The Fur Trader

by Sam Ferguson

  “AAARGH!” the Treewalker shouted as he twirled and swatted at himself. Soon he lost his footing and began to topple off the roof. Feeling the change in tilt on his moving target, Kaspar made his way to the sleeve opening. Moments before the man tipped beyond the point of no return and fell over, Kaspar shot out from the sleeve and leapt at the next Treewalker. The second man tried to slap at Kaspar while he was in the air, but he missed horribly, and completely exposed his neck. Kaspar went to work with his sharp, needle-like fangs, biting and tearing at the man’s exposed flesh. As the man fell face-first toward the roof, Kaspar was able to see three other Treewalkers nearby, screaming to each other to shoot him. As the body hit the stone roof, Kaspar jumped away, darting this way and that, zig-zagging as other Treewalkers pelted the area with arrows.

  Knowing how to put those inept arrow shots to good use, Kaspar led them on toward the nearest tree, where his nose had picked up the scent of a particularly smelly man. He circled around the trunk and chattered joyfully as the concealed Treewalker screamed like a woman at the sight his sleek, white body leaping through the air toward him. Kaspar made his way inside the man’s clothes and began tormenting him as he had the first, until the Treewalker fell. The furry assassin barely escaped before the third Treewalker fell from his perch, bouncing off of one branch only to smack into a second and then a third before smashing his head on a rock on the ground.

  Back inside the tanning building, Garrin was listening to the screams and shouts. He heard the arrows glancing off the roof and then waited until he heard another set of screams. Then he knew for sure that Kaspar had worked his way into the trees. Now was the time.

  He ran to the stone slab, careful to protect his entire body behind the sturdy shield as he unlocked it. He then rolled it away. Thankfully, the other Treewalkers were all trying to fend off Kaspar. Garrin glanced up just in time to see a tall Treewalker get struck by an arrow from one of his comrades. Apparently Kaspar had spooked them enough that they were now willing to shoot anywhere the animal went, including at their own men. The trapper counted four remaining Treewalkers. Confident that he could finish them off, he continued with his plan.

  Garrin used the confusion to his advantage, scurrying out and around the building while Kaspar kept the Treewalkers occupied. He heard a couple of shouts, followed seconds later by arrows that glanced off the front corner of the building. Garrin panted as he slammed his back to the rear of the building and quickly looked up to scan the trees. He knew he would only have a few moments before a Treewalker would make his way around. Garrin prepared to launch his spear and faced the far right of the stone cabin. As Kaspar had gone around to the left, only one way remained open.

  As he predicted, he soon saw a Treewalker leaping along the branches to flank him. The trapper threw his spear. The poor Treewalker didn’t notice the flying weapon until it was too late. The spear bit into his chest and dropped him from the tree. Garrin ran over to him and dove in quickly to ensure that the foe was dead. The Treewalker looked up with a strained movement of his head and neck, and then gave out a final breath just as Garrin arrived.

  The trapper ducked behind the thick tree trunk as a pair of arrows flew toward him. One plunked into the tree, while the other bit through the bark on the side and showered bits of wood and bark out onto the snow.

  Another scream erupted in the air, followed a moment later by a loud thawump! Garrin grinned. Two down, two more to go. Even from his position, Garrin could hear Kaspar’s angry chattering. More shouting filled the air and Garrin dared to chance a glance around the tree. One Treewalker was bleeding from his hand and slumped against the tree he was perched in, the other was furiously swiping a sword at Kaspar, who was now dancing back and forth on a long branch and looking for an opening to attack.

  Garrin wasted no time coming to Kaspar’s aid. He turned and yanked his spear free. He ran out into the open and shouted wildly as he closed the distance, his feet deftly keeping their balance in the snow. The Treewalker with the sword turned, and that was his last mistake. Kaspar lunged for the man’s neck and the two toppled out of the tree. Then, Garrin threw his spear at the Treewalker with the injured hand who was still in the tree. It was over in seconds.

  Kaspar bounded away proudly, chattering and clicking happily as it buried its face in the snow and shook it about to clean its fur from the blood. Garrin went to retrieve his spear, and then he looked around for any sign of Rux and Kiska.

  “Is it clear?” William shouted from within.

  “It is,” Garrin called back as he walked out to where the horses had been. He bent down to inspect the tracks. There were no human boot prints other than those belonging to Garrin, William, and Richard, but the trapper had expected that. Treewalkers were so named because they kept to the trees, moving from one to the next like squirrels. Still, Garrin suspected that this time they had taken the horses. There was blood in the area, but he had no way of knowing if either of the split-tails were hurt, or if they had managed to injure one of the thieves. The troubling part was the pack mule. It appeared that its tracks went toward the west, away from the other animals entirely.

  Garrin rose just as William approached.

  “Any sign of Rux or Kiska?” William asked.

  Garrin shook his head. “Only way to know for sure is to track them.”

  “Which way?” William asked.

  Garrin pointed to the north. “Further that way.”

  William shook his head. “But, we need to go in a more westerly direction to get to Geberron Pass don’t we?”

  Garrin nodded. “I know it, but how do you propose we take the sled with our provisions? Overall it will still be faster if we can find the split-tails.”

  “What about the horses?” Richard asked as he came up from behind.

  “You should go back inside,” William said curtly. Just then, Kaspar came bounding around the side of the house chattering triumphantly. He jumped against the side of the cabin and rebounded off joyfully, landing on top of Richard’s head. He leaned down over the edge of Richard’s fur hat and looked at him in the face, dangling upside down as his tail wrapped around Richard’s head to anchor him. Richard was startled, but began to laugh when he recognized Kaspar’s whiskered little face.

  “He’s quite proud of himself I’d say. Wants to report to you and earn his praise.” Garrin smiled with a shake of his head as he pointed at Kaspar, who had now taken Richard’s cheeks between his paws and was chattering even more emphatically.

  “Yes, yes, you were marvelous, Kaspar!” Richard exclaimed with some effort while reaching up to pry Kaspar free from his head. When he finally had Kaspar nestled between his arms he continued, “What a hero you are! Did you do all that?” he asked dramatically, indicating the fallen Treewalkers, and the arm dangling over the edge of the roof.

  “You should be more quiet!” William snapped. “There could still be more of those, Treewalkers.”

  Garrin disagreed. “No, I think we have seen the last of them for now.” He turned to Richard. “If we track Rux and Kiska, we’ll find the horses. I can’t promise the horses are still alive, though. Worse than that, the mule ran off in a different direction.”

  “How long out of the way will it take us?” William asked.

  Garrin patted William on the shoulder and started toward the stone cabin. “Not we, just me. You two stay here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  The trapper was about to turn back to the cabin, but then he heard a strange sound coming from the west. It didn’t sound too far away, but he knew it wasn’t going to be a pretty sight. There was a pained scream followed by a harrowing howl.

  “Get inside the cabin, now,” Garrin instructed.

  The trapper only turned back long enough to see that he was obeyed and then he charged into the woods. He ran over the snow, following the mule’s prints and scanning the area for danger. The faster he ran, the louder the strange sounds became. Snarls, howls, and shrill screams that could stop a man’s blo
od cold in his veins.

  Garrin slowed his pace and spun around, scanning the trees around him and searching for hidden predators. In his mind, he wondered what offense he had given to the gods that they would turn upon him so unfavorably. If Treewalkers weren’t enough, now he had welks to deal with. He hated the idea of going against the creatures alone. Even with Kiska and Rux he wouldn’t relish the thought of fighting a pack of welks, but if their mule was being hunted, he had to at least check and see whether there was anything he could do to rescue it. More than that though, was the notion that perhaps Kiska and Rux had fought off the welks and were trying to protect the mule. Perhaps that would explain the blood stain back near where the animals had been for the night.

  If the split-tails were out there, Garrin couldn’t leave them to fight the welks on their own.

  The trapper jogged through the forest, ducking under branches and coming up over a hill a few hundred yards away from the cabin. He saw another streak of blood in the snow, but no sign of the mule. He did, however, see welk tracks. Their hind legs had paws like that of a wolf, but their front legs were tipped with deadly claws that could cut through the thickets of hides.

  Garrin knew what he was seeing. The welks were bleeding their prey slowly, leading it to a kill zone where the rest of the pack would feast upon it. He would have to be careful going closer. If they smelled him, he would undoubtedly be their next target

  He crept down the hill, counting the dots of blood that appeared in the snow every fifteen feet or so. He knew that if the mule was running at full speed, then it was bleeding fairly quickly to be dropping blood that often. The kill zone was likely to be close now. Garrin held his spear at the ready, his head turning each way and scanning the snow.

  As he got to the bottom of the hill, something moved out from behind a tree on his left. The first thing Garrin noticed was the large antler rack on top of the welk’s wolf-like head. The jagged points, one for each of its eight years of life, curled upward menacingly, but they were nothing compared to the long, yellow fangs protruding from the animal’s snout.

  The welk snarled at Garrin and stalked out to the side.

  Garrin glanced over his shoulder, making sure there wasn’t another welk behind him sneaking in for the kill. Luckily, it appeared as though this would be an even fight.

  The welk growled and then pushed up with its forelegs. Garrin had only seen this behavior a few times, but it still unnerved him to see the animal walk upon its hind legs like a human. The welk brought its forelegs up as a pugilist might, and prepared to launch deadly strikes with its claws.

  Even if Garrin had not already been trained as a spearman in the Frontier Legion, the mere fact that welks could outreach a sword with their own deadly claws would have converted him to using spears while up in the mountains. The trapper held the weapon ready. He stepped in confidently, yet slowly, studying the animal’s every movement.

  The welk lashed out first, breaking into a run upon its hind legs and slashing wildly with its claws.

  Garrin backpedaled and jabbed the tip of his spear at the welk’s chest. The strikes barely drew blood on the beast, but they did prevent the welk from landing his own attacks on Garrin. The trapper then sidestepped to the left, which the welk had not anticipated. He thrusted the spear out and into the welk’s chest. The spear ripped into its flesh and slipped between the ribs. The welk stopped and snarled, then it went into a frenzy, wildly swinging its claws at Garrin. When the animal realized it couldn’t reach the man, it did the unthinkable, running toward Garrin and working the spear deeper into its own body just to swing closer at Garrin’s face.

  Fortunately, Garrin had been in the mountains long enough to know the dangers of charging animals. A crossbar was built into the spear, just ten inches below the spear head that would catch an animal and prevent it from charging up the spear and striking him. It was a common tactic used for boar swords that Garrin found equally applicable to bears, wild split-tails, and welks.

  The welk growled crazily as spittle flew out of its snapping jaws once the crossbar stopped it from advancing on Garrin.

  The trapper held his grip firm and pushed back against the animal, waiting for the welk to lose its strength. It took several moments, but the animal finally toppled over onto its side and collapsed in a grotesque series of convulsions before finally dying in the snow.

  Garrin pulled his spear free and made his way up the next hill.

  He crested just in time to see a pack of five welks circling the frantic mule. The mule kicked and bucked, but it was only striking the air. None of the welks came in until the mule had expended all of its energy, and left a fairly sizable amount of blood upon the snowy ground. Garrin sighed as the welks closed in, but was appreciative for how quick they were. Two welks moved in from opposite sides and slashed through the mule’s neck. The mule fell to the ground with no sound at all. The welks all moved in then and began to tear the carcass apart.

  The trapper looked around, but found no sign of Kiska or Rux. Deciding that must mean that they had gone north after the horses, and not wanting to be caught by the welks himself, Garrin decided to return to the cabin as quickly as feasible without attracting the welks’ attention.

  Chapter 7

  Garrin ducked into the stone cabin for a few moments, just long enough to grab his heavy outer coat, and then he made his way into the forest. Rux and Kiska had tracks that mirrored those of the horses, though the split-tails had kept off to the side. Garrin followed the split-tail prints in the snow, wondering why they hadn’t simply struck the intruders down and brought the horses back.

  The white, glistening snow crunched beneath his feet while a cold wind swept through the forest, blowing dust from tree branches and forcing Garrin to turn his head to the side to keep from being dusted with the chilling bits of frost. He followed the trail for several miles, winding into the lower foothills and across a frozen creek.

  That was where he found a bit of blood.

  A small amount of spatter was spread across the snow upon the ground, and droplets also went up the nearby tree trunk. Garrin bent down low to the stain. The warmth had long escaped from the spilt blood, for the red liquid had sunk into the snow and the steam one would expect to see from a fresh spill was not to be found.

  The only question was whether the blood was human or animal.

  Other than the blood, there was no obvious sign of a struggle. The split-tail prints in the snow did not change from their orderly cadence into a chaotic mess as one would expect had there been a battle. Nor did the horse tracks on the right seem to deviate from their course either.

  Garrin frowned and turned around, surveying the area around him. Finally, he looked up into the trees. He studied the tree on his left, which had blood on the trunk and stood just a few inches from where the splatter had fallen upon the snow, but he couldn’t see any other blood upon it. Then, a new idea came to him. He had been assuming that the Treewalkers had taken the horses, but what if he was wrong? What if there were two groups. Garrin moved ten yards to his right and studied the horse tracks closer. There were not two sets of prints, but three.

  How had he missed that before?

  Treewalkers might have ridden the horses back, but why would they bring one to begin with?

  Garrin moved into the hoof prints and then looked to his left, back toward the blood spatter. He lifted his left arm as though he had a bow in hand. He drew back on the imaginary string with his right and looked up, imagining that he was being trailed by a Treewalker. The trapper smiled wide when he saw it.

  A single Treewalker was pinned to the center of a very large pine. One arrow had gone through his shoulder, and would easily explain the blood spatter only a few yards behind that spot on the ground. The second arrow had struck the man in the chest and pinned him to the tree. Garrin had not seen the blood because it had run down this side of the tree, which he could not see from his previous position. The severe cold had stop the flow of blood before it
reached the ground.

  Now he had his answer. There were two groups. Treewalkers and someone else on horseback. He understood then that the split-tails were trailing because they were smart enough not to fight two enemies at once. Garrin broke into a light jog, going only as fast as the wintry ground beneath him would allow without losing his footing. As he coursed around one of the bald hills, devoid of trees and topped only with black rocks poking their sinister heads out of the snow, he stopped running and crouched low to the ground once more.

  There was a great amount of blood and gore upon the ground here. The hoof prints in the snow became erratic, seemingly indicating an ambush from the hillside. Garrin moved toward the back of the foothill, thinking he might see sign of Rux or Kiska launching from the hillside, but he found no tracks upon the hillside. He then climbed up the hill a few paces and turned the opposite direction to scan the trees. There were four bodies lying in the snow.

  Garrin, spear in hand and eyes shifting side-to-side, made his way toward the bodies and checked them one by one. The first had an arrow through his neck. The second had only a broken arrow shaft protruding from a sticky, bloody mess that had once been an eye, and the other two had great holes in their chests with charred edges.

  Garrin used the butt of his spear to prod the edge of the strange holes. There was only one explanation for these kind of wounds, magic. His hand went down to his belt, but then he realized that Kaspar was back at the tanning station. If there was magic to be fought out here, Garrin was on his own. Now he understood perhaps even more why the split-tails had not charged in. They could not sense magic like Kaspar could, but they were keen observers and highly intelligent. They would know better than to charge an enemy like this head on. They were stalking him.

  Garrin had to backtrack somewhat, but now knowing that he was about to face a magic-wielder, he thought it prudent to follow Kiska and Rux’s tracks rather than the same path the horseman had taken. He crept carefully along the prints in the snow, scanning the trees around him and hunching as low to the ground as he could to make himself less obvious as he pushed onward for another couple of miles.