Journey to the Red Mountain

Part I: The Stranger/Chapter 1

An icy gust of wind brushed past the face of Oric the bandit leader, the Red One to some, and he turned away from the cave mouth. How different this cramped little hole was from his hideout in the mountains. Normally he would be back there at this time of the year tallying up the heaps of gold and jewels he had accumulated over the warmer months in comfort. He would never think of spending it. That would be absurd. Almost everything he had was stolen, from the furniture at his hideout to the highly fashionable clothes on his back. Everything save his wits, cunning, and killer instinct. Those came naturally.

But this year had been a disaster. This year his band had lost most of their haul during a bout of unseasonable flooding, and nearly their lives besides. What was more, winter had come freakishly early, complete with ice and snow. Thus, they had not been able to make it back to their mountain in time. Slaying the woodlander who had owned this cave and taking it had been his only stroke of luck, albeit a small one. The cave and food stores might be sufficient for one old Alvarosaurus, but it was slim pickings for a band of twenty hungry dinos.

Nevertheless, at that moment the thieving Gorvosaurus knew he had lost face. Their misfortune was his fault plain and simple. Though no one dared say so to his face for fear of getting a knife through the throat, there was definite grumbling from some corners. He cast a glance toward the main culprits: a heavyset Gorvosaur named Gorad and a couple of his buddies gnawing on the last of the food stores. Gorad was not the brightest, but he was cunning and vicious. It was no secret that he thought he should be the leader, and Oric knew that one day they would probably have a reckoning. Maybe sooner rather than later, at the rate things were going.

But for now they sat huddled together inside the cramped little cave, waiting. They were waiting on two things: for the storm to pass, and for Oric’s chief scout Bandor to return. He had been sent out with a couple of others some time earlier to investigate their surroundings and find out where there was treasure to be stolen. Of course, in this case it was shelter and provisions he sought rather than actual treasure. For although Oric’s band, known widely as the Red Claw, could forage for food, it was easier just to take it.

Despite the whistling of the wind, Oric could hear the sound of several sets of claws approaching. He unsheathed one of his knives and held it ready. He was a deadly knife fighter, and carried no other armaments. “Proper weapons for the trade,” he called them, for indeed they were subtle and easy to conceal—perfect for a true robber like himself. He quickly discovered that his knives would be unnecessary on this occasion, however, for he soon heard Bandor’s voice.

“That you, Oric?” spoke the scout, the only member of the band who could get away with regularly calling Oric by his name.

“Yes, you idiot.” Oric sheathed his knife and sighed with disappointment. “Did you find anything?”

“Oh, yes sir,” replied one of the two who had accompanied Bandor on the patrol. “We found a nice cottage not far from here.”

“A cottage?” Oric’s interest was piqued. “How big? Who lives in it?”

“Just a couple Alvarosaurs, boss,” replied Bandor. “And two young uns. Shouldn’t be a problem for us. Probably well stocked too, I should think.”

“Finally, some real food!” spoke Gorad, standing up. Oric silenced him with a venomous glance, then turned back to Bandor.

“Young uns, you say?”

Bandor nodded.

“Excellent. Show it to us right away.”

“This way.” Bandor took off once more into the wind, the rest of the band following behind with thoughts of warmth and good food filling their minds. Oric, for his part, thought also of the two children mentioned.

For in addition to being a thief and trickster supreme, he also liked to collect slaves to serve him at his hideout, and even sell on occasion. The younger the better, for it was easier to teach them obedience at an early age. Most of the heavy labour was done at his fortress by these captured slaves, and many other jobs as well. Oric hoped one day to build a mountain castle so grand and so big that it rivalled even those that the ancient Evandrians used to build. It was his dream, and to fulfill his dream, he needed lots of labour from wherever he could get it. With his massive wealth, he could have afforded to hire experts. But why buy what could be stolen?

Through the snow and wind they trekked, guided by Bandor and his two helpers. The Gorvosaurus scout was a strange dinosaur. His eyes, which were almost entirely black with just a little of the usual yellow-green colour around the edges, had remarkable vision, and allowed him to see in the most adverse conditions. In a pitch black night or blinding snowstorm he could see quite clearly where other dinosaurs could not. This made him an exceptional scout and tracker for Oric, though some of the others in the g**g found his appearance a little unsettling. They knew almost nothing about him or where he came from, and nor did he reveal his true motives for anything. He had just shown up one day and asked to join the Red Claw. Thus, the rest did not completely trust him. But, they figured, if the Red One put confidence in him, they could too. For now.

Bandor led them around a small grove of trees and stopped behind a pile of boulders. Oric stepped up to him.

“Well, where is it?”

“Over there,” Bandor said, pointing over the boulder pile.

Oric peeked over the rocks and saw it: a small three-room farmhouse with a straw roof and a quaint little smokestack. There was a big shed out back. Smoke was rising from the chimney, indicating that the family within had a lovely warm fire going. In fact, he could see them through a window at the side of the house. Two happy Alvarosaurs with a couple of children, nine or ten years old at most. Oric smiled at the homely little scene of the family gathered in safety and warmth around their hearth, to which he would presently put an end.

“You’ve done well, Bandor,” he said. “We should be able to stay here in relative safety, at least until this storm blows over. Maybe all winter.” He turned to a dinosaur on his left. “Renwig! You know what to do.”

A relatively small Gorvosaur with a deceptively innocent-looking face smiled charmingly, then signalled to his equally diminutive mate to follow him. The two wrapped their cloaks around themselves tight to look like a couple of cold, half-starved vagabonds as they approached the front step. Oric watched with eager anticipation as his two deadliest assassins went up and knocked politely on the cottage door.