dirty, bloody face.
“Aye. Exactly so,” The man laughed. “And a fat sack o’ gold that hide will bring us if we can skin her without a tear.”
Mikahl started to his feet, but a spinning sensation stopped him. He wasn’t sure what the man had meant, but he didn’t voice his ignorance. The man offered a hand to Mikahl. He took it and was pulled to his feet with a heave. Mikahl couldn’t help but notice that the man was incredibly strong.
“They call me Loudin.”
“Call me Mik,” Mikahl lied. “It’s short for Mikken.”
“Well met Mikken.” Loudin put one hand on Mikahl’s shoulder and extended the other out towards the dead bark skinned lizard.
“Yer due a share of the take from the skin, lad, but you have to help me skin’r and sell’r. We’ll need yer good horse to help tote it as well.”
Mikahl laughed. He just now caught the unintentional joke he had made when he told the man that he’d saved his hide.
“My horse appears to be lame sir…uh…Loudin. And as much as I thank you for the offer, I must continue north into the mountains. My business there is urgent.”
“Well, firstly, my friend, yer horse is limping. But its leg ain’t broke. It just lost a shoe. Probably a bit of nail left in the hoof gathering mud and grass as he limps around. Secondly, if yer going into the mountains, even this time of the year, you’ll freeze your castle raised giblets off at night dressed in those cloths. Thirdly, Summer’s Day is at the foot of the mountains, and that’s where we will most likely have to sell our prize. That’s only if we can get the big bastard skinned, and get it there before the festival is over, and all the traders go home.”
The wave of relief that washed over Mikahl when he heard that Windfoot was alright, was so overpowering that he didn’t even wince at Loudin’s jab. Mikahl had been having a futilely hard time trying to hide. He wasn’t sure what he had said that had given him away, but the big trapper had apparently seen right through him. “Castle raised,” he had said. Was Mikahl that transparent? He was starting to feel like he was swimming in water that was full of venomous serpents, and far too deep to stand in. He wasn’t even sure he could find his way out of these woods. He’d never thought that he might need warmer clothes. He wasn’t sure he could trust this man. His accent was like those of the sailors from the Kingdom of Seaward that often docked in Portsmouth. They were notoriously questionable folk who tended to spend a lot of time whoring and gambling. Not as bad as the Dakaneese Pirates, but bad enough. A long look at the dead barkskin lizard helped make his mind up. There was no telling what other sort of dangerous creatures roamed this forest. Besides, if he got to the Summer’s Day Festival, he wouldn’t be lost anymore. From the great, black spire, he could go due north and within a day or two he’d be in the Giant Mountains.
“Will my share be enough to outfit me for the mountains?” He asked the trapper.
“Aye! Twice as much, and then some, lad,” Loudin answered.
It was true. The skin of this huge lizard would bring in a small fortune. Loudin was a fairly honest man, and though he had cheated many a fool at dice, and the fortune wheel, and at the card table too, he saw no need to try to cheat this fool boy. The boy’s ignorance would allow Loudin to keep nearly all of the gold. He could outfit the boy well, and fill his pouch full of silver coins, then send him off to get eaten, or to freeze to death in the mountains. The bulk of the profit he would keep for himself. They had to hurry though, or the traders would be gone. He wasn’t sure, because he had lost count of the days while tracking the great lizard through the forest, but he felt certain that Summer’s Day was upon them. Tomorrow, or the next day, might be the first day of summer. He thought about asking the boy what day it was, but didn’t want the lad thinking he was daft. It didn’t matter. He was sure that if they got to work quickly they could get the lizard skinned, and get the hide to the festival, before all the traders were gone.
Loudin was right about Windfoot’s hoof. Mikahl couldn’t figure how the old hunter had known it, but he had. It only took Mikahl a few moments to clean way the clod that was caked to the nail and work the nail itself free. Windfoot would have to do without the fourth shoe. Out there in the forest, where the ground was relatively soft and free of sharp rocks, the well trained horse could manage. Mikahl would have him re-shod when they got to the festival.
It was near dark by the time that they had the huge lizard dragged out of the pond into the clearing and rolled onto its back. Even Loudin marveled at how big it was. He said it was the biggest Bark Skinned Lizard he had ever seen. He paced its length off, and found that it was six paces longer than the biggest he had ever heard of, thirty two paces, from nose to tail. Its mouth was big enough to swallow a man whole, and was as pink as a maiden’s ribbon inside. Its four legs stuck up from its stiffening body, like grotesque tree stumps, with wickedly sharp stunted limbs.
Mikahl learned that Loudin had a horse and a camp not too far away. Together, the horses had done most of the hard labor of moving the big beast, while they had used Loudin’s ropes to guide and roll the lizard over. It was no easy task, even with the horses, but they manage to get the creature ready to skin.
Mikahl did his share of the work without complaint, even though he was horribly sore and bruised from his crash landing. His nose was broken and swollen, and black circles were forming under his eyes. He had seen his reflection in the pond water when he had washed away the blood. No one at Summer’s Day would recognize him, unless they were looking for a raccoon.
Mikahl let his mind wander while they worked. He had never been to the Summer’s Day Festival and found himself more than a little excited. King Balton sent a delegation of competitors each year to represent Westland, and Mikahl had listened raptly to the tales they carried back with them. Lord Gregory had once won a fistfight called, “The Brawl,” and had his name engraved into the great spire for the victory. Lord Ellrich had also once won a prize for eating more sausage coils than his competitors, but that feat didn’t warrant getting your name etched into the spire for all to see. Elves were said to come out of their hiding places in the Evermore Forest to win the archery tournament every year, and wizards turned stones into snake-birds, or fruit trees, for coins. Wild men breathed fire, and hawkers sold everything you could imagine. He couldn’t wait to see such things. The prospect of it made it easier to labor through his pains in hopes that they wouldn’t arrive too late to witness them.
They stopped working at sunset. Loudin said there was no use trying to skin the beast by torchlight. Mikahl wanted to retrieve his sword from the creature’s gullet, but decided that it could wait till the morrow. He would also have to find his longbow. He’d thrown it down somewhere in the clearing when he and Windfoot had made their hasty retreat into the trees. He would have searched for it earlier, but he was too embarrassed to admit losing it to the hunter.
They cleaned up in the pond again before they made their way to Loudin’s camp. Loudin said that it would be better to stay away from the clearing for the night. There was no telling what sort of things would come sniffing around the carcass.
“Won’t something try to eat the meat and ruin the hide?” Mikahl asked. Loudin held a branch aside, until Mikahl took it, so that it wouldn’t whip him in the face.
Loudin answered, “The tongue, or what’s left of it, and the eyes maybe; the hide’s too thick.”
While they were washing, Mikahl noticed that Loudin was slick bald, and had large, black tattoos on his scalp and back. This was confirmation of his Seaward heritage. The contrast between skin and ink on the hunter’s back, made it easy for Mikahl to follow him in the darkness.
“The big scavengers -” Loudin was saying, “- the ones that could possibly get a tooth or claw through that thick bark hide, won’t bother.”
Loudin ducked a low hanging branch and turned sharply to make sure that Mikahl didn’t bash into it. He waited until he saw Mikahl duck, and then he continued.
“The big’uns will run off the little’ns feeding on the tongue and eyes. They’ll keep the little’ns away till they get their fill. And they won’t bother with the stuff that’s hard to get to. Ah! Here we are. Hold tight Mik, I’ll get the fire going so we can see.”
Loudin did just what he said he would do: he built up a huge fire. Mikahl was glad for it. He got so close to the fire that his battered flesh was nearly singed by the heat, and he knew he would feel better for it later. After Loudin sat down, Mikahl studied him. He gave the hunter a big piece of cheese and some bread that he’d retrieved from his pack saddle. Loudin was roasting some of the lizard’s tongue meat on a stick, but he took the offer with a nod of thanks.
Mikahl could see that the hunter was older than he had first guessed. The lines that formed at the corners
