by R. E. Fisher
“Why did he leave, then, to come to Noli Deron?” Ollie asked.
“It’s been nearly two centuries since we’ve left our mountain. The only reason we came down this time is because our mountain king wanted to see what is going on outside the great halls. We’ve had little contact with man. It’s taken a long time for the old wounds to heal.”
“What’s a steech?” Laz asked.
“It’s like a gateway into our kingdoms. They rest high in the mountains so we can mine the mountain they are built atop. They’re small keeps that allow visitors and traders access to our goods but keep them out of our homes.”
The copper-haired ebony warrior casually walked over to the fairer dwarf, interrupting his conversation and whispering into his ear.
“My friend reminds me that we have a meeting with Dumas. Excuse me.”
The two dwarves walked away; all the while, Tightbeard watched the two humans.
“I don’t think his friend cares for us,” Laz pointed out.
“I don’t think his friend cares for anyone who isn’t dwarvish,” Ollie finished.
“An accurate conclusion, Ollie,” the lithe Trillian Fey added. “They’ve never been a people to mingle with humans—or elves, for that matter.”
“Apparently, from what we’ve learned, neither have elves.”
“Ollie, you are new to this world, and I hope you will take the time to learn more of our race before you judge us. We are not as prolific as you humans, but we live much longer. Though no longer as predatory as we once were, we have come to realize that as this world of ours changes, the age of elves is closing and our role lessens with each passing generation. And then there are the wars of man that must be battled.”
“Meaning what, my friend?”
“Meaning that we, too, shall be as lost from memory as our ancestors the Elfaheen have been.”
Ollie looked at him with no small amount of confusion still on his face.
“Meaning that you still have much to learn of us...” the elf stated with a small grin, “...and that, being human, you might still have the time.”
The two humans watched as their new companion walked away gracefully. “Obtuse, don’t you think?” Ollie asked his friend with a grin.
“Ya think?” Laz replied as they wandered back to the barracks to prepare for their departure the next morning.
That evening, Dumas advised everyone that they were going out into the field and that they needed to get some rest. According to the bear, the city guard had been receiving reports that there was a band of trolls making their way to the city, preying upon travelers along the way. The latest trade caravan had arrived the day before, reporting that several of their guards had been killed in a skirmish less than three days’ ride from the city. The city paid Dumas well for helping keep the area around the capital civilized. Most of the humans had already fallen into their bunks, while the non-human members of the group sat out in courtyard. The dwarves were gathered around the forge, talking of battles, drinking mead all the while—mug after mug. They showed off hammers that had been handed down from father to eldest son, generation after generation. As they came around to the youngest of their group, Sterling, he held forth his hammer and a quiet reverence settled over the raucous group.
Ollie watched it all through a window from the barracks after getting comfortable in his rack; he wondered what his family must be going through. He still had trouble getting through each day with the memories of his family, and he vowed that he would find a way back to them. As his eyes moved upward, he watched as the gray clouds struggled to block out the white light of the moon overhead. He fell asleep and dreamed of a long-past family gathering around a Christmas tree.
After Laz was sure that his friend had fallen asleep, he rose from his lower rack and walked out into the courtyard. He made his way toward the dwarves and the smithy area. As he moved into the reddish glow from the embers, Sterling looked up at the tall human as all conversation stopped.
“What do you want, human?” Tightbeard Copper asked.
“I was curious.”
“About what, my friend?” Sterling asked, casting an unfavorable glance toward Tightbeard.
“About why you gather around this forge each night.”
“To remember our fathers. It’s our way.”
Tightbeard looked to the fair-skinned dwarf and asked in their native tongue, “Why do you tolerate this intrusion, my lord?”
Laz tilted his head a little and looked to the ebony-skinned miner. “Probably because his highness isn’t as closed-minded as some of you,” he answered in broken dwarvish.
Every head within the circle turned in his direction, and his comment was met with mixed reactions. Some of the dwarves grinned, while others stood and placed their hands on their weapons. Still others looked at him with questions on their lips.
“We have a language that is similar to what you’re speaking. It’s called Latin where I’m from, and it’s one of the oldest languages on our home world.”
“And how did you come to learn it?” Tightbeard asked.
“It’s what we call a dead language, and where we come from, it’s mandatory in some schools.”
“And why would you be taught this?”
“Well, many of the words that Ollie and I use between us have their roots in this language. Our legal and medical systems have almost all their roots in this language. There are a lot of differences, but the more I listened to your discussions, the more I was able to figure out.”
“The study of our language is a noble effort on your part, friend. Even the elves have a difficult time with it. I now know that you speak our language with a degree of clarity, but you still know nothing of our customs, and it is considered rude to interrupt our ceremony. The renewing of the memories of our fathers’ past deeds is what keeps most of us from making their mistakes again,” Sterling offered.
“I am sorry for that,” Laz stated apologetically as he turned to leave.
“As you have interrupted us, it is considered finished, and so there is little reason for your departure. I think we might have much to learn from one other.”
Several of the dwarves moved aside and made room for the larger human to sit with them. They spoke of their lives, friends, and fathers deep into the early morning. Neither the dwarvish prince nor the human seemed to notice as their comrades moved away from the forge and back into the barracks. It seemed that by the time Laz’s head hit his pillow, the deep bellow of their rather large and furry commander echoed about the confined stone walls, waking everyone from their sleep while telling them to prepare their equipment for patrol.
“This bites,” Laz whispered, while peeking over the dead, fallen tree they were both hiding behind, trying to avoid being spotted by a large beast.
“Hey, man, you’re the one who’s been preparing to deal with this place,” Ollie whispered sarcastically while making little quote motions with his fingers.
“I’ve never seen anything like that before! What do you—” Laz started to say, but the hulking creature turned in their direction and began lumbering toward them, silencing him.
Laz noticed the stench of the creature while it was still over forty yards away—which told him that they were downwind. He found it amazing that the beast had heard them rather than noticing their scent.
“Well, the jig is up, big guy. What do we do now?” Ollie asked.
The two men had been left at the camp while the rest of their party had gone out on patrol, looking for the group of trolls.
“Any idea what that is? Think it’s dangerous?” Laz asked.
“I haven’t got a clue. But it smells awful!”
“You noticed that too, huh?” Laz uttered as he began backing away.
The huge, muscled beast reminded Ollie of a hippopotamus, its skin thick and a mottled gray color. Ollie noticed that the skin around the beast’s neck hung loose. He seemed to remember that hippos could still move fast on the ground as he noticed
Laz creeping away from their position. “Where the hell are you going?” he whispered.
“Up that tree over there,” Laz whispered as he pointed to a huge oak.
Ollie didn’t wait. He rushed to the tree, getting to it ahead of Laz, and began climbing; Laz followed noisily. They climbed until they were about ten feet above the forest floor. At that point, neither worried about being quiet. As the two men settled on the thick limbs of the tree, they looked down and noticed that the beast was on the edge of the clearing, less than thirty feet away from them. The creature moved in the direction of their camp, sniffing the ground as it shambled toward the pitched tents and bedrolls. It came upon the fire pit, nuzzling the ash and still-warm coals. Its thick face came away sooty and blackened around the nostrils. Mucus and slobber had mixed with the ash, creating a thick, gooey, coal-colored mustache on the animal. Laz looked over at Ollie, smiling. The beast stepped on the log they had been using as a bench for the last week, snapping it two.
“Damn, I’m glad we climbed up here. That would hurt,” Ollie whispered to Laz.
The beast turned its head toward the sounds of the men’s voices and wandered over to the tree they had climbed, butting its head against the base. Laz and Ollie gripped the limbs they sat on, more out of reflex than necessity. It was a large tree, after all, but the smell of the beast began to gag the two fighters as they sat within the confines of heavy foliage. As the beast circled the tree in its slow shuffle, it noticed the wild game that their friend Trillian had hunted and dressed the day before. It turned its head upward and extended its neck, biting onto the pheasant and tearing it down, snapping the small cord that had been used to hang it from the branch of the oak.
“Ollie, I didn’t think its neck was that long; did you?”
“No; I guess it’s more flexible than we thought.”
While the beast chewed the wild game bird, bones and all, the two men noticed the huge teeth within its maw. They had been ground down over time, but there were still an awful lot of them—and a few of the front ones were still sharp.
“Look at those scars on its shoulder,” Ollie pointed out.
Laz looked at the massive scarring on the beast’s thick hide and commented, “Probably from fighting with other males. I wonder if it’s a herd animal?”
“If it is, I wonder how many more are—”
“Look out, Ollie!” Laz shouted as he began climbing higher.
The beast had turned its head toward the men’s voices, and it spit a wad of cud at the smaller man. A mass of semi-digested food struck Ollie on his leather breastplate. It wasn’t forceful, but the smell caused Ollie to throw up. His own vomit fell onto the animal, enraging it. The beast began shaking its head back and forth; its neck began elongating upward, and a painful growl erupted from the beast’s lengthening throat. Ollie was only beginning to recover from the retching, but it was enough for him to climb higher, trying to outdistance the now angry beast. Knocking smaller limbs aside and brushing past the larger ones, Ollie climbed upward as fast as he could.
At a loss for what to do, Laz began shouting at the monster and rattling branches to draw its attention with no effect. He watched nervously as Ollie climbed higher, and the beast’s now snakelike neck chased after his friend.
After Ollie had climbed another fifteen feet, it appeared that the beast couldn’t extend its neck any further. As it let loose with a deafening roar, its foul breath again caused Ollie to begin throwing up once more. The beast began thrashing its heavy neck and head about, splintering smaller branches and weakening larger ones. Its eyes were closed, its dense eyelids and a thick, bony structure around its eyes protecting them from injury.
Laz’s shouting and thrashing finally caught the beast’s attention, and the animal began working its way toward him as he climbed higher, nausea rising in his own stomach. The animal lowered its head, its neck shortening as it did so. It circled the tree, its thick skin and heavy frame rubbing the bark from the trunk of the tree and exposing the wet yellow fiber underneath. They watched the animal move about as a thick, milky-white substance began oozing from the pores of the animal’s skin, coating the base of the tree and the ground surrounding it.
Both men continued to watch as the beast circled, releasing the occasional growl until it wandered away. Nauseous the whole time but too unsure to climb down, the men waited in the tree for almost an hour, wanting to ensure that the beast was no longer in the area. They were still sitting in the tree when the group returned to camp; the dwarves held their arms in front of their noses as they entered. Everyone heard Dumas cursing about the odor, and Trillian was nearly unable to enter the camp due to the smell. The group watched as the two outworlders climbed down from their perches. As they clambered down from the tree, their hands and armor became coated with the pungent odor of the animal’s musk from the lower branches. They began walking toward the bear, who signaled for them to stay where they were.
“What happened?” Dumas asked, wrinkling his nose at the horrid odor he recognized.
“Some big, gray, smelly thing wandered into the camp. I’ve never seen anything like it,” Laz stated.
“A balnatharp, from the odor, but they’re not usually this far north. They tend to stay down in the swamp,” Dumas replied.
“Must have been an outcast,” Trillian offered.
“How come none of you warned us of that thing?” Ollie asked as he walked toward the group of friends.
“Ohhh, you stink, friend,” Sterling stated, laughing, while covering his nose. “You need to stay right where you are. You, too,” he added, looking at Laz.
“This stuff is useless; that damn smell is on everything!” Trillian exclaimed as he prodded the collapsed tents and camp equipment with a length of branch he’d picked up.
“Looks like we sleep under the stars for the last few nights,” Dumas sighed.
The two men found themselves forbidden to join the now relocated camp until they found some way to remove the fetid odor from themselves as well as from their clothes and armor. They found a small brook and set about washing everything thoroughly.
“I hope we can get this stuff dried out before it gets dark, otherwise it’s going to be a cold night for us,” Laz commented.
“Yep. You know what I miss most—I mean, other than my wife?” Ollie asked.
“What? Central heating and modern plumbing?” Laz answered with a grin.
“Nope. Toilet paper!” Ollie laughed.
“How about a Speed Stick? Some of these people sure could use it.”
“No doubt!” Ollie exclaimed.
“Do you think we smell any better?”
“Not much, especially now!” Ollie laughed. “What do you think we should do now?”
“Keep washing.”
“No; I mean, we’re about through with this school, and we’ve learned the language well enough. What do you think we should do after we get back?”
“I don’t know. I’ve thought about it, though. Maybe we should find some regular work. I don’t much feel like getting killed with a rusty piece of steel.”
The light mood the two men had been sharing changed because of Ollie’s comment.
“Laz, I don’t know what to do, but you seem to know what you want. I’ve been thinking about all this, and until I get my head together, I’ll go along with whatever you decide.”
“I’m not going to make that decision for you. I’m not trying to be a badass, but I kind of like it here. I mean the complete freedom of it. But I will also tell you that from what little we’ve seen and from what we’ve been told, this isn’t the place I want to die,” Laz stated.
He paused while he wrung out his linen shirt, then he walked to a nearby tree and hung it over one of the lower limbs. Not even noticing the rough bark, he leaned back against its trunk and crossed his arms over his broad chest.
“But it probably will be,” Ollie said, finishing Laz’s sentence for him.
“Maybe; but whichever world we’re in
, we still face death.”
“Yeah, and it’s permanent, and here the odds are much higher. Look around the city. How many people do you see that are older than fifty?”
“Not many. But you know what?”
“What?”
“You’re my best friend, Ollie, but I’m getting tired of hearing this. If you think you know of a way to get us back, then spit it out,” Laz said through clenched teeth.
“It’s easier for you; your wife isn’t waiting for—”
“I don’t mean to be rude, buddy, but didn’t she file for divorce a couple months before we got here?” Laz asked, with not a small amount of malice.
“Fuck you!” Ollie said. “I don’t want to be here.”
“Well, you can go over there...” Laz said, pointing, “...or over there...” he moved his arm to the right, “...or even over there. But you can’t go home, now, can you?”
“That’s not the point. The point is, you may be ready to embrace this place and live your life like you’ve always wanted. All I’m saying is that we should make it a point to find our way home.”
“I plan on it; always have. But I don’t think we can go to our cell phones and look up interdimensional travel. Got any ideas?”
Exasperated, Ollie just looked at his friend, grabbed his wet clothes, and began walking away from the small brook. “Laz, just leave me alone for a little while. All right?”
The big man nodded. “Sure.”
Ollie walked into the light underbrush and dressed. He then began the trek to the new campsite the rest of the group had built. He wandered through the woods, taking time to collect his thoughts. He and Laz rarely argued, and he understood that they didn’t have a way back, but he couldn’t seem to stop obsessing about getting home. He thought about Laz’s comment and the divorce papers his wife had filed, realizing that Laz was more than likely correct. His wife wasn’t waiting for him to come home. He had always thought that they would figure it out and end up back together, but he was also a realist, particularly since this place forced you to become one. He imagined that the longer that they stayed there, the less chance there would be of that happening.
