It was for this reason that, until recently, there was only one road into Derry--Derry Row. The road wandered southerly around the Sikasoon Mountains, avoiding the steep peaks and passes. It wasn't until a summer forty-seven years ago that Parmis and Chauncy Gilroy blazed the trail through the mountains that would come to be called Gilroy Pass. It allowed the merchants of Myrken and abroad to travel across the Sikasoons; but only during a small window in the summer months, because during any other time of year, the snow made it impossible.
This time of year the Sikasoons were all but abandoned by man--save for Parmis Gilroy, if the old man were even still alive. The snow was too deep; the slopes too steep; and the wind too unforgiving. Almost every winter a man would be fool enough to think that he was as gifted as the Gilroy brothers. He would cover himself in furs, gather a sled and a team of dogs, and set out to best the Sikasoons by attempting to take the snow-blocked Gilroy Pass to Derry. The bones of these adventurers and their dogs would almost always be found in the spring's thaw. Those whose remains weren't found were never heard from again. How the Gilroy brothers managed to survive in the Sikasoons for so long, no one knew; it was certainly the main reason for their legendary status.
In fact, when Chauncy Gilroy died, it is said that his brother, Parmis, packed everything that he could from their cabin, strapped it to his back, and has wandered the Sikasoon Mountains endlessly ever since, regardless of the weather. Every year folks suspect Parmis for dead, but at least once every year, the living legend would wander into a town in Myrken Wood or Derry, gather some supplies, and wander back into the mountains, inspiring bets as to whether he would be able to survive another horrendous winter wandering around the Sikasoon Mountains.
* * *
Despite its significant distance from Myrkentown, Mount Bamepirn, the tallest of the mountains in the Sikasoon range, still looked enormous. Though its white top was often hidden by clouds, one could often make out its treeline; where the trees ceased to grow and the terrain became nothing but ice, snow, and rock all the way to the peak.
Thousands of feet above the valley floor that housed the Broken Dagger, a lone brown bear lumbered through the frozen forest on the slopes of Bamepirn. Its massive, clawed feet sank with every step, fighting the powder, as the bear wove its way through the half-buried trees. The bear paused, sticking its large, wet nose into the air. It sniffed and blew snot-
clotted clouds of breath from his nostrils.
It was searching.
Before too long, the bear arrived at a tree. At first glance, it looked no different than any other in the endless woods that populated the mountain range. The bear stood on its hind legs and stretched up toward the tree. Its claws dug into the bark and the bear began to climb.
Some ten feet above the bear's head was a solid surface of worked wood--the floor of a tree house. In the summer this house would have been twenty feet or so above the ground and, after a couple more months of blizzard, the snow would likely be right up to the front door of the cabin.
It was no shock that no man had been able to find the abandoned cabin of the Gilroy brothers. In the summer, their home had been way up in the boughs of the trees, where none would have looked. And in the winter, the brothers had to be sure that their home was not completely buried by the endless snowstorms in the Sikasoons.
The bear climbed up to the floor and pushed against it with his head, dislodging a trapdoor, flipping it open. As the bear climbed through the hole, its body began to shift and transform. Its body thinned, allowing it to squeeze through the door. By the time the bear was inside, it was no longer a bear at all, but rather it looked like a man covered with the thick fur of a bear. But clearly it was neither bear nor man; it was the Baie.
He closed and latched the trapdoor, before crossing the room to where a pile of fur clothing rested on the floor. He dressed quietly, covering himself in the pelts. As the new clothing hid the Baie's fur, the hair seemed to absorb into the his flesh, leaving what appeared to be the soft, pink skin of an ordinary man. He pulled a fur hat over his head and then turned to look at the tree house that had once housed the Gilroy brothers.
The fire that the Baie had built in the metal stove was now only smoldering ashes. He plucked up some wood from the pile beside it, opened the stove's door, and tossed the wood inside. After a few moments, he had revived the fire into hot blaze once again.
As he rose from the stove, he turned around, looking at the tree trunk directly behind him. Or rather, he looked at the man that was lashed to the tree trunk with thick rope.
Thadius Dhrin.
The Baie smiled as he looked upon Dhrin's face. Unfortunately, the cult leader could not appreciate the warm smile that shone down upon him; because where Thadius Dhrin's eyes had once been, only gaping sockets remained. The empty hollows were pink and enflamed clearly having been cauterized by metal shortly after the eyes had been removed.
After a slow intake of breath, the Baie spoke to his captive, his voice even and almost dismissive. "You died today." He paused for a moment, allowing the words to resonate before continuing. "And so did many of your idiotic followers."
The Baie then turned away from Dhrin and started preparing breakfast.
