The Long Road Home

by Kat Brokaw

"Mead. Cold. Now." The broad little man hauled himself onto the stool with a grunt of effort. He stroked his graying black beard thoughtfully as he watched the sallow man pour him a goodly portion of the thick, dark brew. With an eye squinted at the man, he took the tankard and held it under his nose, sniffing delicately, then took a testing sip. "Aye, I guess this'll do. But next time, ease up on watering this stuff down, will you? You're likely to lose your dwarven patrons."

"A copper, sir." The keep requested mildly, and ignored the commentary on his wares.

The dwarf tossed a gold across the bar-top and turned his back to the bar and watched the rough crowd of travelers.

"You're a dwarf?" came a soft voice at his side.

"I am." He swivelled on his chair to greet the questioner with a dour look. "Will you make something of it?" His glance fixed on a tall, robed figure, easily twice his own height. By the voice and slender hands, he could tell the person female; but not much else exposed itself to his curious observations. Probably some noble's woman. "Tristan Forgesoot, by name." Out of duty, he offered a hand-clasp.

The woman extended a bluish-pale hand, the long fingers flaccid in his grip. "Are you for sale?" she asked simply, the hooded head tilting to an angle, considering his dented and bloodied armor.

"You want to buy me? Are you out of your bloomin' mind?" Tristan rested his hand easy on the hilt of his massive axe, insult registered clearly across his ruddy face. Only that the woman bore no weapon stayed his hand.

"I meant not to offend. It is your services I require. Are they for sale?" The pale hands fluttered, charged with anxious energy.

"Bah! Be gone with you! I ain't no nursemaid to no wench." Tristan spat at the ground near the robe's hem, then turned his back on the woman. "Is this all you offer for entertainment, barkeep? Bah!" He pulled a small platinum bar out of his pouch and slapped it on the table. "A challenge! Will anyone match it?"

A blue velvet pouch dropped immediately next to it, the sides bulging with the rounded edges of coin.

Tristan eyed it curiously, watching the slender hand return to the wide cuffs of the robe. "I ain't fighting no lady." He turned his back to the woman again, looking over the rest of the crowd. "Is this the best you got?"

"Who called me lady?" came the soft voice, a rough, tired edge to it. "In that bag, you will find a hundred weight of the finest silver ever seen. Will you now talk terms?" She dropped her concealing robe off head and shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

Tristan's jaw dropped slightly, consideration squinting his eye as he observed her anew. Tall and slender, she wore a scaled armor like he'd never seen, tiny pale blue scales shimmering and perfect, fitting to her form like a fine silk bodysuit. At her waist and all along her side she held sheathed twice a dozen small, silver blades. Yet her face caused him the most confusion. The same bluish-pale as her hands, the features slanted sharply, queer exotic blue-gray eyes watched him back, and the tips of pointed ears peeked through silvery plaits.

"You're an elf?" If elven she was, she was no elf like he'd ever known.

"Will you hear my terms, or no? I've little time, and I have urgent need of dwarven abilities." She moved to pick up her bag of silver.

"Not so fast, there." Tristan grabbed at the bag, pulling out a silver piece and smelling it. His brown dipped in confusion, and he licked the corner to confirm his nose. Easily the purest silver he'd ever tasted. "Who are you?"

"I am Julianne. And you are Tristan. And the terms are this: unarmed to the first down. You win, and the bag of silver is yours. I win, and you owe me a day's labor, taking the bag of silver as your fee. Do you accept?" She walked to the middle of the room, and helped the other patrons clear a space.

Tristan watched her as she moved, watched as the armor rippled with each of her movements, watched as she easily lifted the heavy wooden table and moved it aside. A slow smile spread underneath his gray mustache. Perhaps the fight would prove worth his time, after all. And the silver rightfully earned. He began tossing weapons down to the floor, eager to get on with it.

They met in the center of the wide circle cleared; Tristan still grinning and ready for a good rout, Julianne still weary and focused. The dwarf threw two easy blows to connect with the weird elf's middle. The elf easily dodged them. His grin even wider, his fists flew thrice more, the first two caught air, but the third connected with her jaw, splitting her lip.

Violet blood spilled down her face, and the elf slowly smiled. Tristan laughed. "Damn, girl. Even your blood is blue. Where do you hail from?"

"Where it is cold." She braced her feet shoulder's width apart and bent her knees low.

Tristan prepared for her first punch, ready to block with a blow of his own.

Instead, she pushed off, the bunched muscles of her thighs shoving against the solid plank floor. She flipped in the air, over his head. Her legs uncoiled from the aerial roll and connected with the plate at his backside, pushing Tristan forward sharply and propelling him to the floor. At the last second before impact, she leaned to the side and landed next to him, not wont to cause him damage in addition to humiliation.

The dwarf looked up from his prone position on the floor, a half-grin tilting his mustache awkwardly. "You'll have to teach me how to do that, during that day's labor I owe you."

She wiped the blood off her chin, and offered her hand to assist him up. "One day, and a bag of silver for your trouble. Come with me. We leave tonight."

Tristan collected his gear as she shrugged her robe back over her shoulders and pulled the hood up. He hurried to catch up to her outside.

"Before we go, tell me true. Do dwarves resist a spellcaster's magic?" Her queer snow-blue eyes watched him closely, waiting for his answer.

"Lady, I have a squire in the stable...." He threw a glance over his shoulder as they marched away from the tavern.

"You'll be back by the morning. Your squire will be fine. There is room only for two." Julianne tucked her hands into the cuffs of her robe, hunched her shoulders and bowed her head as they passed a group of travelers on the road. "Answer my question. Do you resist magic?"

"Some magic. Most magic. No one is entirely resistant. Tell me now where we go. You have my curiosity up." He followed her still, as they left the trail and went deep into the thick woods on the north side of the road. She seemed to know which twists and turns through the thick forest would take them clear of underbrush and bog, as though she'd traveled the path often.

"Your blades? Are they enchanted? You need only use those which are." Julianne continued her sparse questions and commands, her pace became urgent as they went along, her hands shook as she checked the weapons along her side.

"Yes, yes. All well and fine. I can fight the fiercest demon. But I need to know what I come up against." Tristan's patience wore thin, the woman's anxiety catching in his own actions.

"Just a short walk ahead now is a tower. In the tower is an ancient sorcerer. He has something of mine. I have tried to enter the tower before, and gotten as far as the third wall. But, on the fourth, there is a gate that I cannot pass. I need one of the earth, one who resists magic, to get me through." She stopped, turned, and looked at him with a dour, serious expression across her dour face. "You need only get me through the gate. Should the wizard appear, do not engage him. No amount of silver is worth your life."

"And what in bloody Hades would you expect me to do? Walk away from it? Let this wizard blast you into a thousand pieces? Just leave you there to it and go have a drink on your silver?" Tristan gaped at her, aghast at her suggestion.

"Exactly." She continued to stare at him, her fierce snowy eyes gave him an extreme case of the creeps.

Finally, Tristan snorted and pushed past her to continue their walk. "Let's get on with it, and see what comes about."

They walked for another two hours, and came upon the blackened shell of a wide, short tower. Julianne lead Tristan around to the back, where she crawled through a sewer gate hidden by illusion, and motioned for him to follow.

Rolling his eyes up into his hairy eyebrows, Tristan got down on all fours and crawled like a beast through the smelly tunnel. Upon their exit from the sewer, they faced a massive copper-hewn door. Brilliantly glowing with its own amber light, it lit a dismal channel between the two walls of the tower. Blackened stone faced them in every other direction, the wall behind, the ceiling above, and the wall beyond.

Her hand reached to the handle, and grasped the slender bar firmly. The door grew dim as the energy it held drained into her through her firm grip. Her body shook and quivered as it took the charge. Tristan stared in horror as the woman dropped to her knees, the glow of the door dissipated into darkness and Julianne now carried a faint glow from the magic she'd consumed.

She released her grip on the handle and opened her mouth to sigh a long gasp of steam. "I hate that part." She wrinkled her nose at the stench of her own scorched skin and hair.

"Yeah, I can see why." The dwarf stared at her, his eyes wide with confusion.

"The handle is safe to touch, now. Just give me a minute to...." she paused, a cough wracking her body.

Tristan unslung his water skin and held it for her to drink. He recapped it and dropped it back onto his shoulder as he gently helped her to stand. "This thing the sorcerer has. You want it pretty bad, do you?"

"As badly as I want to draw breath." She pushed off where he'd leaned against the wall, and flung the door wide. "I am ready now."

Again, blackened stone walls lead in every direction, but for the glowing door in front of them. This door streamed with blue light, it's bindings crafted of fine platinum. The handle held runes of wavy lines, drawn faintly into the bar. Tristan bent slightly to consider them, wondering what they would bring forth.

"You'd better hold on. Hold on good." Julianne grabbed the dwarf's hands and wrapped them around her hips. "Ready?"

He thought for a moment of questioning her, thought of the energy that had coursed through her body. He felt no urge to share that particular experience with her. But then he closed his mouth and tightened his grip, clasping his hands together at her stomach, then turned his head down. The tiny, grated holes in the stonework floor caught his attention, and his hold slackened slightly as he bent closer to inspect them.

Julianne grabbed the handle just as she felt his hold loosen. "No!" She turned around to grab hold of him as tons of gallons of water fell from above them, striking them with all the force of a hundred floods.

His hands broke apart with the pull of the water, and he scrambled to get hold again, his metal gauntlets slipping and skidding down her mailed thigh.

The fingers of her left hand caught and tangled firmly in the wiry hair of his beard. He let out a yelp and got a mouthful of water for his trouble. Gasping and sputtering, he pulled an arm past the crashing weight of the water to grasp her hand around her wrist, holding her hold, desperate not to be washed away with the unending flood. Tristan fought the scream of his lungs to breathe, fought the gurgle of water bubbling in them already, fought the sweet embrace of darkness that clouded the edge of his vision. He felt his body slacken, his strength leaving him with the press of water.

"Tristan! Wake up!" she screamed against the roar of the flood. Julianne wrapped her hand up to her wrist in the dwarf's beard and tugged sharply.

He glanced up at her, a sorrow in his eyes to match the apology in hers as she looked back at the door handle slipping through her hand, and slowly relaxed her hold on his beard, letting him go.

With the faint echo of a thousand burping drains, the water stopped. Julianne leaned over Tristan, pounding on his chest to expel the water. He coughed, rolled over to his side, and vomited water, ale, and dinner all over the floor, gasping violently for breath. His chest heaved as he gulped great lungs-full of the precious stale air, his eyes teared over from the searing sweet pain.

"Here." She extended her hand, holding out a clump of black and gray beard hairs with a sheepish grin. "I didn't think we'd make it through, for a second." She looked away, wringing out the ends of her much abused cloak.

Tristan nodded slightly, dug in his belt-pack and pulled out a slender flask.. He unscrewed the lid and drank down a half a pint in one gulp. "Whew!" He breathed out, beating on his chest as the heat of the liquid soaked through his gullet. "Good dwarven spirits." He offered the flask to her.

She leaned against the wet stone wall and accepted with thanks, downing the rest.

"Some place you bring me to. Where will we go for our second date?" Tristan laughed so heartily at his own jest that he caused another fit of coughing.

Julianne smiled faintly, her gaze drifting toward the dark door. "Come on, we've another to get through." She stood slowly, and spent another breath leaning on the wall.

"Juli?" Tristan looked down at his steel-toed boots, kicking at a small puddle. "Thanks for your help, there."

She turned away with a soft smile, and opened the door. They stepped through, looking around at yet more blackened stone, and yet another door. The third. This door layered in red glowing gold, with wild, soaring runes carved over the width and length of the entire door. A simple, round handle sat in the door's middle.

"You should stand over there. About twenty feet away. And, if you've a shield, put it over your face. Don't come out until I say it's clear." Julianne watched him closely, waiting, her hand hovering above the handle, until the dwarf moved where she'd said.

She took a deep, calming breath. "At least this will dry me off." With one last glance at the dwarf, to make certain he'd covered his face with something, she left her hand fall.

The entire door burst with fire a thousand times hotter than the wreath of a demon. Tristan dropped his shield slightly, his jaw gaping as he watched the slender silhouette of her, black against the brilliant orange of the fire, as she held firmly to the handle. The burst broke against the back wall, sending reaching tendrils down the hall in either direction. He felt the edges of his beard crisp in just the heat of the blast, and wondered where he should take Julianne's body to be buried. Nothing could take the force of this and live.

Soon, the flames quit, leaving the hall thick with smoke. A faint, subtle coughing came from the center of the thickest smoke, a pale hand flashed to wipe at the falling ash.

"From what land do they make elves like this?" Tristan stood, aghast to see her standing in the middle of the rent and cindered door, wiping at the smoke-smudges on her face. His shield fell from limp fingers to clatter on the floor. Her cloak and gear had burnt away entirely, but the rippling blue armor and dainty silver knives glittering against her sides showed only the faintest smudge of smoke. Her pale face and hands showed black with soot and the ends of her plaits bore a faint singe. Shrugging, he handed her a cloth to wipe her face clean.

"'Twas you who labeled me elf." Julianne coughed again, accepted the cloth and wiped wide smears of white down her face. "Come with me to the next door, and I will explain as best I know how."

Tristan followed with slow, heavy steps. The next hall seemed lit as bright as a noon day, the glow came from all around rather than a specific spot. A wide archway stretched in front of them, beyond that a wide room bore a hoard of treasure the likes of which Tristan had never seen. He turned a curious look to Julianne, who stood with her back near the burnt door, her eyes wide with horror as she looked at the archway.

"Is this the fourth door? Where's the trick?"

She muttered a few strange words, and waved her hand at the archway, exposing the faint violet shadow of a door, much like the others, with its bar-shaped handle in the center of the double-wide portal.

"The door does not exist on this world. I cannot touch it. I cannot resist its magic. But you can." She took a deep, calming breath. "I need you to open it. Stand in front of it, with feet planted firmly on the earth, and grab hold of the handle. Do not let it go for all the silver in this world. I do not know what comes from it, but you must hold against it."

Tristan glared at her doubtfully, but then shrugged his shoulders and mimicked the actions he'd seen her take with the other doors. He planted his feet firmly, and grabbed onto the bar with both hands. A howling wind assaulted him, pushing him back and ripping at the edges of his plate-mailed chest. Still in all, aside from the strained muscles, it worried him not the least. He threw a frowning glance over his shoulder, and almost toppled at the faint wind.

Julianne held to a shred of the burned door, her body flailing in gales of wind, blowing her about like so much elvish fluff. Her blackened fingers slipped along the last few timbers, her eyes wide with horror as the force of the wind blew against her.

And then it stopped. Her body crashed to the floor with a sickening thud. She dragged her limbs to curl into herself, fetal against the pain etched into her face.

The dwarf hurried to her, dropped to his knees and felt at her throat for a pulse. "Juli, wake up. Come on, girl. It's over."

"Open...the...door...."

Worried, the stout little man ran back and pulled the insubstantial door open. Suddenly, the door felt more real to him, it seemed to resist being open, pushing against his easy touch until it took all his might to hold it open.

Julianne roused herself to her knees, crawling painfully forward, limping to favor one wrist over the other, taking the inches as if they were miles. Slowly, she made it past the door, her face even more pale than normal as she struggled past.

The door stopped fighting him as soon as she passed it, no longer existing to the dwarf who stood in the archway, watching the pathetic figure of the elven female as she crawled through the piles of riches toward the center. On a dais stood a large, gilded cage. Within the cage, resting calmly on a red satin pillow, watching the scene with a vague disinterest, lay a small, spotted cat. A glowing diamond collar circled the cat's slender throat.

Tristan watched as Julianne crawled up the steps of the dais, her flaccid fingers reaching for the door to the cage, almost reaching the dainty clasp.

"Back again, I see." Came a thousand echoes of one voice, as a thousand images of a decrepit old sorcerer appeared over every surface of the hoard. "How did you get through my door?" The old human glanced over to the archway, his white brow dropped low as it saw the dwarf. "Be gone with you." He waved his hands with a thrusting motion toward the dwarf.

"Go away, Tristan," her faint scream came through the thick wooden door suddenly barring Tristan's view of the room. "It's over. Thank you, friend."

"Come here, little girl. It's time you joined your friend." The wizard's voice leaked through the thick planks.

"Not bloody likely!" Tristan bellowed, ramming forward through the illusion of the door, imaginary splinters of wood showering through the room. He pulled his battle axe from its strap at his belt and considered the thousand images of the one sorcerer as he slammed the handle of the axe in his hand.

The sorcerers turned to face him, one hand dangling a diamond collar, a cloud of anger crossing the wrinkled faces. "Don't you get the point, boy?" He thrust his thousands of hands through the air as a thousand darts flung from the air toward the angry marching dwarf.

Tristan shook his head, his lips a pucker of disapproval. "You know, I really hate wizards." He walked slowly past a few hundred of the thousands. "Especially wizards that don't even bother to face me, themselves." He continued to shake his head, dropping his axe back into its strap.

Julianne watched him, her snowy eyes wide with disbelief as he walked boldly up to her, grabbed her about the waist, and hauled her over his shoulder. "No! The cat! You have to get the cat, too!"

"Yeah, sure. The cat. Can't forget the cat." He walked back up to the cage, pulled the tiny kitten out, and shoved it into his belt-pack. It protested with an angry squeal. He turned back around and began walking out, through the fourth door, through the third, the second, the first....

Before he made it to the hidden grate, the wizard again appeared before him, his face frozen in fury. "I know you, Tristan Forgesoot. I know you, and I mark your face to mind. You will pay for this."

Tristan spat at the ground, easing Julianne down and urging her to crawl through the sewer quickly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the platinum piece he'd first challenged her with, and tossed it to the ground. "So, you're paid."

Outside, both quickly made their way from the tower as it shook with rage. As the sun finally rose past the tops of the trees, they neared the road to the tavern.

Julianne stopped, gasping and grabbing her side with the pain of their speedy departure. "I thank you, Tristan Forgesoot. Although I do not know how you did it, I thank you."

Tristan pulled the fluffed and spitting kitten out of his pouch and handed it to her. "Simple thing, really. Illusions don't work on dwarves. Wasn't no reason for a man to be where he wasn't a second ago. And, if some human woman had borne a thousand twins, I think I would have heard tale of it."

She laughed, the sound of a hundred musical crystals singing through Echo Hills, entrancing even the stubborn old heart of an aging warrior dwarf. Her hands dropped the kitten down gently to the ground, delicate long fingers working at the clasp of the collar. "You...might want to stand back a little."

Looking her over curiously, Tristan stepped back about ten paces, watching as the diamond collar lifted from around the spotted cat's neck. The tawny fur drifted to a bluish-silver, the fur rippling into scale as the tiny beast grew huge in form, wings spreading from the back. The razor-toothed maw opened wide in a huge, jaw-popping yawn. He stood simply stunned, awestruck at the magnificence of the massive wyrm.

It turned a queer, slanted snowy-blue eye to the dwarf, and gave it a wink. "Be a dear and scratch my belly, will you?" it asked pleasantly, rolling over on its side to expose the brilliant blue scales of its stomach. "I haven't shed properly in years."

Gulping, Tristan stepped forward and obligingly scratched. Layers of thick, scaled skin fell from the soft belly.

"Ah! Thank you so much. You may keep the shed, if you like. Julianne has found it to make excellent armor." The dragon seemed to smile back to the girl. "Are you done playing, little one? Can we go home now?"

Julianne, with head ducked and properly chastised by the dragon's tone, climbed up on the back of the wyrm, sitting right between the two wide wings. "Yes, Mother."

Tristan watched, utterly amazed, as dragon and its child seemed to fade from view, crossing from this world to the next, until the only proof of his tale lay in the shed skin and the bag of purest silver.

THE END