Read The Free Trader of Warren Deep (Free Trader Series Book 1) Online
Authors: Craig Martelle
Braden back-tracked his team, then headed south on what looked to be little more than a game trail. It would take time and be slow going, but he knew it led them where he wanted to go. He grew up on the roads with his trader parents, where they showed him the ways around Warren Deep. They never allowed themselves only one way in. They never knew when they would need to avoid an area, or just disappear.
Braden’s water buffalo would never help him make a quick escape. His parents had used horses, but he couldn’t afford those. Not yet anyway. He counted on G-War’s senses to help them avoid trouble. And if all of that failed, he counted on the magical bow beneath the seat of the wagon. It wasn’t really magic. It was a relic of the past. It was made in the before time. It was the Rico Bow. Its like would never be made again.
The bow was a black that seemed to absorb the light. It had a second curve at the top and bottom that helped guide the string, magnifying the power of the pull. He had seen a couple other bows like this one, but the others were modern made of fine yew, and much longer. Very few people had the strength and size to wield one properly. Braden was not a tall man so he could never use a full-sized long bow. His Rico Bow, though, gave him a significant advantage over others in Warren Deep. No adversary could get close to him.
And that was the last thing he wanted. He preferred to be with his ‘cat, trade for a profit, and enjoy each town’s unique offerings. He liked to have a woman in each town. Many he happily paid for a few hours of their time. He was not yet ready to take a mate. He was not wealthy enough to treat her properly.
Braden pulled out the bow as the wagon bounced along the trail. He heard G-War express his discontent with a low-throated growl as he scrabbled to regain his position on a small desk inside.
‘Stop. There are a couple rabbits that require my attention.’
With that, G-War was out the back and in a silent flash of orange, disappeared into the trees alongside the trail.
“I guess we’re stopping,” Braden said as he pulled back on the reins. Rabbit sounded good. He took out two of his precious hardwood arrows and jumped down, looking in the direction G-War had gone.
When they hunted together, a kill was almost always guaranteed. Most of the time, that meant Braden drove prey toward a waiting ‘cat that would strike from nowhere, going straight for an exposed throat. Using claws and teeth, the ‘cat made quick work of wild game. G-War avoided protracted fights or posturing. He said that was for mating rituals, not eating. When killing for food, quickest was best. When killing to survive, then kills needed to be even quicker.
Once in the woods, Braden stalked quietly, earning a harsh rebuke from the ‘cat. Braden’s idea of quiet was far different than that of a Hillcat. He stopped moving and watched. He couldn’t see where G-War was, but he could feel him close by.
The ‘cat had taught him to use all his senses. Braden sniffed the air. High country pines. Musty undergrowth. He closed his eyes and listened. A branch moving, tree bark disturbed. He looked toward the sound, squinting his eyes. About 30 strides away, a squirrel stopped running down a tree, motionless, head raised. Braden nocked an arrow, slowly took aim, and pulled back. He sighted in on the squirrel, then raised the point of the arrow slightly to account for the distance. He let go the bowstring. With a muffled twang the arrow split the air, driving through the squirrel’s neck. The body went limp, falling to the side, hanging where the arrow pinned it to the tree.
A heartbeat later, the high pitched scream of a rabbit pierced the forest calm. It was instantly silenced. A second animal ran wildly through the leaves and undergrowth as G-War closed the distance. Rabbits will bolt, zig-zag, run some more, then stop. G-War didn’t try to overtake the rabbit. He only wanted to be within striking distance when it paused. This rabbit had a little more spunk than most, possibly the smell of fresh blood and the size of the creature chasing it added fuel to its fire. But in the end, it hesitated and the ‘cat did not.
G-War collected both of his kills and headed back toward the wagon.
“Oh you’re sharing with me? What a good kitty!” G-War hesitated for a second and then continued toward the wagon. The ‘cat didn’t waste time answering his ridiculous human. He wondered if all ‘cats had bipeds that were so inane.
If only he had never fallen into that river,
but alas, he was a kitten, young and unwise in the way of the world. He could have done worse, though.
What if his human couldn’t hunt for itself? What if his human was a farmer - how inglorious would that have been?
Braden carefully removed his arrow from the squirrel and carried the kill to the edge of the woods. He used his trusty skinning knife to make short work of it. He used a notch in the tree to help him remove the fur. Squirrel hide is extremely tough. You have to wedge the tail into something and then pull for all you’re worth.
Once finished, it would make for a nice meal. With two rabbits, he figured G-War would have something left over. He watched the ‘cat tear into them. G-War had a particular affinity to the entrails. Braden didn’t mind as that meant there would be meat available for roasting.
He built a fire with a spit and put the squirrel on it. He checked back to see that the ‘cat had finished and was now cleaning himself. “Do you mind?” No answer. One carcass was almost completely intact. Braden made quick work of cleaning it and put it on the spit behind the squirrel.
On a full stomach, the world always looked like a better place. He heard a floorboard in the wagon creek as G-War jumped in, probably to curl up under the desk for a nap. The wagon was mostly enclosed, on the sides by boarding and the top by a rough canvas cover, greased to keep the rain from getting through.
It was home. He could sleep inside the wagon, when they weren’t carrying a full load, or sleep outside, depending on the weather. The world was his oyster, or so his parents had told him, before they went to the great beyond. He wasn’t sure what an oyster was, but his mom made it sound wonderful.
The bow was a gift from his dad. His dad never shared where he had gotten it, even though he hounded him about it until his death. Braden didn’t like unanswered questions. Like Binghamton. What happened there?
Braden wanted knowledge. He also wanted wealth. He wasn’t afraid to take risks to achieve either.
It came to him clearly as he held his Rico Bow. He needed to find Old Tech. His routine trade route wouldn’t get him what he wanted. He needed to step outside of the norm, maybe even leave his wagon behind. A trader without a caravan. That would make him unique!
Maybe even poor and quite possibly dead. But he would be the envy of the other traders. No one traded solely in Old Tech. There are people who spent their entire lives trading and never handled a piece of Old Tech.
It had to be out there. Time to dig out the maps and recall the campfire tales.
He knew that Hillcats passed knowledge down the generations. Braden wondered if G-War knew anything. Then, what would it take for G-War to share what he knew?
Braden laid two maps on his desk. They were the only maps he owned, but they weren’t the best resource he had for the geography of Warren Deep. He had his rudder, handed down to him by his parents. A rudder was how sailors documented their navigation of the seas. They protected the rudder more than the treasures they carried. The rudder was the navigator’s key to his existence.
And Braden had one for the trade routes. It was rough-pressed thick paper, the best that could be had in Warren Deep. He meticulously kept it up to date. He made the latest entry regarding Binghamton in small script, as a side note to the page dedicated to this area. He added a couple lines to his family’s sum knowledge of the town of Binghamton.
If they followed the current trail, he would end up at the main road between Binghamton and Cameron. He could then continue east to Cameron. From there, he had three choices. His finger traced the routes on the hand-drawn map. Which route would take him closest to an area that was open, yet unknown?
G-War smoothly jumped to the desk from the floor of the wagon. He looked at the map, appearing to study it, then sat down in the middle of it. He immediately curled his paw toward his face, exposing the claws of that paw, where he started to nibble them and pull on them. Every now and then, the claws needed to have old growth removed, leaving only the sharpest and smoothest points.
“Really? You need to do that right here?” These weren’t questions. They rarely were. The ‘cat did as he pleased, much of it seemed calculated to make the most mischief for Braden.
Braden poked the ‘cat in the side, pulling his hand away quickly. Then he pointed his finger and slowly moved toward G-War’s side again. The ‘cat fixed his unblinking glare on the finger, raising his paw, claws out, ready to strike. Braden wisely stopped.
“You wouldn’t?” Again, not a question. Braden had razor thin scars on both arms and his legs from where he was on the losing end of play fighting with the ‘cat. He was told that he had rather nasty scars down his back. He told people this was from a mutie that jumped him, but didn’t live to brag about it.
That wasn’t true. It was from a play fight where G-War ended up in a tree and pounced on him. Braden had turned just enough to keep the cat from landing on his face. The ‘cat scored his claws down Braden’s back. That was the only time the ‘cat had been apologetic. Probably more that he hadn’t been able to control his jump than clawing his human’s back.
It wouldn’t have been a problem if it had more fur on its back, like any respectable animal,
G-War thought.
Braden changed the trajectory of his hand so that he ruffled the fur around G-War’s neck, scratching a couple places he knew the ‘cat liked. The ‘cat opened the mindlink. ‘Ohh, right there. Yeah, that feels good. Don’t stop. Okay. Stop now.’ To punctuate this, G-War slapped Braden’s hand with a paw, claws retracted.
Braden smiled and laughed. He knew the game. Petting G-War was therapeutic for both of them. Physical contact between them kept the bond strong. The power of the bond was not in owning the other, but in their commitment. Neither could be described as clingy. Braden was friendly, the ‘cat aloof. Neither could depart this friendship no matter the circumstance. Neither wanted to. Even after the ‘cat injured Braden, that same ‘cat comforted him, even finding numbweed for the human’s wounds. Unprocessed numbweed could only be made potent by chewing it. The ‘cat complained about the taste and that it made his mouth feel funny. The ‘cat also contended that Braden owed him for finding, chewing, and applying the numbweed.
“Old Tech, my friend. To make our fortune, we need to find a source of Old Tech. Imagine if we could bring a wagon load back to Jefferson City itself!” Braden imagined himself at the head of a parade, being rewarded with money, power, women, maybe even a seat on the Council.
“Whaddya think, G?”
‘I think that I don’t like being bored for the few hours a turn I am awake. I don’t like being hungry. I really don’t like the rain, because that leads to the thing I detest the most, being wet.’
The ‘cat locked eyes with Braden, then blinked slowly.
‘Whatever. Wake me when we get there.’
He got ready to jump off the desk.
“Wait. Do the Hillcats know if the ancients had any hidden outposts and where they might be?”
‘Yes.’
The ‘cat jumped down and wriggled past Braden’s feet to wedge himself under the desk.
“Thanks. Now tell me which way we need to go.”
‘Fine. South. South out of the hills, through the trees, across the desert, along the coast, and back into a forest. It is close to there. Maybe 30 turns away?’
The ‘cat curled up as he closed the mindlink.
“But Warren Deep ends in the desert, which we can’t cross. It’s too far.” Braden thought for a minute. “It’s too far…”
Everything else forgotten, Braden focused on what it would take to overcome the obstacles to reaching an Old Tech outpost. First, they had to cross a desert. How could they carry enough water and food to make the crossing possible? As he thought about it, that was the only real obstacle he saw. If they reached the other side and there was water, he could fish and the buffalo could graze. If there was a forest, they could hunt. Crossing the desert. Water. Food. Speed.
He had time to think. It was another two turns to reach Cameron, then four turns south to reach Whitehorse, the last town before the Great Desert. He would fill up on water and information, then take the plunge.
He was in great spirits riding high on the buckboard as the water buffalo ambled mindlessly forward. He needed to make a successful trade in Cameron, but he had always done well there. It was a crossroads between the east/ west and the main north/south trade routes. They had a high turnover which meant they always needed goods. Braden had boxes of the finest flint arrowheads, some so small, they could be used in a blowgun to pierce the eye of a pigeon. He also carried bolts of rough cloth, a few tortoise shells shaped as breastplates for protection, and the smallest of his load but with the most potential for gain, he carried five vials of the spice saffrimander.
Saffrimander was coveted by the wealthy to season any dish. It was produced in only two places, one of which Braden had passed through half a moon back. He traded a complete load of swords and knives, but knew it was well worth it.
The weapons were scavenged from a small battle between two neighboring communities in the western high-tree forests. Braden hadn’t done the scavenging, but he made the trade, then put as much distance between him and the battlefield as he could. The trade of the weapons for Saffrimander had been a lucky one. Regardless, it would help to make his name in the business.
Braden was a Free Trader. That meant he was not a member of the Caravan Guild. His parents had been members for a while, but they didn’t frequent the Jefferson City area. They had little interaction with the Guild and most importantly, the Guild could not provide them with protection, a main reason to pay the tithes. Guild trades protected both sellers and buyers. Guild prices guaranteed a certain quality.
Braden would meet Guild Traders. He was one of their suppliers. This is how the system worked best. Free Traders took more risk, but earned all the value of their trade. The Guild Traders paid the tithe, but risked far less. They knew what they would make from a trade. They knew that the trade was guaranteed. They lived boring lives of routine and comfort.
That wasn’t for Braden. Although the Hillcat often made comments about wanting more servants.