The Fur Trader

by Sam Ferguson

  After a while, he came to a small cave entrance. The split-tails had obviously gone inside, their tracks disappearing just after the snow stopped and the rocky floor began. Something about the whole scene unsettled Garrin. The horses would only barely fit in through the cavern. Why would anyone take them inside? The trapper wondered whether he might be better served going back to the tanning station. Dying for the horses hardly seemed a worthy cause.

  It didn’t take long for his mind to settle upon the split-tails, though. How many times had his companions risen to the occasion and fought for him? How could he repay them with cowardice now? No. If they went in, then he was going in after them. If he could save the horses, all the better, but he was here for his companions.

  Garrin took a steadying breath and then dashed out from behind a tree to the wall on the left side of the opening. He tucked himself up against the stone and slowly leaned around to peer into the cave. The sunlight filled the first portion of the tunnel, but darkness loomed just around a curve some forty yards inside. He would have to go in blind. He could make a torch, but that would only alert his enemy to his arrival. He closed his eyes for a moment. Had he ever been one to believe in the Old Gods, he might have offered a prayer before entering the cave.

  He moved silent and quick, spear out and pointing forward as though he expected to be charged by a slumbering bear at any moment. Thinking of it in that way helped calm his nerves. He had hunted many bear before, and several of them had been in their dens when he tracked them down. This was like those times. He convinced himself that if he could maintain the same element of surprise, then he would be fine.

  He was mistaken.

  Garrin only just managed to round the corner as the cave shifted to the left and suddenly he was stuck, frozen in place by some smothering power. The more Garrin struggled, the tighter the force squeezed him. Soon it became hard to breathe. By the time he relaxed, he could only take quick, shallow breaths. As he stood there, unable to even call out for help, his spear began to glow. The heat from the weapon permeated Garrin’s thick mittens and soon scorched his hands. Garrin released his grip on the weapon, and a magical force pulled the weapon away into the darkness.

  “I don’t much care for visitors,” a booming voice called out from the darkness. “I prefer to live alone.”

  Garrin tried to speak, but the magical force held his mouth shut. Otherwise, he might have said something about not caring for horse thieves. The force around him then tugged at his body, tipping him over. He started to worry that he would fall to his face, but the magic held him off the ground and then floated him into the darkness in the same direction the spear had gone.

  He could do nothing but watch as dark shapes slipped beneath him until he stopped and the magical force spun him upright to his feet once more. Then, as if peeling back a large covering, the force relaxed its grip on his head and face. A flood of light assaulted his eyes and he shrank away, blinking wildly until his eyes adjusted.

  The cave was not dark as he had thought, but was magically lit with a wondrous set of red and blue crystals that bathed the large chamber in light and warmth. Each crystal hovered in the air, bobbing up and down a few inches at a time as if floating upon water. There were three horses tethered to a long rod of metal off to the right. A great pile of grass and hay was set before them and they were busily engaged in devouring the food.

  Garrin turned his head a little more and saw a great fire pit. He guessed that the magician had taken the horses for meat. Garrin turned his head the other way and saw a large chair of stone, the back of which rose ten feet into the air. It was simple in design, yet had obviously been constructed with care. Each of the corners were sharp and exact. The arms of the chair were polished smooth, and the leather pad in the seat was neither cracked nor dull with age.

  What Garrin couldn’t see, was the magician. Nor could he find the split-tails.

  Now that his head was free, Garrin whistled for Rux and Kiska.

  No answer.

  Then, a personage stepped out from behind the great chair of stone.

  The first thing Garrin saw was the shiny black boot and the pant leg of brown leather. Then, as the person came into full view he saw the forest green tunic with brown laces up the neck and a flowing, tan cloak. What surprised Garrin most, was not the clothing, but the fact that the face he saw did not belong to a man. Somehow, that booming voice had come from a woman with stern green eyes, pointed cheekbones and a delicate neck. Her red hair flowed out behind her as she walked around the chair and eyed Garrin carefully.

  “You’re a woman,” Garrin said dumbly.

  The sorceress arched her right brow and let the left corner of her mouth pull into a slight grin. “That I am.” Her voice now was softer, but still carried the air of danger about it.

  “When I heard your voice before, it sounded like a man’s,” Garrin explained quickly.

  “Why have you come?” the woman asked pointedly.

  Garrin replied, “You stole my horses.”

  The woman groaned and sneered down her nose at Garrin. She wrapped her cloak about herself and moved to sit down in the stone chair, crossing her right leg over her left and staring at the trapper intently. “The horses are mine,” she said flatly.

  “No, they are mine,” Garrin said. “They were outside my cabin when you took them.”

  The woman narrowed her eyes and pointed downward with her left index finger. The magical force holding Garrin in place forced him into a kneeling position as he grunted. “Perhaps you should reconsider your position,” the woman suggested. “Clearly, you have no bargaining power.”

  Garrin shook his head and couldn’t help but let slip a boyish grin. “I’ll be wanting my spear back as well,” he said calmly.

  The woman licked her top lip with the tip of her tongue and snapped her fingers. Garrin’s spear flew to her hand and then hovered still in front of her throne. “Anything else?” she asked coyly.

  Garrin studied her, wondering whether her magic had caught Rux and Kiska. Then again, had they not also been caught, they would have come when he whistled for them. For a moment, his faith wavered and his heart sank in the thoughts that the sorceress surely had killed them already.

  The woman leaned forward, her red hair falling about either side of her face and framing the sharp angles in shadows as she spoke. “You are wondering about your other friends, aren’t you?” She rose up suddenly and moved to stand before him. She turned her palm up and raised her hand to be level with her chin. As she did so, the magic force lifted Garrin up to her eye level. He was still held in a kneeling position, but now she could look into his deep brown eyes without needing to bend over. “Why have you not mentioned them yet?”

  “I had hoped they were still free,” Garrin replied honestly.

  The woman narrowed her fierce, green eyes and cocked her head to the side. “What magic do you have that enables you to charm animals?”

  Garrin shook his head. “I have no magic,” he said.

  The woman put her hands on her hips. “Surely, a man who can communicate with split-tails has a powerful magic indeed,” she said. “Or do you mean to tell me that you have domesticated them like dogs?”

  “No,” Garrin said. “I have no magic, nor have I domesticated them. They are my friends.”

  “Rubbish!” the woman said. “There are none in this world who can befriend a split-tail. Wizards have tried it for centuries, but never with any success unless the animal’s brain is turned to mush and they became like zombies. You must have done something.”

  “I found them when they were young. I raised them up. I wouldn’t say they think of me as their mother, but we have an understanding. They hunt with me, and we keep each other safe, but they are free to do as they please. They sleep outside, and can roam wherever they wish. They are not my pets, they are my friends.”

  “We’ll see about that,” the woman said. “As you no doubt understand by now, I have quite a range of magical abi
lities. One of my specialties is charms. The black furred split-tail is now under my control.”

  “Do you mean you hurt her?” Garrin asked quickly. “You said it couldn’t be done without destroying their minds.”

  The woman smiled and flicked Garrin’s nose with a finger. “So, you do care for them then.”

  “Release her,” Garrin said. “Kiska has done nothing more than track a horse thief.”

  The woman’s smile turned to an angry scowl and she thrust her hand downward. Garrin plummeted to the ground and was pinned in a kneeling position to the stone. “The horses are mine!” the woman snarled. “Now, we shall see if your friendship is as you claim. My charm will not hurt the animal, unless I maintain it for a long period of time. However, it is strong enough to make sure any control you held over the animal is gone. Now, she is under my control, and will obey my orders.”

  “I never controlled her,” Garrin said through gritted teeth.

  “If the split-tail spares you, then I will allow you and the animals to leave.”

  “Spares me?” Garrin repeated. He looked up and saw Kiska stalk into view from around the back of the stone chair. Her teeth were bared and her head was hung low as she growled at Garrin. The trapper looked at the split-tail in horror.

  “If you are friends, then your bond should be enough to overcome my charm.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Garrin asked.

  “It’s the only way I can be sure you aren’t using magic.”

  “What difference does it make?” Garrin asked.

  The woman didn’t answer. She flung her cloak about and sat in the stone chair and snapped her fingers. Kiska moved in closer, growling and snarling horribly. The animal came in close, her hackles up and her claws teasing out from her paws as she approached.

  Garrin locked eyes with her. “Kiska, it’s me. Come on girl, we don’t need to fight each other.”

  Kiska snapped her maw and her teeth clicked as she barked viciously. She came in fast, looking as though she would not stop. There was nothing for Garrin to do. He watched as his most trusted friend came toward him. The trapper whistled sharply with a low note followed by an extremely high note. That was his normal call when he was looking for the split-tails, or wanted them to come to him. It was all he could think of as Kiska came in toward his throat.

  Just as the teeth came in and touched Garrin’s skin, Kiska froze in place. Garrin at first thought that perhaps the split-tail was caught in a magical spell, but he soon realized that it was quite the opposite. The woman’s mouth dropped open and she lurched forward in her chair, one hand on her chest and the other gripping the arm of the stone chair. It took a couple of seconds, but Kiska pulled her head back and closed her mouth. Her eyes locked once more with Garrin’s and appeared much softer than before.

  Garrin smiled. “Thanks, girl,” he offered.

  Kiska barked suddenly and turned upon the woman with the red hair. The woman’s face blanched and she quickly held her arms up in protest. “Can it be?” she asked in wonder. She snapped her fingers and Garrin was freed. He groaned and struggled to catch himself before toppling to the ground. Kiska lunged at the woman, however the animal only crashed into the stone chair as she coursed through the woman’s body.

  The sorceress rose from her seat and backed away from Kiska as the animal prepared to lunge again. Just at that moment, Rux came into view and the woman gasped. They both lunged.

  The sorceress floated up into the air, just out of reach. She spread her arms out to the sides and a flash of light burst through the chamber. Garrin raised his hands to shield himself for the flare and had to turn away as a wave of heat rolled over him.

  “As agreed, you are free to go,” the woman said in a thunderous voice from above.

  When Garrin looked again he saw that the woman’s face and eyes were radiant, glowing even, as she floated above them. The trapper called Kiska and Rux to him with a sharp whistle. The animals obeyed, but kept their eyes locked upon the sorceress. “And the horses?” Garrin asked.

  “The horses are mine,” she said.

  “How can they be yours?” Garrin asked as he rose to his feet. “They belong to the nobles from Richwater.”

  The woman sneered and cackled as small bolts of yellow lightning flashed out from her sides and ended in puffs of smoke. “Take a close look at those horses. They are born and bred from the mountains. That is why they can make this journey so well. They may have come from stables in Richwater, but the Winterdell horses, as they were called in my day, were stolen from my people by those that destroyed our civilization.”

  Garrin looked around the cave, looking for any clue as to what civilization the woman might be speaking of. There was nothing unusual, save for the floating crystals that bathed the cave in light. As if reading his thoughts, the woman descended gently toward him.

  “I am the last of the Punjak people. We once ruled much of the mountains here, many centuries ago. As others moved into the valley in the south, we were forced deeper into the mountains. Our enemies overpowered us. However, before my people were destroyed, there was a prophecy made. The prophecy said that when a pair of Winterdell horses returned to their home, the one who would unite the crystals would appear. This person would use the crystals to vanquish our greatest foe, and exact revenge for the innocent who were murdered in their beds.”

  Garrin scrunched up his brow and shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “It was said that this person would be accompanied by two split-tails as companions, and that they would obey him as their alpha. This is why I tested you. I wanted to see if you were he who was named in the prophecy, or another pretender.” The woman folded her arms and the glowing aura around her dimmed to a more comfortable level as she locked eyes with Garrin. “There have been many who have come here in years past, seeking the crystals. I already mentioned that there were some who controlled split-tails with magic that addled their minds. Those imposters were destroyed. You, however, have passed the test.”

  Garrin shook his head again. “I didn’t come for a test. I came only to save my friends, and if possible, retrieve our horses.”

  The woman shook her head. “The prophecy is clear. In trade for the crystals, I must keep the horses. The pair of Winterdell horses will carry me to my next home in the plane of the dead. I will give you the crystals, and you shall triumph over the traitors who murdered my people.”

  “This is madness,” Garrin blurted out. “I am no longer a soldier, and I can’t use magic crystals even if I was. I am traveling through the mountains. That is all.”

  The woman smiled softly and bent in. She pressed her warm lips to his right cheek and gave him a soft kiss. The woman then floated up and over to the horses. The Winterdell horses began to whinny excitedly and their eyes emitted a strange, green glow. The woman turned back and snapped her fingers. One by one, the crystals in the air broke from their places and merged with each other. Each time two of the crystals touched, they popped and sizzled as though they were logs in a roaring fire. More than that, each time the crystals joined, the light became brighter and warmer.

  “You must take the crystals,” the woman said. “It is your destiny.”

  Within moments, all of the crystals had pressed into one long, red crystal that looked as though it had been cut and polished by a fine jeweler. The red crystal hummed and floated down to Garrin’s hand. He reached out, almost against his will, and took the item in hand.

  “Avenge the Punjak!” The horses cried out loudly, rearing up in the air and then charging toward the far wall. The woman was now riding in a chariot of fire behind the horses. A great ball of green fire erupted in the stone wall and the woman drove the chariot straight through it. The ground shook as the portal closed and the ceiling began to quake and crack.

  Kiska and Rux looked around nervously. Garrin tucked the warm crystal into a pouch on his belt and ordered the split-tails to run. He turned to follow them, but noticed that there was anot
her horse near where the other two had been.

  “There had been three,” Garrin reminded himself as he remembered the tracks leading to the cave. He ran to the remaining horse, a black mare with a diamond shaped patch of silver on its head. He wasn’t sure why this horse remained, perhaps because it was not the same kind, or maybe she needed a specific pair to traverse the portal she had opened. Whatever the reason, Garrin didn’t care. His only thought was to escape the crumbling cave.

  Even from within the pouch, the red crystal illuminated the cave. It was a softer light now that the crystal was concealed, but it was enough for Garrin to navigate by. He leapt atop the horse and galloped out as fast as the horse could carry him.

  No sooner had he escaped from the tunnel, then it collapsed entirely behind him, showering the outside area with dust and shards of stone.

  To Garrin’s satisfaction, Kiska and Rux were already waiting for him by a lone pine tree.

  “Let’s get back to the others,” Garrin said. He cast a glance back to the collapsed cave, marveling at what had just happened, and wondering whether there was any truth to what the woman had said, or if perhaps it was just the ramblings of a lunatic hermit.

  Chapter 8

  Three men in forest green cloaks pulled their horses up to the Sockeye Tavern. One of them, a heavily bearded man with angry brown eyes, spat on the ground before dismounting and nodding his head toward the door. The other two men with him glanced over their shoulders and then followed the first.

  Their thick boots fell heavily upon the wooden floor as they pushed their way through the doorway and surveyed the room. A handful of men sat at tables playing cards and drinking from mugs. Five people danced in the middle of the floor near a large stone fireplace while a fiddler set his bow to his instrument and bobbed up and down wildly to his own jig. A layer of slowly circulating smoke hung in the air, built up after hours of patrons sucking upon their pipes.