The Adventures of Trik the Elf

“What do you see?” asked the half-dwarf, gruffly.

Trik lowered his gray riding hood and his blue-green eyes narrowed on the snow-covered trail before them. He and the half-dwarf were riding on the Stormdrake Pass from Endogar to Ruledrim. Before them, fading into the foggy distance, towered three snow-covered peaks. “Nothing,” said Trik.

“Blast it,” shouted the half-dwarf.

“Wait,” said Trik, his eyes widening, “look there.” He pointed with his hand at something far in the distance, a long column of faint gray smoke spiraling up against the snowy mountain peaks.

The half-dwarf clicked his heels and rode his mule up to Trik’s stallion. His saddle was covered with many fine rugs, and beneath those rugs the silver blade of a double-sided battle axe glinted in the morning sun. He squinted at the tiny column of smoke in the distance. “Smoke signal,” he said. “Perhaps a call for help.”

“Perhaps not,” said Trik, staring at the rising column of smoke in the distance.

“It’ll be noon at least,” said the half-dwarf, “before we reach the village.”

“Sooner,” said Trik, “if we ride quickly.”

Suddenly a shadow was cast over the two riders, and a bellowing cry rang out over the mountains. The half-dwarf covered his ears with his hands as he looked up. Over their heads barreled a great winged creature clad in scales shining silver in the morning light.

“Dragon,” shouted the half-dwarf.

“Big one,” shouted Trik.

Trik watched the creature as it wheeled over the pass, skirting the vale between the pass and the peaks in the distance. The dragon abruptly changed its course as it approached the tallest of the three mountain peaks, turning and then swooping lower before careening out of sight.

“Majestic creature,” said Trik.

“With a taste for mortal blood,” said the half-dwarf. “We are lucky he was not on the hunt.”

Trik turned to the half-dwarf. “I’d rather he was,” said Trik, grinning. “I haven’t faced a worthy foe in decades.”

“It would be fool’s errand to fight a dragon in the air,” said the half-dwarf. “While you hunger for battle, my belly aches for good ale.”

“As does mine,” said Trik, his eyes returning to the mountain peaks, “as does mine.”

*

The elf and half-dwarf began the last ascent of the trail leading to the village of Ruledrim. The column of gray smoke had grown much broader, and now it was clear that there were many columns of smoke joining to form one. As they reached the summit of the trail, the village of Ruledrim, rather what was left of it, came into sight. Ash and dust drifted over the ruins in the cold mountain air.

“Great Odin’s bones,” swore the half-dwarf. His eyes widened on the destruction before them. The ruins of many fine shops and cottages smoldered before the mountains. Not a single building had escaped the fire, which had left the town and its immediate surroundings charred and black.

Trik turned to the half-dwarf. “So much for that ale,” he said.

“Bah,” grumbled the half-dwarf. “Now we must wait until Endogar.”

They rode their mounts side by side down a gravel road dotted with the ash of buildings that were still burning.

“Not a single living soul,” said the half-dwarf, looking over the ruins.

“Dragon rage,” said Trik.

“The worst I’ve seen,” said the half-dwarf.

“There must be something left,” said Trik. He surveyed the destruction. The smoldering ash drifted lightly in the cold mountain wind, enshrouding the burnt buildings.

“Look there,” said the half-dwarf, pointing toward the ruins of what had once been a temple to the Goddess of Rule. Only the statue of the Goddess remained standing, a tall marble woman with her arms outstretched.

Out of the ruins stumbled a survivor, a soot-covered young woman wearing a scorched red dress. Her hair was of crimson gold, and it might be said that she was pretty, but little could be seen of her face beneath the black soot.

The two companions rode forward to the ruins of temple and to the survivor who looked at them with cold blue eyes. They halted a few paces from her. “You there,” said Trik, “what is your name?”

The woman stood trembling in the mountain air, staring at the two strangers.

“A mute,” said Trik, glancing at the half-dwarf.

“She has seen many terrible things,” said the half-dwarf.

“Deidre,” said the young woman, softly.

Trik faced her. “Deidre,” he asked, “what has done this?”

The young woman’s eyes widened, and as she spoke, tears filled them. “It came at night,” she said, “a great monster with a flaming breath. The village was burned. My mother and father were burned. My little brother was burned. Now it is only me.”

“Poor woman,” said the half-dwarf to Trik.

“Did you see where this monster went?” asked Trik.

The woman turned to the highest of the three peaks and pointed at it with a soot-covered finger.

Trik peered at the mountain peak. With his elven-sight he discerned a dark shadow near the apex of the peak. “A cave,” he said. “That must be the roost.”

“That peak will take hours to scale,” said the half-dwarf. “It is very steep, and our mounts will be useless.”

“They will take us far,” said Trik. “Then we shall scale the rest on foot.”

“Hold on,” said the half-dwarf, his expression hardening. “That was not written in the bounty.”

Trik’s eyes narrowed on his companion. “I do not care what was and was not in the bounty,” he said, “nor will I abandon it.”

“You are mad,” said the half-dwarf.

Trik grinned. “Perhaps,” he said. He turned to the young woman. “Is there any food or shelter nearby?”

The young woman cast her eyes eastward. “There is my grandfather’s cabin,” she said. “But it is some way from here.”

“Will you take us there?” asked Trik.

The young woman turned back to Trik, and her eyes narrowed on him. She said nothing, but gently nodded her head.

“Then come,” said Trik, holding out his hand to the young woman. “This is no place to stay.”

She raised her hand to grasp his. He took her hand and helped her onto his saddle. When she was comfortably seated behind him, he rode eastward, and the half-dwarf rode after them on his mule.

*

The young woman led them from the smoldering ruins of Ruledrim to a vale below the mountains. Near the bottom of the vale stood a small wood cabin with a stone chimney. Beside the cabin stood a shed and a pile of chopped wood.

“Thank the Gods,” said the young woman, when she saw the cabin. “Grandfather still lives.”

Trik and the half-dwarf halted before the cabin. “This is it?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

Trik helped the young woman to dismount. Once on foot, she ran to the cabin. “Grandfather,” she shouted, and she swung open the cabin door.

An old man with a gray beard appeared in the doorway. “Dear Deidre,” he said. His eyes suddenly grew wide. “My dear, you are covered in ash. What has happened?”

Deidre told him about the dragon and the fire, and then she turned to Trik. “These two men helped me,” she said.

Her grandfather faced Trik. “I owe you a debt of gratitude, stranger,” he said.

“Trik,” said the elf, “and my companion Olfe.”

“They have come to slay the monster, Grandpa,” she said.

“If that’s true,” said the old man, “then you are both welcome in my home.”

“That is very kind of you,” said Trik. He dismounted, and Olfe dismounted next to him. They tied their horses to a post near the shed.

The old man stepped back into the cabin, and the three followed him inside. In the single large room of the cabin was a fireplace with a roaring fire. Near the fireplace was a stone wall, behind which was a kitchen area with many wooden shelves. In the opposite corner of the cabin was a ladder leading to a loft. In front of the fireplace was a long wooden table with four chairs.

Deidre and her grandfather disappeared behind the stone wall. After some time, he returned with food and wine and placed them on the wooden table in front of the fireplace. He pulled out two chairs from the table. “Have a seat,” he said to Trik and Olfe.

Trik and Olfe each sat at the table.

“My granddaughter tells me that you are not from the town,” said the old man.

Trik took a bite of bread and washed it down with the sweet wine the old man had taken from the kitchen. “That is true,” he said. “We are traveling for a hunt.”

“Hunters,” said the old man. “I know of no hunters who dress as you do.”

“You have a sharp eye,” said Trik. “We are from the borderlands.”

The old man placed a pot of roast mutton before them and a plate of dried fruits. “Whatever you are,” he said, “I owe you a night’s rest for the rescue of my granddaughter.”

“We shall be glad to have it,” said Trik.

The half-dwarf finished his wine and placed the empty cup on the table. “The wine is good,” he said, “and as sweet as any in my homeland of Alaqounde.”

“It is the best I own,” said the old man.

Deidre joined them at the table. She had cleaned up, washed her hair, and changed into a clean dress.

“They will stay here for the night,” said the old man to Deidre. “In the morning, they will take what provisions they may need for their trip.”

“We are much obliged,” said Trik, and he drained a second cup of wine.

*

As the sun began to rise the next day, Trik and Olfe packed and saddled their mounts. The sky was clear, and the wind was calm. The dragon’s peak was stark white against the sky. As Trik climbed onto his saddle, the cabin’s door swung open, and Deidre stepped out. She was dressed in her grandfather’s padded armor and padded leggings. She stomped through the snow to them.

“Look there,” said Trik to Olfe, “a warrior comes.”

Olfe laughed quietly as the young woman approached.

Deidre halted near Trik’s horse. “I’m ready to go,” she said.

“Why should you come?” asked Trik, looking down at her from his stallion.

She glanced at Olfe before returning her gaze to Trik. “I have more reason to slay this monster than you,” she said.

“You would do better to stay here with your grandfather,” said Trik. “The way ahead will be dangerous, perhaps too dangerous even for me and my comrade.”

“I want to help,” she said.

Trik turned away from her. “You will be a burden,” said Trik.

“I can fight,” she said. She revealed a dagger that she wore at her waist. “Take me with you. Let me avenge my family.”

Trik looked at the half-dwarf. “I think we are better alone,” he said.

At this, Deidre placed herself before Trik’s horse and drew her dagger. “You will take me with you,” she said, “or you will not leave.” Her eyes burned like two blue flames.

The elf drew his sword and knocked the dagger out of Deidre’s hand. She glanced down at the dagger lying in the snow. She glanced at her empty hand. The point of Trik’s sword was at her chest. “Are you so determined to die?” asked Trik.

She knelt in the snow and retrieved the dagger. She held it aloft once more with its blade gleaming in the morning light.

Trik’s expression hardened. “So be it,” he said. Trik held out his hand to Deidre. She grasped his hand, and he helped her onto the saddle behind him.

*

They rode first west, taking a trail that cut along the rim of the vale, and then turned sharply north toward the mountains. As they approached the three snowy peaks, the trail grew steeper and icier. It was not long before Trik raised his arm with his fist clenched, signaling a halt. There was a copse of snow-dusted pine trees ahead.

“We’ll leave the mounts here,” said Trik. “The rest of the way is on foot.” He and the half-dwarf rode to the pine trees. In the center of the trees was a small clearing out of the wind.

Trik turned to Deidre. “You don’t have to come any further,” he said. “You’ve already proven your bravery.”

“I want to go with you,” she said, her blue eyes shining fiercely at him. “I want to fight.”

Trik nodded. He quickly dismounted, landing softly in the high snow. He helped her to dismount, lowering her gently to the ground. Trik ran the reins of the horse around a short but sturdy pine tree and tied a good knot. He removed his satchel from the horse and threw it over his shoulder. “I have provisions for one day,” he said. “If it takes much longer than that we will be hungry and thirsty.” He removed his elven rapier from the saddle and slid its blade into the sheath that hung from his belt.

“If we are thirsty, we can melt snow in a fire,” said Deidre. “My father taught me. I have survived many days in the cold.”

“Perhaps you will be of some use after all,” said Trik. “Come.”

Deidre followed Trik from the copse of pine trees out to the trail. He looked at the three peaks, which stood like three huge monuments against a vibrant blue sky. The half-dwarf joined them, carrying a heavy bag in his hands. “If we are lucky,” said Trik, “the weather will stay.”

“I take no solace in luck,” said the half-dwarf. “Luck,” he said, as his boots punched through the snow, “is a fool’s hope.” His boots were large, covering his short lower legs and part of his knees. He dropped his bag on the ground. He strapped his battle axe to his bag, so that it made a diagonal across the worn leather. Then he put the bag on his back and tightened its leather straps over his shoulders.

“Let’s go,” said Trik, striding through the snow. “We must make haste.”

“Much easier for you to say,” said the half-dwarf, struggling through the snow, which rose above his knees.

*

After an hour, they halted for a rest. Trik stepped up to the edge of the trail and peered over a ledge. Far below, the mountainside dropped steeply into the snowy vale, but beyond the vale was a patch of dark gray sky.

Deidre joined Trik at the ledge. “A storm is coming,” she said.

Trik turned to her. “How exciting,” he said, with a wink.

“The last time we had a storm,” she said, “it moved east away from the mountains.”

Trik glanced at the trail that continued steeply up the mountain to the peak. “Let us hope it does so again. We are not far from the cave,” he said. “An hour at most.”

The half-dwarf walked out to them, but stopped far from the ledge. He was out of breath. “What are you looking at?” he asked.

“Perilous skies,” said Trik.

The half-dwarf’s eyes narrowed on the darkness encroaching on the vale, and his expression soured. “We should turn back,” he said. “Come back tomorrow.”

Trik turned to him. “Don’t tell me that the grandson of Bellog the Conqueror is afraid,” said Trik.

“It is not fear that grips me,” said Olfe, “only sensibility.” He turned to the trail behind them and looked at their footsteps in the snow. “If only it gripped you for once,” he said.

“Think of the gold,” said Trik. “A dragon’s hoard as great as any king’s.”

“Bah,” grumbled Olfe, “Myths! I have never found any gold in a dragon’s lair. Plenty of bones though.”

Trik smiled at Deidre. “My friend Olfe does not like caves,” he said.

“Dark reeking holes,” said Olfe.

“But you are a dwarf,” said Deidre.

“I’m only a half-dwarf,” said Olfe. “My father was dwarf, my mother human.”

Deidre turned to Trik. “What a funny pair you two make,” she said.

“I don’t follow,” said Trik.

“You are an elf,” she said.

Trik looked away. “Why do you say that?” he asked.

“You wear that funny hood,” said Deidre, “but I know that you are an elf. Only an elf has eyes as yours.”

Olfe laughed. “We are exposed,” he said.

“You are very outspoken for a woman,” said Trik to Deidre.

“And you are very naïve for an elf,” said Deidre, “if you think women are not outspoken.”

“Let us go,” said Olfe. “I do not wish to stay near this ledge any longer. The wind is strong here.”

“As you wish,” said Trik, stepping away from the ledge. “Come.”

*

As the trail grew steeper, Deidre marched ahead of Trik and Olfe. The way was icy and there was a steep drop off before them. As she walked around a steep bend in the trail, she slipped upon an icy stone and slid toward a ledge. Trik rushed toward her and grasped her left wrist before she fell from the ledge.

Deidre hung from the ledge with snow blowing about her, and beneath her a great fall into the vale below the mountain. She screamed.

Trik reached out with his other hand, took his sword, and stabbed it into the ice beside him.

“Don’t let me fall,” she shouted, her eyes filled with tears.

The half-dwarf watched from the trail, but did not dare step out upon the ledge.

“You will not fall,” said Trik. “I have you.” But already his grip was failing, and she was slipping away. “Olfe,” he shouted, “help me to pull her up.”

Olfe crept near the ledge, but he would not step near the edge of it. “I am afraid,” he said.

Deidre’s legs swung freely in the air. She looked down at the great fall below, and tears welled up in her eyes. “Pull me back,” she shouted.

“Hold still,” shouted Trik. The hand that gripped her wrist was slipping, and although he had stabbed his sword into the ice, it was slowly breaking free.

Deidre swung again, and Trik’s grip failed him. Her wrist slipped from his hand. But even as she began to fall, Olfe reached out and took her hand with his right hand while his other hand held fast to Trik’s shoulder. Such is the strength of a half-dwarf that Olfe with only one hand pulled her back onto the ledge.

Deidre lay trembling in the snow between them. Trik glared at Olfe. “Did you have to wait until the last moment?” he asked.

“I don’t like ledges,” said Olfe. “You know that.”

Trik looked down at Deidre. “You scared the life out of her,” he said to the half-dwarf.

“I asked to turn back,” said Olfe. “You chose to keep going. I would have turned back.”

Trik looked at the mountain and for a moment the wind died and revealed the cave not forty steps from the ledge. “But we have arrived,” said Trik. “Look there.” He pointed at the cave.

The half-dwarf turned to the mountain cave.

“Get a torch ready,” said Trik. “We are at the dragon’s doorstep.”

The half-dwarf returned to the trail and dropped his bag to the ground. He took from it a long torch dipped in whale oil. He struck a flint, and lit the torch. As Olfe finished preparing his bag, Trik helped Deidre to the trail. He halted with her there. His eyes pierced hers. “You don’t have to do this,” he said.

“I must do it,” she said, clutching the dagger on her waist, “for my family.”

Olfe was standing ready with a flaming torch in his right hand. “Let’s get it over with,” he said.

*

They entered the dragon’s lair, each of them stepping softly into the dark, huddled around the light. The torchlight filled the cave, illuminating its jagged volcanic walls. Outside the wind whistled and moaned, but inside was only the sound of footsteps and the drip-drip of water from stalactites.

“It is a deep lair,” whispered the half-dwarf, “and it reeks of dragon.” Indeed the air was warm and saturated with an aroma not unlike that of burning sulfur.

At one-hundred steps from its entrance the cave widened so much that the torchlight could not illuminate its full expanse. “I don’t like this,” whispered Olfe. “It’s too quiet.”

Deidre tightened her grip on her dagger. Her breaths were rapid and shallow.

Trik stepped on something soft and wet on the cave’s floor. “Halt,” he whispered harshly.

The other two stopped. “What is it?” whispered Olfe.

Trik knelt on the cave floor. He pressed his palm on the soft wet substance covering the volcanic rock. “The leavings of the dragon,” he said.

“Leavings?” whispered Deidre.

“Droppings,” said Olfe.

Deidre’s top lip turned up.

“Still quite warm,” whispered Trik.

“Look there,” whispered Olfe. He held the torch out. Before them in the firelight stood a great nest of wood, hay, and rock. The enormous structure leaned against the far wall of the cavern.

“The roost,” said Trik. His eyes narrowed on it. “It’s empty,” he said, turning to Olfe.

“With a storm brewing,” said Olfe, “he’ll soon be back.”

“Give me that oil,” said Trik.

The half-dwarf produced three vials of a black substance from his bag. He handed each to Trik.

“What is that for?” asked Deidre.

“We can’t leave the nest as it is,” said Trik. “Burn it out, and the dragon will not roost here again.”

Trik climbed the side of the nest, and pulled himself onto its rim. He hopped down from the rim of the nest into the darkness. “Hold the torch high,” he said to the half-dwarf.

Olfe raised the torch as high as he could.

“Here,” said Deidre. “Let me help.”

Olfe handed the torch to her, and she raised its flame above the rim of the nest.

Trik uncapped the first vial and spread its contents upon the twisted hay and wood. He did the same with the second, and with the third. As he was about to turn away, he halted suddenly. Before him was a clutch of black eggs, each one larger than an ostrich egg. He took his sword from his belt and walked up to the eggs. He stabbed the first egg with the sword. A white liquid oozed from the eggshell as he withdrew the blade. As he stabbed the second egg, a great roar shook the cavern.

“It’s back,” cried Olfe to Trik. “Hurry out of there.”

Trik stabbed the last two eggs, and then he walked back to the rim of the nest. “Give me the torch,” he said.

Deidre held up the torch to him. Trik took it from her and set each black puddle of oil alight with it. Then he threw the torch down to Deidre and Olfe.

“Hurry,” said Olfe to Trik.

Trik climbed to the rim of the nest. He looked out into the cavern. There was nothing but rock and shadows. He jumped down to the cave floor.

The nest was in flames as Trik, Olfe, and Deidre rushed to the narrow exit of the cavern. But as they reached it, the dragon stomped into the cavern. Smoke poured from its nostrils and its eyes glowed white. It was an immense blue and silver beast that stood taller than a man at its shoulders. It great wings were folded behind its back, and its long tail was coiled.

“The monster,” shouted Deidre.

“Weapons,” shouted Olfe. He threw off his bag and raised his large battle axe. But before he could use it, the dragon turned to the half-dwarf and exhaled a fireball at him. The ball of white flame missed, but its heat singed the half-dwarf’s beard.

Trik drew his elven blade. He and Olfe split up, so that the half-dwarf came at the dragon from the left and Trik from the right. They attacked together, each swinging his weapon. The dragon turned around and struck them with its heavy tail, knocking both Trik and Olfe to the ground.

In the firelight of the burning nest, the dragon approached Trik as he lay on his back against the floor of the cave. The hot fumes from the dragon’s nostrils scorched the air. Its glowing white eyes narrowed on the elf. As it lunged at him, Deidre threw her dagger at the dragon. The dagger struck the dragon’s underbelly, and glanced off its scales.

The dragon turned to Deidre with its glowing white eyes. Hot drool dripped from its jaws. It inhaled deeply, and then it exhaled a burst of flame that set Deidre’s padded armor on fire. She screamed as the flames consumed her padded armor.

As Deidre struggled to remove her burning garments, Olfe charged the dragon from behind and swung his battle axe. The dragon cried out as the heavy blade struck its scaled rump. Smoke poured from its nostrils. At that moment, Trik grasped his elven blade and in one stroke pierced the left eye of the dragon, driving the blade deep into its skull. The dragon hissed, and dark black blood flowed from its lips. It whipped its neck back, and rushed toward the nest, roaring as it went.

“Your axe,” shouted Trik to Olfe.

Olfe charged at the dragon with his axe, but the dragon had collapsed before reaching the nest. As Trik approached the dragon, Deidre joined him. Deidre was wearing a light undershirt, which had been spared the dragon’s breath. “Careful,” said Trik.

The dragon did not stir, nor did it make any sound. Its eyes were dark, and much black blood flowed from its silver lips.

Trik’s eyes widened on the dragon’s body. “It’s done,” he said.

“My family is avenged,” said Deidre, staring at its lifeless form.

“We must take a token,” said Olfe, raising his battle axe. In one fell swing he decapitated the dragon, and a great burst of black blood flowed from its lifeless trunk.

Trik removed his sword from the dragon’s head. He wiped it against the dragon’s nest, removing the dragon’s black blood from the blade.

*

They descended from the peak to the lower mountain trail. Olfe carried the dragon’s head in his bag, and Trik and Deidre walked together behind him. Deidre wore a cloak that Olfe had lent her. The sky was gray, and the wind was picking up. They walked in silence for a time. Then Deidre turned to Trik. “When you were in the nest,” she asked, “did you find gold?”

“No,” said Trik, and there was sorrow in his eyes. “No,” he said, “not gold.”

They descended to the copse of pines where the horse and the mule waited. Olfe tied the bag with the dragon’s head on the saddle of his mule while Trik untied his stallion from the pine tree.

As Trik prepared to mount his horse, Deidre turned to him. “Where will you go?” she asked.

“We must return for payment,” said Trik. “Once we drop you off with your grandfather, Olfe and I will depart for Endogar.”

“What if I do not wish to stay with my grandfather?” asked Deidre.

“You must,” said Trik. “The quest is done. Your vengeance is fulfilled.”

Her eyes widened. “Let me go with you,” she said.

Trik shook his head. “You will not like it with us,” said Trik.

“After what I have been through,” said Deidre, “you must believe me. I want to go with you to Endogar.”

Trik mounted his stallion. “Do you now?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Deidre.

“What will you do in Endogar?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Find work,” she said.

He held out his hand to her. She grasped it, and he helped her onto his saddle behind him.

Olfe rode his mule beside Trik’s stallion. “Why so glum, my friend?” he asked.

Trik glanced at the bag that contained the dragon’s head. “The dragon was not a drake,” said Trik, “but a drakaina.”

“Ah,” said Olfe, nodding.

“Drakaina?” asked Deidre. “What is that?”

“A mother dragon,” said Trik. “There were four eggs in the nest.”

“That has made you upset,” she said.

“Yes,” he said.

“I don’t see why it should matter one way or the other,” she said.

Trik shook his head. “It does,” he said.

“Come along, my lovebirds,” said Olfe, riding away, “before the storm sets in.”

Trik groaned, and Deidre giggled. They turned onto the trail and rode after Olfe, who carried the bag with the dragon’s head on his saddle.