How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the Last Mighty T-Rex

by Mark Paul Jacobs

  “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.”

  Lenna cackled like a crazed madman.

  Quintar could see anger in the Innkeeper's face, but deep within Farissa's eyes Quintar noticed a touch of deep sorrow. Quintar nodded dutifully and grasped Lenna's arm. With a bit of firmness, he began leading Lenna away.

  Lenna burst violently from Quintar's grip, turning and glaring at the Yaakleader with a fury Quintar rarely saw in his lifelong friend.

  Lenna paused for a moment and then staggered toward the door.

  CHAPTER 3 (The Yaakmen of Tyrie)

  Barrazan braced against the ship’s creaking planks drawing warm sunlight to his bronzed face. He inhaled deeply the cool moist air, opening his eyes to an infinit
e horizon and fluttering lakebirds dodging Lake Adair’s gentle swells.

  Barrazan lived and breathed the lake’s calm serenity, yet he also reveled in its shuttering fury, when the northwest gales gathered the waters into towering monsters, enough to swallow any ship regardless its size. He recalled gazing outward from Adair’s docks in his youth, dreaming of the day he would gain freedom from the land and conquer the lake's mystique— dreaming of escape from the drunken shell of a man he so loathsomely called father and a series of lazy, Jenna-swilling step-mothers, Barrazan could barely recall or even wish to remember.

  And yet his fortunes turned on the day he lay, bloodied and close to death by his father's whip, in Adair's gutter— barely able to move or walk; his arm shattered, the cursed words 'worthless' and 'vermin' swirling through his confused head— a young boy begging passersby for a sharp knife to relieve his pain and rescue him from his world, his dream of life on the lake abruptly in ruins.

  But instead, Barrazan was found by a ship-owner named Cariak, who took the boy into his home and nursed him slowly back to health. Upon which the Chief granted him the position of cabin boy, assigned to Cariak’s modest vessel; although admittedly, even young Barrazan understood there was little need for such a position.

  Barrazan smiled inwardly, eying Chief Cariak climbing upon the mainsail's mast. He thought little of his past life, ensnared by the challenges of the present. But Barrazan’s gut warmed knowing good men like Cariak strode this world— honorable men. And he thought many times of offering his gratitude to the man who saved his life yet always deferred to Cariak’s pride and stubborn self-deprecation.

  Now under a slight breeze and upon a wavering mast, Cariak secured himself to a high lookout. Holding his hand to his leathery brow, Cariak scanned the blue waters surrounding him.

  “Interesting,” Barrazan muttered, shaking his head slightly.

  Demprias baited the last of a series of equally spaced hooks. He leaned close to Barrazan's ear. “What do suppose the old man's after? You know him better than most.”

  “Big game.”

  Demprias’s face soured. “Kalsh?”

  “Late spawn.”

  Demprias spat. “Kalsh is a waste of my time. But more importantly, it also portends a lessening of my share.”

  “Tradition,” Barrazan replied brusquely, securing the line's end to a hollowed wooden float.

  Demprias hissed. “Adair's superstitions do not interest me.”

  “Sometime I wonder what does interests you, Demprias… other than credits and women.”

  “Aye, I have many interests, dear Barrazan. Have you considered my latest proposition?”

  Barrazan shook his head and glanced around uneasily. “Chief Cariak has always treated me fairly. Most men of the lake would kill to be Cariak’s Firstmate.”

  Demprias smiled wryly, moving even closer. “Loyalty can only get you so far, my friend. Everyone in Adair knows the conglomerates have offered you Chief on most any ship. You have nothing here to prove.”

  “The conglomerates have many ships and countless bosses. Here, I’m beholden to one man and myself. I'm content.”

  Demprias tossed the line into the frothing water. Barrazan shoved the float off the deck.

  “But you are still Firstmate Barrazan, not Chief. You are no longer a young deckhand, and I needn’t remind you that another season has passed. You must think of the future.”

  Barrazan sighed. “I can only speculate for whose future you speak?”

  A wry smile creased Demprias's sun-touched face. “Your future, of course... Yet I’d only expect to follow your humble footsteps. We are a team, are we not?” He bowed mockingly.

  “I see...”

  “So tell me,” Demprias continued, “what are your plans after season? Ice fishing? Laboring in the warehouses?”

  Barrazan shrugged.

  “Ah, I figured as much. You are wise in the ways of the water, my friend, yet ignorant in the ways of land. The warehouses pay nothing, and the settlement’s prospects are no better.”

  “Then what do you suggest, my suddenly ambitious friend?”

  Demprias eyes danced, his voice lowered. “Listen, during winter we could build our own boat and split the profits. There are real credits in ownership.”

  Barrazan snickered. “You have a history of big dreams and little action, my friend. I recall just this past spring you also had elaborate plans to—”

  “It’ll be different this time.”

  Barrazan laughed.

  “I give you my word.”

  Barrazan sighed with resignation. “So, where do we rent the tools, and where do we find a shed large enough for construction? And who can we contract for the lumber?”

  Demprias grasped Barrazan’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’ve finally come to your senses, good man. I have a cousin in—”

  “Prepare to retrieve all lines,” Chief Cariak shouted, thrusting his gnarled fingers toward a mid-lake shoal. “Repus, Aremia... tend the sails.”

  Demprias grunted loudly.

  Barrazan rushed aft and loosened the rudder. Gathering his strength, he pulled the ship starboard. Demprias grudgingly snatched a long pole with a hooked tip. Repus and Aremia leaped to mid-ship and began to free the mainsail’s ropes.

  The ship turned slowly. Demprias caught Barrazan’s eye, aiming the pole toward the bobbing floats. Barrazan nodded, adjusting the rudder. Demprias thrust the pole into the waves and hooked the line. He pulled inward until the float was within arm’s reach.

  Barrazan secured the rudder and then rushed to Demprias’s side. The two men hurriedly tugged the lines from the water. Occasionally, a silver-scaled Quidida flopped to the deck, and the men kicked the fish toward the hold. Several of the glistening fish slithered off the planks and flashed back into the lake. Demprias shook his head disapprovingly.

  Barrazan glanced amongst the waves. He noticed sharp rocks jutting from the rippling surface several hundred meters to the ship’s left. Barrazan caught Cariak's eye and pointed toward the shallows. Cariak acknowledged with a swift nod.

  Cariak cupped his hands to wafer-thin lips. “Men—”

  Barrazan waved his hand. Repus and Aremia dropped the mainsail, flushing lakebirds to the breeze.

  The ship staggered, gripped by the lake’s swells. Aremia, Repus, and Demprias fanned out along the ship’s rail. The three men stood motionless, casting their eyes upon the undulating waves. Barrazan clambered to mid-ship. He grasped the rail and stared deep into the crystal-clear water.

  Several breaths later, Barrazan noticed the murky depths transform into huge boulders, passing like huge monoliths, four or five meters beneath the hull.

  “Give me signs,” Cariak said. “Anything.”

  Suddenly, Barrazan eyes were drawn to the lake’s surface. A small silver fish thrashed amongst the swells several meters to port. A heartbeat later, a school of fish churned the water and then disappeared. Barrazan pointed. “Chief—”

  Cariak nodded. “They’re feeding atop the reef.” A smile creased the Chief’s coarse face. “Repus, Aremia, get the harpoons ready.”

  Barrazan grabbed his gloves and hurried across the slick deck from mid to starboard. Aremia and Repus returned to the rail carrying wooden rods tipped with barbed spears; each rod trailed coils of rope. Cariak climbed down off the mast.

  “Demprias, help Repus,” Barrazan commanded.

  A chill wind brushed Barrazan’s face, and the lake’s surface rippled. Barrazan grasped the starboard rail as the ship creaked sideways to the wind. Barrazan noticed a cluster of dark clouds swirl across the windward horizon.

  Suddenly, Barrazan saw a huge, white form roll over the surface. Within a blink of his eye, it sank beneath the waves. A second creature emerged to Barrazan’s right. Barrazan studied its massive outline against the shallow reef below. The creature flashed over the rocks and then swooshed away into deeper water. “A big pair,” Barrazan shouted. “And the female’s belly is full.”


  “They’re too big to net,” Cariak hollered, “and too quick to chase. Prepare the bait.”

  Barrazan nodded. “Demprias—”

  Demprias grabbed two huge buckets of fish guts. He struggled to the rail and dumped the contents overboard. Barrazan watched as the water beneath them turned a ghastly green-purple.

  Forty breaths passed, and Barrazan began to notice the rocky bottom giving way to deepening blue. Suddenly, Barrazan saw a white flash far beneath the surface— a moment later, a second flash. Barrazan waved his hand.

  “Be ready, men,” Cariak cried. “They’ve caught the scent and are collecting below.”

  Suddenly, a huge ugly head with two long whiskers breached the surface and rolled across the dispersing bait. Barrazan jumped back, caught in the glare of two blank eyes, each the size of a man’s waist.

  Repus flung his harpoon, but it deflected off the giant’s fin. Hurriedly, Repus withdrew the harpoon and tossed again. This time, the harpoon struck the Kalsh’s flesh just below its spine and held tight.

  “Good work Repus,” Barrazan shouted. “That’s the male. Let’s get the other.”

  The crew cheered.

  “Don’t offer congratulations yet,” Cariak cautioned. “These old dogs have plenty of fight, and the female’s always stronger. There’s still work to be done to land these beasts. Trust my words…”

  Cariak shuffled over to the starboard deck just as a second huge form emerged beside the boat. Aremia eyed the beast, holding his harpoon steady. Chief Cariak jumped to his side and secured the rope. “Steady man. Look for the spot below the spine, and don’t hit her swollen belly. Don’t waste a throw. Wait, Now!”

  Aremia sunk his harpoon deep into the second fish. Aremia and Cariak pulled the rope tight. The fish made a strong run toward its struggling partner and then suddenly away. Aremia fell to the deck, losing his grip. Cariak held on, bracing his heels on the deck’s lip. Aremia jumped back up and regained his hold.