Read The Free Trader of Warren Deep (Free Trader Series Book 1) Online
Authors: Craig Martelle
They camped by a small stream, where they drank freely. Braden filled the casks and his new stock of flasks. This increased the weight on the cart, slowing them down, but they had no other choice.
This part of the forest teemed with wildlife and shortly, G-War, Braden, and Skirill had killed a mix of rabbits and squirrels. Skirill ate his kills after ripping them apart and swallowing the pieces whole. Braden thought the Hawkoid must have one hell of a stomach to digest all of that. It made his stomach churn just to think about it. G-War avoided the bones when possible, preferring the softer parts of the flesh.
Braden liked his meat cooked. He cleaned two squirrels and one rabbit, letting them hang until nightfall. He wouldn’t risk a smoky fire in the daylight.
He searched the underbrush of the surrounding area. They needed more numbweed. He wanted some tubers, maybe other wild vegetables if he could find any. Skirill and G-War were carnivores. Braden needed more, wanted a great deal more than just meat, but was willing to settle. His last two trips into town weren’t long enough for him to get a bed and a good home-cooked meal. He would have been happy with a bad home-cooked meal.
When Braden returned to their camp, Skirill was asleep on a branch overhead. G-War was asleep in the back of the cart. The horses were even down and out cold. Braden was instantly alert, adrenaline surging through his body. He’d heard of mutants who could put people to sleep with their breath. The mutie Bears could freeze beings with their mind.
‘Is it too much to ask that it is quiet?’
G-War asked via their mindlink.
A certain amount of paranoia was healthy as it kept a person on his toes. Braden felt like he was going a little too far. G-War would have let him know if anything was wrong. Skirill probably would have, too. The horses should be sleeping; they worked hard this turn.
And Braden felt fine. He had not yet eaten, so he wasn’t burdened with digesting the huge meals of his companions.
‘Sorry, G. Too many weird things lately,’
he responded to the ‘cat, in his quietest thought voice.
He went to work building a small fire where he could hang his one pot and make a rabbit stew. His mouth watered thinking about it.
While his dinner was slowly heating, Braden pulled out his rudder. It had been at the bottom of the one blanket pack for many turns. He needed to update it. Carefully, with his fine pencils, he updated his entries, especially those regarding the path he had taken from Cameron to Whitehorse, back to his current position. In another half turn, he should cross the trail he made previously. This was the value of the rudder, keeping the trader on the best path. He smiled to himself. He would remain true to his craft.
The night was thankfully uneventful. Come morning, man, creature, and beast alike were well rested. They found their earlier track and followed it south, until the point where it turned west toward Whitehorse. They turned east instead.
Skirill scouted far ahead. He flew to the northern border of the Great Desert, looking for the easiest way south. Skirill found a stream in the foothills of the Bittner Mountains, close to the Great Desert. They determined that would be the best place to camp and get their fill of water before plunging into the barren wasteland.
Braden looked at the two horses and the cart. G-War was crouched in the cart, on the softest place he could find, the blanket pack of smoked meat, watching as the group passed through the forest and into the grassy plains. Braden thought of them as his caravan. Although he considered them equals, he took responsibility for their health and well-being.
They continued across the plains in silence. Skirill spent some time aloft, but most of his time was in trees or on rocks, waiting for the caravan to catch up. He hunted while he waited, catching a few ground squirrels, which he ate in single, massive Hawkoid gulps.
No one followed. No one was ahead. The Hawkoid’s view of the Great Desert showed a seemingly endless waste.
They pushed on, but wouldn’t make the hills until the next turn. They camped by a lone tree, old, its growth diminished by lack of water and dry earth. Braden did not make a fire. The ‘cat climbed into the tree, relaxing on a lower limb with all four legs dangling. G-War liked this position. Braden called it the lazy ‘cat. Skirill stayed on the highest branch that would support his weight. Braden hobbled the horses so they could graze on their own. He reclined against the tree and ate sparingly of the smoked meat and cheese. It might have to last for weeks.
It would be good to get another deer. And maybe even harvest some of the plains grass to fill the cart. It wouldn’t be heavy, but it would come in handy.
He put some water from the flasks into their cooking pot and let the horses drink. They drank three pots between them. That was three flasks worth. Braden refilled the flasks from the casks and watched as the water level dropped.
Being a trader, Braden could quickly do basic calculations in his head. At this rate, the water in the casks would last roughly two weeks. If they drank more, which he suspected they would in the dry of the desert, then it might last as little as one week.
With Skirill, their chances of finding a water hole, an oasis, were vastly improved. When they reached the last stream in the foothills, they would discuss how best to attack the Great Desert. Braden’s success counted more on his companions than him. He looked at them as they rested.
One’s true measure can be found in the value of one’s friends.
Another uneventful night followed by an uneventful daylight. The cart trundled on, leaving a light scar in the grasses of their wake. Braden’s horse ambled continuously forward, toward a spot on the horizon that Skirill had directed them to. He sat there now, waiting, watching.
G-War stretched out his senses. He could feel nothing except for the human and the Hawkoid. The Hillcat wasn’t used to such voids. He expected that the Great Desert would be even worse. He needed to reconcile himself with the quiet or he would go crazy.
Braden was used to the relative quiet. He heard the horses crunching the dry grasses, scuffing the earth beneath. He heard their leather harnesses slapping, the creak of the cart. The grass swished in the breeze. He felt the sun on his face.
Where G-War was anxious, Braden was alive. What he felt and heard was the freedom of the open road. This was the trader’s time to relax and enjoy the wonders of the caravan’s journey. He looked at the ‘cat and wished him peace.
He saw and felt Skirill in the distance as he took off and climbed. He flew higher and higher past the foothills and toward the Bittner Mountains. He flew hard and straight.
Braden opened his mind, but couldn’t touch the Hawkoid.
‘G. Do you know where Skirill is going.’
‘Yes,’
was the ‘cat’s short reply.
‘Where?’
Braden asked in his thought voice, ignoring the fact that the cat answered his first question without answering the real question.
‘The near peaks. He has seen other Hawkoids and is flying to meet them.’
‘Are the Hawkoids friendly?’
Braden asked. He had never seen one up close until they met Skirill. Circumstances forced that meeting and enabled Braden to establish their friendship. He hadn’t heard of other humans having any interaction with Hawkoids. The humans thought they were eagles. They kept to themselves, frequenting areas where humans were scarce.
‘No. Hawkoids and humans are not compatible.’
“But Skirill…” Braden said out loud, now confused. Through G-War the Hawkoid and the human had talked. Without that, surely Braden would not have attempted to work on Skirill’s wounds?
‘Skirill is his own Hawkoid. He breaks tradition. He will confirm shortly that he is not allowed back among his own kind. He is and always will be an outcast.’
“I didn’t know. I’m not sure Skirill made a good trade. What can we do to help?”
G-War mentally shrugged. If Braden understood ‘cat logic, the shrug meant that there was nothing to do. Once the choice was made, he dealt with it.
As Braden thought about it, he realized what G-War had said. “He will confirm shortly…” you said. “You can see the future can’t you?” The ‘cat didn’t respond.
Skirill had seen the Hawkoids as they circled near the cliffs far above him. He knew that his own kind barely tolerated him. Hawkoids were intelligent, but they were limited in their ambitions. He was unique and that alone made him stand apart. The others couldn’t think like he thought. They didn’t see the world as it could be. They only saw it as it was.
He wanted a mate, confident that their offspring would be like him. He could help the Hawkoids become more than just cliff dwellers, hunters of small game. He could help them develop a culture that rivaled that of the humans!
When he was cast out, he sought the mutie Bear to prove that he was superior or die trying. It hadn’t worked. He failed and almost died because of his arrogance. He was amazed that he had survived. The Bear had frozen his mind, but only until the first slash of that massive paw, then Skirill cast off the mental reins and flew. He flew for all he was worth, but the blood streamed from his wounds and he lost his vigor.
That was over seven turns ago. Since then, a great deal had changed. Now, he had first-hand knowledge of how the one with the long braid thought, how he worked. Braden was unique, like him. They could speak without speaking and that helped Skirill learn to talk like a human. Braden accepted him as an equal. He wanted the other Hawkoids to see this and accept him as readily.
When he saw the flock of nesties, he knew he had to go to them.
Hawkoids protected their territory, but not from other Hawkoids. They were intelligent enough to know that a war would lead to their destruction. They argued, but never fought. They would challenge each other to duels of dancing in the sky, trying to outfly one another, weaving intricate patterns, one around the other. Sometimes accidents happened, but they generally ended with one victor, however, a good dance could result in both winning, increasing the respect they received from all who watched.
As Skirill approached this nesting ground, the parent Hawkoids took to the sky, circling between him and their young in order to establish a boundary which he was not allowed to pass. He honored their request and turned to fly perpendicular. He passed them, waving his wings and bobbing his head in greeting as he continued toward a rocky spire in a neutral area away from the nest.
The other Hawkoids bobbed their heads in greeting and followed, landing a short way from Skirill.
To a human, Hawkoid language sounded like screeches with clicks. Hawkoids were equally visual and oral. Their language wasn’t just spoken. A screech could mean a number of things depending on how the head and body moved when the sound was made. The clicks covered an even broader range, far more than what humans could hear. The speed of the clicks, the range, and the coordinated head movements helped enrich the quality of the language.
“Greetings, fellow Hawkoids. My name is Skirill. Thank you for the good hunting below.” Skirill clicked and screeched the ritual greeting, bowing fully at the end to show his respect and deference to their hunting grounds.
“Greetings Skirill. I am Teeleech and this is my mate, Awkar. The fertile hunting ground serves us all.” He ended with a deep bow.
“Are there any others near? I have flown far seeking my life companion and have yet to be successful.”
“To the north. There are no more Hawkoids to the south or the west. We have not flown beyond the peaks to the east. They are too high and we don’t wish to get lost on the other side.”
“Thank you my brother. My journey will continue then. Before I go, what do you know of the Great Desert?”
“The barren land to the south? We know little. There is no hunting in the Great Desert. You fly. You get hot. You don’t eat or drink. We don’t go there.”
“Do you know of any water holes there, no matter how far in?”
“I have personally seen trees and green, but it was far in the distance and I was already cooked. I barely made it back,” Teeleech said, emphasizing his story with a series of deep bows and wide head shakes.
“Please tell me where, point me in that direction,” Skirill asked, needing the information. Teeleech went into a long explanation, detailing all the markers he had seen, all the waypoints. He noted that the sands often shift and much could be different. He also begged Skirill not to try it. There was nothing in the Great Desert worth a Hawkoid’s life.
“I travel with a human and a Hillcat. We have water and food to help us on our journey.” Teeleech and Awkar stiffened.
“Hawkoids do not travel with humans. They do not travel with the Hellcats. We eat ‘cats,” Awkar said coldly.
“I’ve never heard of a Hawkoid traveling with a human,” Teelech added diplomatically as he looked at his mate. Awkar continued to shake and bob her head.
“He saved my life after I fought a mutant Bear. He asked for nothing in return. These humans are more than I ever thought. They can be dangerous and they can be great friends. I prefer the latter and have been rewarded with his friendship.”
“No, no, no. Hawkoids do not travel with humans,” Awkar repeated forcefully. She was so agitated that she almost fell and finally decided to fly from her perch.
“Well that’s that then. We wish you well.” Teeleech launched himself into the air using his powerful legs. He fell smoothly until the air filled his wings and he glided down and away from Skirill.
“I guess that’s that then,” he said in the human tongue to the empty spire. “I a’ Skirill the Outcast and I will show the hu’an a way across the Great Desert.” He looked after the retreating Hawkoids, despair in his heart at the loss of his people.