How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the Last Mighty T-Rex

by Mark Paul Jacobs

  Anderia sprang to her feet, cradling her infant son. “Pinthra?”

  Kristren gasped for breath. “Could be...”

  Balyar’s eyes flashed in the candlelight. “Fetch me two pans, boy. Now, get going!”

  Kristren scrambled into the kitchen. Balyar grabbed his crossbow and two bows. Hurriedly, the rancher filled a quiver with a dozen metal-tipped arrows. Kristren returned with two small pans. The boy’s hands shook. Balyar threaded one bow over Kristren’s shoulder.

  Anderia brushed aside a tear. “Be careful.”

  Father and son rushed out the door.

  Balyar and Jett followed a trail of fresh blood to the field’s edge. Balyar found a mangled sheep in a shallow ditch. Hurriedly, he collected the carcass in a cloth sack. Balyar loaded his crossbow. Beside him, Kristren looked on with wide eyes.

  “Will she be back, father?”

  “Once a Pinthra has taken blood, they’ll stay close unless driven off or killed.”

  “Can they be frightened away?”

  “Loud noise is best...” Balyar lifted an eyebrow. “But Pinthra are unpredictable and dangerous, and you should never underestimate the dark beasts.” Again, Balyar reached up and felt his scar. “Be ready with those pans.”

  Balyar and Kristren stooped near the ditch where they found the dead sheep. Jett continued to pace back and forth, whimpering. Kristren tried to keep the dog from wandering off. Bright Alberon shined directly overhead. Father and son huddled to fight the chill.

  Suddenly, Jett yelped.

  Balyar heard a low growl from the forest's edge. Then he saw a phantom-like shape passing between the trees. Two large, luminous eyes flared in the shadows. Another set of blank eyes flashed from a nearby grove, and a loud hiss echoed from the woods. Balyar’s spine tingled.

  Jett barked at the dark forms and pawed at the ground. Kristren banged on the pans while Balyar shouted toward the woods. Balyar kept the crossbow within arm's reach.

  The nearest dark shadow reared up on its hind legs, releasing a heinous yell. For an instant, Balyar glimpsed fanged teeth and two stubby horns.

  Jett barked louder than before.

  Suddenly, the dark shapes turned and leaped back into the woods. Moments later, Jett stopped barking.

  Balyar stood listening to his heartbeat for quite some time.

  **********

  A rooster heralded the morning sun and Balyar awoke sluggishly. He stretched and staggered into the kitchen. Anderia stood fanning the fireplace’s glowing embers. Jett lay curled beneath Balyar’s feet. Balyar scratched the dog’s neck.

  Anderia pulled aside her slender braids. “I just let him in. The poor thing must have been standing vigil all night.” She glanced toward Balyar. “And you look like you need more sleep yourself.”

  “There are chores to be done and packing for the trip.”

  “I’ve already set aside some of your things.”

  “Is Kristren up yet?”

  Anderia lifted a kettle over the hearth. “He just got to bed a few hours ago. Is it any wonder he’s still sleeping after last night’s excitement?”

  “I need him.”

  “He needs his rest.”

  Balyar splashed water on his face. “Samael is meeting me here, later this morning.”

  “Oh—”

  “He wanted to talk before we set out for Tyrie.”

  “Why here?”

  “Maybe he wanted to see how common people live, or he just sought the exercise.”

  Anderia smiled wryly. “We are not often graced by the presence of the representative of Noreldan merchants.”

  Balyar sniffed. “I’ll wager he hasn’t been outside the settlement since spring.”

  “Then, I’ll make him some hot tea and prepare a comfortable chair. And then ask him why he charges such high prices at his market.”

  Balyar grinned. “Perhaps an appropriate argument for some other time, dear wife.”

  “Don’t misunderstand me, Balyar. I like the councilman, but I think greed sometimes clouds his thinking.”

  “He is not only the wealthiest man in Norelda but possibly the fattest. I hope his heart doesn’t fail coming up the path. I think he underestimates the climb.” Balyar pulled a blanket snug to his youngest son.

  Anderia stirred the kettle. “And how prepared are you to represent the ranchers? Do you have their confidence? Will they allow you to negotiate freely? Will they support the decisions you make in Tyrie?”

  “I didn’t campaign for this job.”

  “Still, they will expect results.”

  “I know.”

  “And hold you accountable.”

  “I did get them to agree on key issues, such as getting this year’s huge supply of Mathran wool to market and negotiating for food reserves for winter.”

  Anderia glanced at her husband and shook her head.

  “Kristren handled himself well last night,” Balyar continued, reading her mood. “I know he’s just a grown boy, but I’m confident he’ll manage things well while I’m gone.”

  “But, he is just a dozen cycles over two years old?”

  “I have faith in him.”

  Anderia stared at the fire and then adjusted the kettle over the flames. “I wish you didn’t have to leave, Balyar. Fall is such a difficult time on the ranch, and me with the baby... I feel a bit overwhelmed.”

  “I know.”

  “And with Pinthra lurking everywhere.”

  “Kristren is a better archer than me. He can—”

  “But there’s so much to get done. There’s firewood to be stored and hay to be collected…”

  Balyar placed his hand on Anderia’s shoulder. “Kristren will do just fine, you’ll see. Don’t worry.”

  **********

  Balyar sat on a boulder on the trail’s edge, gazing downward over the distant village and the deep basin enveloped in a mid-morning fog. The wide expanse of Lake Norelda lay before him, enclosed in majestic mountains and steep cliffs and surrounded by tiers of green pastures. Balyar sighed, envisioning the Great Confluence of Tyrie, many days trek to the southwest below the elongated lake and the river branch that flowed downward, eventually draining into the Great River’s merge.

  Balyar noticed the ample figure of Councilman Samael plodding up the rocky trail. “Master Samael! I see you’ve survived the climb.”

  Samael paused. “I have not yet… succumbed… but I dearly hope… sweet Lady Anderia… has something warm to drink.”

  Balyar slapped Samael across the councilman’s shoulders. “Indeed she has, my good man. Indeed she has. Come with me.”

  Balyar led the huffing councilman several hundred meters off the path and into his modest home. Samael removed his hat, dipping his head to Anderia, before plopping down onto a kitchen chair.

  Anderia smiled broadly. “Perhaps, the honorable councilman will accept some hot tea.”

  “You will save my life, dear lady.”

  Anderia poured a cup. Samael took a cautious sip. “Ahhhh, Sequippa root, fresh and smooth. How delightful.”

  “Picked by our son Kristren just last week,” Balyar said. “The Sequippa has been most sweet and pungent this year.”

  Samael caught Balyar’s eyes through the tea’s steam. “We have little time this morning, so let us proceed to business. My sources report a good harvest of wool on the ranches this fall. I presume they’re correct?”

  Balyar eyed Samael suspiciously. “Your sources...?”

  “Come now, good rancher, we represent all Noreldans here. I make money regardless your guild’s circumstances.”

  Balyar stroked his beard and sighed. “The ranchers have a surplus of three ton of Mathran fleece and eight ton of sheep’s wool.”

  Samael raised his thick eyebrows. “Indeed, a good year.”

  “The best I can recall.”

  “The wool, animal pelts, and garments will give us great leverage to barter with Tyrie and Adair for the needed grains, fish, and meats.” Samael scowl
ed. “You know how quickly Noreldans tire of mutton or an occasional chicken after the snows drive Norelda to isolation. And we want to keep the citizens happy, do we not?”

  Balyar said, “And this will be a long winter, if the old-timers are to be believed. Many say that the more plentiful the summer, the harsher the winter.”

  Samael nodded. “Possibly, nature’s way of maintaining balance, good rancher?”

  “I don’t know, but we would be wise to plan ahead. Many ranchers have already stockpiled additional firewood and hay.”

  Anderia poured the councilman another cup of tea. Samael took a quick sip and then nodded politely.

  Balyar leaned forward. “And who has been chosen to represent the trappers at this meeting?”

  Samael smiled wryly. “Tharmstron.”

  “Tharmstron! I’ve never met the man, but he’s reputed to be outspoken and somewhat mistrustful.”

  “Ah, good rancher, in politics it’s best not to prejudge…”

  “Have you worked with him before?”

  “Make no mistake, Balyar, Tharmstron is a strong and honorable man. Do not forget, it was Tharmstron who argued for his scattered communities to have more involvement with the settlements, and it was he who organized trappers for greater leverage with the merchants— a measure, lightening my pockets significantly, by the way.

  “And most important of all, it was Tharmstron who foresaw the need to educate the young of his clans— a plan that recently reached fruition in a pact with Druiden of Adair, providing teachers to trapper outposts where before there was none. Tharmstron is a man to be respected. One must not underestimate him.” Samael took another sip of tea.

  Balyar sighed. “Trappers have always been strange folk— too many years in the wilds, I suppose. Only recently have they become concerned with settlement affairs, and now they’re involved in our greatest councils. How times change.”

  “Many things change in our lands,” Samael said solemnly. “But representatives like you and I must assure these changes are wise and just. All peoples must be represented fairly, including trappers, or we risk losing all; this is especially self-evident during hard times.”

  Kristren pushed through the front door holding an armful of firewood. Jett trotted between his feet, shaking off muddy snow.

  “Good morning sir,” Kristren said.

  “And to you, young man,” Samael replied.

  “This is my eldest, Kristren,” Balyar said. “He’ll run my ranch while I’m in Tyrie.”

  Kristren dumped the firewood beside the fireplace. He removed his gloves and flexed fingers over the fire.

  “Have you finished the morning chores?”

  “Yes, the wood’s split and the animals are fed. Will you be leaving soon, father?”

  “Yes, and you can help by carrying my bag down to the village.”

  “I wish I could go with you.”

  “I need you to take care of your mother and brother.”

  Samael tapped his fingers. “If you’re ready… We must get to the ferry docks before noon. If everything goes well, we will meet the Yaakriders at the lake's western portage by sunrise tomorrow. Tyrie is two days journey by Yaak from there.”

  Kristren strapped his father's luggage across his shoulder and exited with the councilman into the cool, morning air. Balyar lifted his infant son from his crib, cradled him in his arms, and gave him a kiss on the forehead. He placed the boy gently in his bed and covered him with blankets.

  Anderia stood washing pans from breakfast. Balyar reached over her shoulder and took her hand. She stared straight ahead.

  “Take care,” Anderia said.

  Balyar, Samael, and Kristren tramped down the meandering path, leading from the upper ranches down to the Noreldan settlement, some distance below. Jett ran ahead of the trio. Balyar and Kristren bounced along, but the aging and overweight merchant huffed and puffed.

  Samael halted and wiped his forehead. “In my younger days… I could make the climb to the ranches… thrice daily. Now I fear death along the way. The trip up to your homestead this morning was worse. I should have met you at the docks.” He plopped down on a rock beside the path and patted his stomach. “There are some drawbacks to a plentiful summer after all, good rancher.”

  Balyar smirked. “The life of a merchant makes you soft. Working a ranch for a season would keep you fit.”

  “I’ve no doubt. But the upcoming winter will make us all leaner, especially if we don’t plan well. That’s why our voice must be heard at the Council. There are over twelve hundred people depending on our foresight and strength. It’s a responsibility I take quite seriously.”

  “Well spoken, my friend. And you feel Tharmstron will be an asset?”

  Samael’s eyes gleamed. “Yes, but always remember that Tharmstron speaks for the trappers, much the same as you speak for ranchers and I for the Noreldan merchants. We of the northern communities form a broad alliance born of geography and mutual needs. Our stronger bonds are to our constituents and finally to our families. There may be circumstances where Tharmstron will do whatever is in his people's best interest and not necessarily ours.”

  Finally, they reached the settlement’s edge. The sun had burned the morning haze, and Lake Norelda's rippling blue water swarmed with boats of various shapes and sizes.

  They entered Norelda's bustling streets, confronted by citizens offering praise, food, and drink. Samael nodded curtly yet ushered Balyar and Kristren away.

  Samael glanced toward the elevated sun. “Let’s move on. Noon approaches and we’re expected at the ferry dock. Tharmstron and his companion will be waiting.”

  The men arrived at a gateway cut through a rock wall. A line of heavily laden Zampha carts plodded through the gate and downward toward the lake.

  Samael beamed. “Packs for the giant Yaakraya, crammed with furs and garments stitched in Noreldan factories.”

  Kristren’s eyes danced.

  The men strolled through the gate and then down to a series of floating docks located several hundred meters below. Balyar noticed a large boat with a flat deck tied to the dock. Several men crisscrossed the deck, checking sails and fastening rigging. Another dozen men used a huge wooden lever-crane to hoist the heavy packs from the carts onto the boat.

  Balyar counted aloud. “Three or four dozen Yaakraya packs at least.”

  Samael smiled broadly.

  Balyar and Samael approached the ferry. Kristren took his father's bag and hurled it aboard. One of the ferrymen smiled at Kristren and tossed the bag below deck. Samael stepped across a plank and onto the boat.

  Balyar bid Kristren farewell. Kristren trotted off the dock and up the road. Jett followed, jumping and sniffing at the boy’s feet.

  Balyar watched until Kristren disappeared through the gate and then boarded the ferry. Behind him, two burly men approached the dock. Balyar noticed both men carried bags fashioned from hides of wild animals. One man was three or four seasons older than the other and sported a long, dark beard. The younger man was clean-shaven. Both wore fur-lined hats, Mathran jackets, and Alem-hide boots. They strode up the plank, tossing bags to the crew.

  The older trapper smiled. “I see you made it, honorable Samael. And you must be the rancher, Balyar.” He reached out and seized the rancher’s wrist. “You have the reputation of a fair and honorable man.”

  “Yes, I am Balyar. And I’m honored to finally meet the esteemed Tharmstron. I’ve heard many tales...”

  The trapper bellowed, “I hope all you have heard has been good.” He turned to his young companion. “This is Ruppon. He has an interesting story to tell, but only before the Council of Representatives as I have pledged to Master Druiden of Adair.”

  The young trapper nodded.

  The four men watched as the last gigantic pack was hoisted aboard and secured to the ship’s deck. The ferrymen released their vessel, and three rowboats towed the boat to the bay’s mouth. A southwest wind ruffled the lake, and the ferrymen raised two bro
ad sails. And with the wind at their tail, they sailed toward the lake’s center.

  **********

  Kristren jogged up the path with Jett following close behind. Kristren halted and turned. Before him, Lake Norelda glistened in the bright sunshine. He placed his hand to his brow, spotting a brown platform with two white blotches amid the field of deep blue.

  “My time is coming soon, Jett. Next year, I’ll be the one who goes to Tyrie. I’ll be the one who’ll ride the Yaak to the city of the confluence and beyond. This, I promise, Jett. I promise with all my heart.”

  Jett turned his brown eyes to the boy, barked, and bound up the path. Kristren jogged after him.

  **********

  Balyar grasped the railing as the ferry listed and bobbed beneath bulging sails. He turned and saw the outline of the distant settlement atop a thin band at the water’s far shore. High above the settlement, his beloved ranch was lost in the distance.

  Balyar sighed, watching lakebirds dodge the ship’s mast. Samael meandered across the creaking deck to Balyar’s side. Both men marveled at the distant, snowcapped peaks to the north and northwest.

  The afternoon sun drifted downward, and the ferry sailed southwestward driven by a steady wind. By early evening, Balyar spotted the Yaakrider’s base near the foot of the slender lake. Atop the ship’s highest mast, a keen-sighted ferryman studied the distant site and then yelled joyously. The other ferrymen cheered in response.

  Samael turned to Balyar. “The ferrymen have spotted the Yaakrider’s banner on the shoreline. There will be no delay. We’ll be underway by morning.”

  The ferry moved toward the docks as the sun touched the western mountains. Balyar observed two proud young men standing on the shore: one man was tall with trimmed hair, and the other was shorter with dark hair bound across his forehead. Behind the two men stood a field of huge, stoic Yaak, their whitish-brown hair contrasting the dark forest. Several other stern-faced men emerged behind the row of Yaak.