glass to the table, belching vigorously. Lenna’s eyes once again shifted toward the table of three trappers. A huge man with flaming red hair and a rugged face, bellowed loudly. Lenna's eyes narrowed. “That's what Farissa gets when he leaves his doors open to vermin.”

Quintar shook his head. Lenna’s latest outburst was a bit too loud for Quintar’s comfort.

The trappers abruptly quieted. “Do you have a problem, Yaakrider?” the red-headed trapper blurted forcefully.

Quintar raised his palm. “No, my trapper comrades, but I’m afraid my companion has had too much of Farissa’s Jenna.”

“Well, Farissa does make a strong drink. Your friend should be more mindful of his manners.” The trapper shook his head, turning with exaggerated emphasis back to his companions.

Lenna chortled loudly.

“And what of you?” Quintar asked, hoping to maintain Lenna’s wavering attention. “Have you found a buyer for your homestead?”

“A merchant came to me a few cycles ago. He says he wants it for his son or daughter. He said he would stop by in the next few days, before we set out along the northern trail.”

“Your furnishings alone should fetch a decent price.”

Lenna sat for a few moments staring into his glass. “And who will we be carrying back with us from Norelda?”

“A merchant, a rancher, and two trappers.”

“Two trappers? Why a second trapper?”

“Carathis told me this man was invited to the meeting to tell a story, the subject of which we know nothing.”

Lenna sniffed. “I wonder what scat-filled tale he will be spew to waste the Council's time?”

Quintar shrugged.

“I wouldn’t trust any trapper,” Lenna bellowed. “They'll do anything to gain power amongst the settlement’s elite.”

“You cannot deny, my friend, the basic edict that all men deserve to be represented fairly.”

“If it were up to me, no trapper would be allowed to disgrace the Council. And now, they allow two?” Lenna chuckled grimly. “Well, I’m consoled with the knowledge that all trappers hate Yaak. I enjoy watching them squirm when harnessed to the beasts.”

The three trappers abruptly rose to their feet, turning to Quintar's and Lenna's table. Lenna smiled broadly, leaping eagerly from his chair. A moment later, Quintar sighed, rising also. Farissa, who had been keeping his eye on the situation, jumped in between the mismatched groups. Farissa's three grown sons closed inward for support.

“Master Quintar,” the Innkeeper said firmly. “I think it’s time to escort Master Lenna from my establishment.”