The Fur Trader (7 page)

“Kaspar says only the boy has magic,” Garrin announced. “And, now that I have seen the boy is not here under duress, I can agree to help you.”

“You are a hard man, Garrin,” William said coldly. “Do not let your pet attack my nephew again, or I shall have a mink cap.”

Garrin smiled. “Kaspar may look cute, but you would have better odds fighting the two split-tails over there. What kind of supplies did Jacop set you up with?”

“You had better be worth the trouble,” William said sourly as he dug for a list and handed it to Garrin.

Garrin took the list and smiled. “I have never lost anyone as a guide before,” he said.

“You said you don’t hire out as a guide,” William reminded Garrin.

Garrin grinned slyly and winked at William. “I said I don’t hire out as a guide to city folk looking for adventure. I took a man through Geberron Pass once.”

“Only once?”

Garrin laughed. “How many times have you gone there?”

William shook his head. “Can you get us to Brywood?” he pressed.

The trapper looked to Richard and nodded once. “I can get you there. Do as I say, and you will make it all right.”

Garrin finished preparing his sled while Kiska and Rux paced in front of the cabin. William and Richard were waiting inside, eating a bit of soup. Garrin still felt as though he was missing something, but seeing the ferocity with which Richard had tried to not only defend his uncle, but end the conversation about his family, was enough for the trapper to go on for now.

Five thousand crowns didn’t hurt either. Once he made it back, he could afford anything. For the first little while he thought of building a large manor, hiring servants, and running Cherry Brook as some sort of governor. Those thoughts soon faded when he realized he could put the money to better use by wooing Belinda. The occasional gift, a fancy dress from the city, or perhaps some sort of furniture brought up from Richwater. Those would at least get him noticed, but Belinda was not a person to be bought, he knew. So he would use some of the money to hire a private dance instructor. He would sweep Belinda off her feet and leave Brent standing along the wall helpless. Or, maybe he could hire a private tutor so he would sound as intelligent as Brent. Perhaps he could buy a business too.

Garrin shook his head. They were all fine ideas, but the problem was his courage. He could face down a bear with nothing more than a spear, but all the dancing lessons in the world wouldn’t prepare him to speak with Belinda. He supposed that was likely best anyhow. Though it was true that he was one of two men to work in Geberron Pass, the road would be extremely treacherous now. The chances of making it across unscathed were slim at best.

He pushed the thoughts of Belinda out of his mind as best he could while he packed the last few items for the road. Then, he had Richard and William mount up and he locked his cabin, hoping he would soon return and that he hadn’t just sealed his home for the last time.

“We are about two hundred and twenty five miles from Brywood,” Garrin told William as he walked around to the back of the sled.

“That’s not far at all,” William said, sounding encouraged.

“I mean as a crow flies,” Garrin explained. “The trails we will use will not be straight. We’ll have to skirt around cliffs, lakes, and some rivers. The mountains are heavily wooded and they can be very steep. There will come a point where the horses will no longer be useful. From then on, we will need to use the sled to carry all of our provisions.”

“What will we do with the horses?” Richard asked.

Garrin shrugged, “We could eat one of them and turn the other loose with the mule,” he said.

“Eat the horses?” Richard squeaked.

Garrin nodded. “If we turn them loose up there, they will likely die anyway, so we may as well make the most use of them we can.”

“I’m not eating horse,” Richard said.

“Pipe down,” William scolded. “You’ll do what you have to do.”

Garrin narrowed his eyes on William, but nodded his agreement.

“Kiska and Rux could eat one of the horses themselves. If we butcher the other and pack the meat, it could be a real life saver up there.”

“What of the, er, your animals?” William asked.

Garrin nodded knowingly. “They can make the journey. We’ll have to dump the sled near the pass though.”

“I thought mountain passes were a way through,” Richard commented.

Garrin smiled. “They are, but Geberron Pass was never a particularly safe crossing. It may have been the best place to cross a few hundred years ago, but now it is more of a death trap. Still, if you want to get through Dryden Range, it is the only possible pass.” Garrin paused for a moment and held his arms out. “Second thoughts?”

William shook his head. “No, let’s be off.”

Garrin turned to the sled and gave a sharp whistle. Kiska and Rux tore off through the snow. William and Richard prodded their horses into a trot to keep up. They wound their way through a narrow road which cut its way through the snow-covered pines until they came to the edge of a frozen pond several hours later. Kiska and Rux bounded toward the pond without any command from Garrin; they knew the camping spot well. Garrin unhitched the two split-tails and the animals bounded off, looking for snow hares and other quarry. William and Richard were a whole two minutes behind Garrin, trotting into the clearing next to the pond as Garrin was already pitching his tent made of thick canvas.

“Why are we stopping?” William asked. “There is plenty of daylight left.”

Garrin shook his head. “Out here, you have to pace yourself. You hop from campsite to campsite. We don’t do marathon races from sunup to sundown. That’s a sure way to get yourself killed.”

William didn’t look pleased, but whatever he was thinking behind those stormy blue eyes, he kept it to himself. The two nobles dismounted and led their horses to a large pine tree with low-hanging branches.

“Be sure to keep all your food packed down wind and in a bear hang.”

William nodded. The three of them set about preparing the campsite and then Garrin built a fire. William and Richard had some trouble setting up their tent, but Garrin let them struggle through it, occasionally calling out instructions while going about his own chores. They ate supper before the sun had fallen behind the western mountains. None of them talked much. Richard kept his eyes fixed on the flames and Garrin continued to study the pair, still not entirely sure what to make of William.

Garrin popped open the canister hooked to his belt and stuck a piece of dried meat in for Kaspar. The Dryfoot mink took the morsel and began chattering contentedly as it ate inside its little can.

“Where did you find him?” William asked, pointing to Kaspar’s canister.

“Out here in the forest,” Garrin said. “I’m not the best with people, but animals seem to like my company well enough.”

William nodded appreciatively and smiled. “Well, I have never seen anyone with as many furry companions as you have. It must be a gift from the gods.”

Garrin took another bite of his meal and thought about that for a moment before letting his mind drift across the icy pond to distant memories. Before he knew it, he was singing an old tune that had often wormed its way into his mind since his days in the Frontier Legion.

Dreams of yore, long forgotten

Hopes of those now downtrodden

Dreams of home

Dreams of love

Grant me strength from above

We will go home, we will go home

We will go home, across the waters

Shadows stretch over our fathers

Reachin o’er across the waters

Land of mist

Land of kin

Grant me strength from within

We will go home, we will go home

We will go home, across the waters

The trapper nearly blushed when he finished the song and found Richard listening to him.

“Where did you learn that song?” Richard asked.

“It’s a Tarthun camp song. The words are different of course, since they speak their own language, but one of the men I fought with back in the legion was good with languages. He translated it once after he heard some prisoners singing it each night.”

“Your comrade befriended prisoners?” William asked sharply between mouthfuls of food.

Garrin nodded. “It isn’t wrong to learn from the enemy. It’s a good song.”

“Perhaps,” William offered. “Though I dare say not all enemies are worth listening to. You can’t reason with everyone.”

“What do you mean?” Richard asked William.

“Think on it, whether or not Garrin here learned a folk song from the Tarthuns isn’t going to end the war between our peoples.”

“Maybe not, but it helped us understand it wasn’t a war worth fighting,” Garrin said flatly.

Richard blanched and his mouth fell open.

William rose from his spot and set his food on the ground. “Excuse me?” he snarled.

Garrin shrugged. “The Frontier Legion was an expeditionary unit. That means we killed people to take and control their lands.” The trapper folded his arms and locked his brown eyes with William’s gray-blue orbs. “Tell me, is it wrong for a Tarthun to protect his homeland simply because we are the invaders? What makes us better than them? Why should we have the right to take their homes?”

“They’re savages,” William replied tersely.

“Aren’t we all?” Garrin shot back.

“It seems that perhaps we have hired a coward as our guide,” William sneered. His nose was tilted high in the air and his voice was dripping with confidence born out of his arrogance.

Garrin shook his head. “I did my duty to the very best of my abilities. I just didn’t look back when I received my discharge papers.”

William shook his head, and looked as though he was about to say something else, but just then Kiska howled long and loud. All of them turned their heads to the split-tail.

“Come on, let’s finish our food and then get to bed,” Garrin said. “And while you two pick away at your food as though table manner matter out here, I’ll tell you a tale that explains what I mean.”

“You have a tale of enemies becoming friends?” William asked skeptically, letting the snide remark pass by.

Garrin nodded. “We learned this in our initial training as we prepared for the Frontier Legion. It’s a fairly significant history that is still passed on to new recruits. I sought out and read the entire first-hand account after sitting through the lecture where we were given the rough outline and hand-fed the moral of the story. Lazar of Oleant, the man who wrote the account, included every detail. I won’t do it justice, but it is a good tale to set us on the right foot for an adventure.” Garrin gestured toward the mountains in the direction of Geberron Pass as though to indicate the journey they were setting out on.

William nodded his assent and sat back down to gather his plate.

Garrin moved in closer to the fire and offered another morsel of food to Kaspar. The Dryfoot mink took the food, but instead of eating in the canister, it bounded over to curl up in Richard’s lap. Richard lifted his food and stared at the animal nervously.

“He won’t hurt you,” Garrin said. “I think he likes you.”

“What’s his name again?” Richard asked.

“Kaspar,” Garrin replied.

“Go on and tell us your story,” William said impatiently as Richard began stroking the white animal in his lap. Kaspar let out a quick series of clicks and chattered away softly as it leaned into Richard’s hand.

The trapper nodded and then cleared his throat, his eyes looking out beyond the mountains, letting his mind’s eye find the scene where the story began.

“The morning sun broke over the jagged spires of the Koshtiryn Mountains as it always did, bathing the valleys below, and the city of Oleant, in its warm, golden light. The alabaster towers and the shining citadel came alive with people, each eager to go about their day as they always did. None of them knew of the impending doom that lay just beyond the mountain pass. Nor did any of them know that this would be their last day of peace.

“Lazar was in the library, his nose buried in a book, when he was startled by the sound of armored feet clip-clopping along the wooden floor. Lazar looked up and saw his brother leading a group of five men in full battle dress.

“Lazar’s brother stood half a head taller than the others, with wide shoulders seeming even larger that day underneath his steel pauldrons. A red cape was fastened in place by two emerald colored rings on his shoulders.

“Lazar’s brother, Borean, announced that they had grave news. Borean turned, and the men behind him produced a parchment and brought it to Lazar. They roughly shoved Lazar’s books aside. Lazar would normally have opened his mouth to protest their discourtesy, but his words failed him when he saw what it was they had placed before him. It was no parchment of paper, it was a stretch of skin, of human flesh, that they unrolled for Lazar to see. He held a hand to his mouth, fighting the urge to scream and turn away to retch. Lazar was not the soldier Borean was. Lazar had been brought up a gentleman-scholar. He read of wars and the atrocities done to the victims of such barbaric tribes as the Varvarr, or the Tarthuns, or the various orcish hordes, but never before had he seen the horrors first hand.”

“Hold on a moment, Garrin,” William said. “That is a bit much for Richard here.”

Richard shook his head, “I don’t mind it,” he said. “Honest, it’s okay.”

“Can’t keep a boy from a good campfire tale,” Garrin said with a sly smile. “Besides, I promise it has a point.”

William stuffed another bite of food into his mouth and motioned for Garrin to continue.

The trapper smiled. “The message was written in Common Tongue,” Garrin explained. “Lazar stifled his senses and pushed his gold-rimmed spectacles up onto his nose. He peered down at the text, written in blood, and stumbled through the barely legible letters. As he studied the letters, he saw something peculiar. He saw a round seal with an eagle’s head inside. It was an orcish symbol. Somehow, an orc had written in Common Tongue.”

“Impossible,” William scoffed. “Orcs are too dumb for such intricacies.”