The Bander Adventures Box Set 2

by Randy Nargi

  The woman looked like she was starting to regain consciousness. I sat her up against my pack and checked her pulse. Still weak. But her color was coming back. That was good. I wanted to try to give her some water, but she wasn’t awake enough for that.

  I went to scout the area again. The trail was less than 100 feet from the river. I was certain that I had missed something. A woman doesn't just fall from the sky—especially one as old as this. She was maybe in her eighth decade and by all rights she should have been in a cottage somewhere, sitting in a comfortable chair surrounded by her great-grandchildren—not wandering alone in the wilderness.

  Despite hiking for ten minutes upriver and ten minutes downriver, I didn’t find any more of the woman’s possessions. I did, however, see animal tracks in a muddy area on the river bank. They weren’t bear tracks; they were deer tracks.

  I went back to the woman and was surprised to see that she was awake. Her eyes widened when she saw me, and she tried to speak, but nothing came out but a strangled croak.

  I said, “Don’t speak. I’m a friend. I found you in the middle of the trail unconscious.” I opened my water skin and gently poured a few drops into her mouth. She gagged and coughed and it was some time before she was able to keep the water down.

  When she was finally able to speak, she told me that we were both going to die that night. And then she lost consciousness again.

  I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO MAKE OF THE OLD WOMAN’S STATEMENT. But it did suggest to me that there was one possibility I hadn’t considered. Maybe she was insane.

  After checking to make sure she was comfortable, I hiked off the trail towards the canyon walls. Many thousands of years ago, the entire area east of the Horniaths was dotted with active volcanoes. They left behind frothy chunks of lava rock and buchstone pillars. The steep cliffs of the gorge were riddled with holes—some large enough to crawl into. This gave me an idea.

  I found a small cavern that was up about five feet on the cliff face. It was cramped and low—too low for me to even sit up in, but after I cleaned out the debris—dead leaves, ura needles, bugs, even a small animal bone—it seemed like a suitable place to spend the night. Over the next hour, I moved the campfire and the old woman. She remained unconscious as I carried her into the cavern which I had lined with fresh leaves and ura boughs. I covered her with my cloak again and waited, passing the time by carving the walking stick into a spear and clearing the brush away from the base of the cliff beneath the cavern. I also lashed together some boughs into a makeshift rack and draped her clothes near the fire to dry.

  It had been dark for two hours before the old woman woke up. I gave her water and told her again that I was a friend. This time she didn’t pass out.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “A wanderer.” It was my customary response. “I came upon you on the trail. You seemed at death’s door.”

  She didn’t say anything, but she tried to sit up. I warned her about the low cavern roof.

  “Help me down,” she said, wrapping my cloak tightly around her body.

  I did and then offered her some food, which she refused. She did, however, gulp down more water—leading me to suspect that she had been out in the wild for some time.

  “Have you seen them?” she asked.

  “Seen what?”

  “Bristlers. Spiders.”

  “I don’t know.”

  She shook her head. “You’d know all right. Big as a dog. Covered with thick spines.”

  I had never heard of spiders the size of a dog. “How are you feeling?”

  “Never mind how I’m feeling, sir. We need to get in the river before they come through here.” She stood up.

  “The river?”

  Her eyes darted back and forth as she scanned the darkness for something. “They won’t go in water. That’s the only way to stay safe.”

  “Is that what happened to you?” That would explain a lot.

  “I’m afraid we don’t have time to jabber, sir. We need to get into the river. Now.”

  “We’d freeze to death. Like you almost did.” I still couldn’t determine if her fear was genuine or if she was just addled.

  “That would be a better way to die. Trust me.”

  I lifted the sharpened walking stick to show her. “No one is dying tonight. Why don’t you tell me more about these spiders.”

  “They’re called bristlers. They live way up in the mountains.”

  “Then why are you worried about them down here?”

  “Because now’s the time that they migrate,” she said. “Do you know what ‘migrate’ means, good sir?”

  “I’m guessing that they come down to avoid the cold.”

  “Yes, you are partly right. They come down every autumn to mate. And to die.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s the males that migrate. They come down to find females to mate with. And then the females kill them.”

  I nodded. “And exactly how big are these bristlers? In truth. No exaggeration, if you please.”

  The old woman extended her hand a foot and a half off the ground. “This high,” she said. “Maybe as big around as a wagon wheel.”

  I thought back to the books I had read and the people I had spoken to over the years who knew something of the natural arts. I had heard of some large insects way down south in the Tengan Territories, but no one ever spoke of colossal spiders here in Harion. I told her so.

  “With all due respect, sir, just because you’ve never heard of them, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

  “Agreed. But I was at a camp with a warden out of Viandel. He did not mention such a thing. I would think a warden of all people would know about—”

  She cut me off. “Behind you!”

  I turned to see a large shape scurrying at the edge of our campsite. It was indeed the size of a small dog. And it was indeed a spider. It wasn’t alone.

  THE NEXT FIFTEEN SECONDS WENT BY IN A BLUR. I threw the old woman up into the cavern, then snatched a burning log from the campfire and followed her into the crawlspace. Around us swarmed the bristlers: a sea of limbs and bulbous shapes covered with coarse hair.

  “How many are there?” I was ready to bat them away with the log.

  “I don’t know,” the old woman said. “Hundreds at least.”

  I watched the flood of spiders with a combination of horror and curiosity. They skittered quickly, but purposefully—keeping their distance from the fire. Thankfully none tried to climb up the cliff towards us. In less than five minutes, they had disappeared into the night and the campsite was still.

  “They’re gone,” I said after a while. And then I crawled out of the cavern.

  “Forgive me if I remain up here. There may be some stragglers.”

  “I owe you an apology.”

  “Why?”

  “I had my doubts. Thought maybe you were crazy.”

  The old woman made a dismissive sound. “I don’t blame you for not believing, good sir. I didn’t believe it myself until last year.”

  “What happened last year?”

  “That’s when we first started seeing the migration. Gambrin thinks that the new mine had something to do with it.”

  “They came out of a mine?”

  “No. When they opened up the north spur last spring, nearly half the cliff collapsed. I think it made a new route for the bristlers.”

  “There is a mining camp here?”

  “Of course.”

  “How far away?”

  "I don't know. A day, maybe. Half day for you. I don't walk very fast anymore."

  I told her, “I think we need to start at the beginning.” So she did.

  Chapter Two

  HER NAME WAS HILDUR AND SHE WAS AN HERBALIST AND A HEALER. She had outlived her husband and her children and even her grandchildren. For the last 22 years, her home had been Fort Sindal, a walled mining outpost a dozen miles south of here. Up until recently in Fort Sindal, thirty men mined lightstone
ore and twice that number tended to the village and supported the miners. And Hildur was one of those people doing the tending. She set broken bones, administered remedies for illnesses, helped women give birth, and saw to it that the gravely ill passed quietly and without suffering.

  A year ago a family named the Connaughts moved in and took over the operation from the previous owners. As soon as the snow melted, the Nechtally family loaded up their possessions, left the outpost, and headed up to Lhawster. It was very sudden and the rest of the townspeople didn’t know what to think. The Connaughts were a rough lot and several other families uprooted themselves and left Fort Sindal rather than work for the Connaughts. A few people disappeared under mysterious circumstances. But the new owners didn’t care one way or the other.

  Wilmar Connaught was the family patriarch and was in charge of everything. His two sons were both brutes—well suited to the hard labor of mining. No one paid much mind to Hildur as long as she did her job. But then right around Midsummer, Wilmer Connaught announced that the mines had run dry and everything changed. The miners had nothing to occupy their time except drinking and gambling and fighting. One of the Connaught boys got into a fight with another miner and suffered a broken jaw. Hildur gave him safrel oil to ease the pain, and that made Toat Connaught light-headed and talkative. Under the influence of the drug, he boasted that there was plenty of lightstone left in the mines. Before Hildur could hear more, Wilmar Connaught arrived back home. He told her to leave Toat’s room. And the next morning he told her she had to leave the outpost.

  “Where were you supposed to go?” I asked.

  Hildur shrugged. “They didn’t care. It was pretty clear that I was expected to leave and go die out here. Either that or they would kill me outright.”

  “In front of the other townspeople? Surely you had friends?”

  “I don’t think the Connaughts cared about that. No one was going to defy them.”

  “So you left?”

  “I didn’t have any choice.”

  “Where were you going to go? Viandel is over a hundred miles away.”

  “I was trying to get to the main road. I thought maybe a wagon could take me north.”

  I shook my head. “You would have never made it without supplies.”

  “I did have supplies,” she said. “Food. Water. Even a blanket. But they took my satchel as I was leaving. Said I didn’t need it since I was good at foraging. And then they laughed.”

  I felt a familiar rage well up inside of me. I didn’t know this woman. I didn’t know if she was a bad person or a good person. But I know she did not deserve to be treated like that.

  She continued, “But, honestly, not having food wasn’t the problem. The bristlers were the problem. As you just saw.”

  “How long until they migrate out of the area?”

  “I have no idea. A week maybe…”

  I nodded. “And what does the mining outpost do about them?”

  "Fort Sindal is very secure. It's got twenty-five foot tall walls surrounded by a moat."

  “A moat? Truly?”

  “It’s more of a canal. Diverted from the river. But it helps keep everything out.”

  I said, “It’s not going to keep me out.”

  The old woman’s face clouded. She was quiet. “What are you going to do?”

  I told her.

  I KEPT WATCH UNTIL DAWN. Then I slept for an hour. When I awoke, I built up the fire and spent a half hour unsuccessfully trying to spear some fish for our early meal. Hildur laughed at me and headed down to the river herself. Ten minutes later she returned with a dozen crayfish which we roasted and ate greedily.

  “Come back to Fort Sindal with me,” I said.

  “No.”

  “It’s not safe here.”

  “I’m not going back. They’d kill me.”

  “You’ll die out here. You think you can survive another night in the river?”

  “What about that cave?”

  I didn’t say anything. Just walked over to the narrow cave and looked it over. Then I went to work.

  I uprooted several saplings, stripped their branches, and lashed them into a lattice which fit nicely into the mouth of the cavern, making a sort of cage door. I wedged in some thicker branches as posts so that the door would fit securely and cut the straps off my pack to make leather hinges. Once everything was assembled, I watched as Hildur tested it. She crawled as quickly as she could up into the cavern, then pulled the cage door closed behind her. Once she was in, I simulated the force of a bunch of bristlers crawling on the door. Even with me applying a decent amount of weight on it, the door held. It probably wouldn't last for more than a few uses, but it wasn't meant to be permanent.

  I told her, “I can’t guarantee that this will protect you.”

  “Better than hiding in the river, leastways.”

  I gave Hildur all of my food and water, my cloak, knife, and knapsack, and also left her the sharpened walking stick. Then I told her that if I didn’t return by the day after tomorrow, she should make her way northwest up towards the caravan road. It would be a long way, but maybe she’d get lucky and a caravan would pick her up.

  “You sure you won’t go back with me?” I asked.

  “Not unless all the Connaughts are gone.”

  I didn’t say anything. Just began walking towards Fort Sindal.

  Chapter Three

  THE MINING OUTPOST WAS MUCH AS HILDUR HAD DESCRIBED IT. A stockade, surrounded by several outbuildings—all ringed by a narrow canal, maybe a dozen feet wide. There was a planked drawbridge, just barely wider than a wagon, attached to a log gatehouse. The entire complex looked like it had been built in the fashion of a typical castle you might find anywhere in the Midlands. But instead of stone walls, the fortress was constructed of thick log walls, twenty feet tall, bleached white by the sun, but doubtless as hard as iron. It was clear that this fortress hadn't actually seen much combat. Likely Fort Sindal had been constructed more to keep animal—not human—invaders out.

  Around the stockade, between the walls and the canal, the land had been cleared for a couple of hundred feet and what brush remained looked like it was regularly trampled by hoofs and boots. I crossed the drawbridge and walked around a bit. There were corrals, stables, cabins, storehouses, and a number of other buildings. Smoke hung in the noonday sun and I could smell cooking fires, bread baking, and manure. Scattered between the outbuildings were a handful of people working. The ones that noticed me scowled or stared with suspicion, but no one approached me.

  I returned to the open gate and entered the inner ward. There was no one patrolling the battlements and not a lot of activity in the main courtyard, which spanned a hundred yards at least. A few women—some with children in tow—carried baskets into what looked like a storehouse or maybe a trading post. A few more lingered at a large well in the center of the courtyard. All the buildings were two storeys—some with upper balconies. The buildings were constructed from stone blocks and old timbers—with no effort spent on adornment of any kind. None of the buildings had signs either. Presumably, if you lived here, you could easily find your way around. All in all, Fort Sindal looked to be a simple, functional walled hamlet.

  I spent a few more minutes just standing there—taking in my surroundings. Then I walked over to the well and asked the women if there was a tavern in town. They all looked down, not wanting to speak with me. But one woman—the youngest of the group—glanced in the direction of a large double door across the courtyard to the east. I nodded to her and walked over to the door. Behind me, the women giggled softly.

  Over by the double doors, I heard the muffled sound of conversation and I knew I was in the right place. I pushed through the doors and found myself in a narrow room filled with a dozen tables and a short bar. There were six large men sitting around two tables that had been pushed together. They were drinking and playing pone. Each man probably outweighed me by a hundred pounds. That’s saying a lot. I stand nearly six feet and a
half feet tall and weigh as much as a medium-sized stag. But these men were miners and I was not.

  There was a much smaller and rounder man behind the bar, cleaning tankards. He was bald and soft and his eyes were pressed together in a perpetual squint. He looked towards me in an odd way that made me think that he might be blind or partially blind.

  “Drink,” I said.

  He stopped wiping and looked in my direction, but made no move to serve me.

  I repeated myself, but the round man stood frozen, a bewildered look on his face. I said, "It's not a difficult request. This is a tavern. You are a barkeep. You give me an ale. I give you money. Should be a simple transaction."

  Some of the miners snickered. This was certainly a town with a sense of humor.

  “I can’t sell you ale.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we don’t sell anything here.”

  “Those men over there are drinking something.”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean to tell me they didn’t pay for their ale?”

  The barkeep didn't say anything. Just kept staring with his beady eyes.

  I said, “That’s even better. Free ale. Like those gentlemen are drinking. I’ll have one of those.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “You’re right about that. This is the oddest tavern I have ever step foot in.”

  “But that’s what I have been trying to tell you. This isn’t a regular tavern. It’s a private establishment. Owned by the Connaughts. The men receive ale as part of their wages. I can’t serve you because you don’t work here.”

  “Those men aren’t doing much working either.”

  “But—”

  “Give him a damn drink, Neddic!” called one of the miners across the room.

  I nodded towards the miner in thanks. Neddic the barkeep took a tankard that hadn’t been cleaned yet and filled it from a cask.

  “One beer and then you’ll be leaving,” the miner said to me. “That simpleton is correct. We’re a private mining town. We have no accommodations for strangers.”