A wild trampling sound awoke Reek. He had no time to reflect on what it was, as a large, heavy net dropped over him and Stench. Although not firmly entangled, the time it took for Reek and Stench to rouse from their slumber and struggle free from the net, afforded the Borf raiders sufficient time to make off with their trallés. A similar fate befell the other caravan-beasts. In the blink of an eye, all trallés were carried away from the camp, while other Borf broke the chain holding the slaves to free them. As quickly as the raid began, the dozens of Squirrels and Coyotes who had silently raced through the caravan camp, creating confusion and chaos, had vanished into the night—taking every single trallé and slave with them.
“Stam-stamer-ast!” Fishbum exulted, “that was fantastic! They didn’t even know what hit them before you were gone again!”
“That’s our way,” puffed the Borf carrying Fishbum on his back, as he ran furiously along. Borf raids were the essence of speed—lightning fast, the raiders swept into a camp in the dead of night, creating confusion, running furiously, tossing nets to entangle the caravan beasts, carrying off trallés, but doing no real harm to anyone.
The raiders ran furiously until they were far from the caravan track. Then, they met up with other Borf who were keeping monitor mounts at the ready. Raiding so far from home, and so near to Port Newolf, the Borf wanted to leave the area as quickly as possible. The Borf had only in recent times managed to domesticate the fearsome “dragon” monitors. Borf were the only beasts who had tried to domesticate monitors—and, for most beasts, the monitors existed only in fearsome legends. Caravans sometimes employed monitors, but only wild ones—the spirited savagery of wild monitors fit the needs of rapid passage caravans perfectly.
Fully-loaded Borf monitors, however, because they were properly fed, groomed, and trained, moved even more rapidly—some said their feet never touched the ground. Even when somewhat domesticated, the skitterish, fearsome lizards were so dangerous to handle that even Borf preferred to walk or run in most situations—except in circumstances such as on the current raid, where an exceptionally rapid escape was needed, or when some of the best trained monitors were used for other purposes.
Running to the meeting place, Borf carried Fishbum, Red Whale, and Katteo. The Borf could not afford for anything to slow down their movements. Other Borf carried trallés, and still others were at the rear laying traps to trip up any of the caravan beasts who dared to chase after the raiders.
“Do you expect them to chase us?” Fishbum asked.
“Not to worry,” the Borf runner panted, “most of the caravan beasts only get Slug Beer for pay and don’t want to tangle with our traps—they likely won’t come after us—and if they do, well—No more questions! I can’t run and talk.”
Dragon-Conjurer
Two days later, Red Whale and Katteo Jor’Dane appeared in Port Newolf disguised as wealthy traders, wearing expensive clothes and the finest, stylish boots and hats. Putting out word that they were “somewhat hollow in the middle”—meaning without ethics—they let it be known that they had some of the finest trallés ever seen round about and were looking to buy a large lot of slaves to work their estates.
Milky Joe, the principal trader in “nasties” of any sort in Port Newolf, was instantly suspicious of the newly-arrived couple, but also intrigued by their talk of rich tea estates across the Great Sea that required the work of immense numbers of slaves. The strange couple spoke of paying astonishing amounts for slaves—three trallés per slave, an unheard of sum! Nearly wild with greed, but also suspecting a possible trick, Milky Joe sent a runner to consult Colonel Snart, the High One’s Monopole of Hedgelands-bound caravans, who was responsible for all commerce into the Hedgie realm.
Being an even greedier beast than Milky Joe, the Monopole commanded that Milky Joe conduct the intriguing couple to Mis’tashe, the way-station between Port Newolf and the Hedgelands, where black-market trade in slaves and trallés was often carried on. Distant from settlements, hidden from view, and controlled by Colonel Snart, Mis’tashe was a place where commerce of unusual sorts often occurred. Slaves might be switched from one buyer’s order to another buyer at higher price, trallés bound for one dealer, might be redirected to another, and so on, as best suited Colonel Snart’s interests. No beast entered the extremely remote wilds of Mis’tashe unless invited by the Monopole, which made it convenient to blame delayed or missing orders for slaves or trallés on all manner of catastrophes: Borf raids, avalanches, epidemics, earthquakes, and so on and on. Mis’tashe provided a perfect place for black-market trading with intriguing wealthy buyers. And, under the watchful eye of the Monopole’s ruffians, should there be any trouble with double-dealing buyers, it would be impossible for them to escape.