Lost City by Jeffrey M. Poole
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“It’s a burn, nothing more,” Athos insisted. He was sitting with his brother and nephew in Maelnar’s study while they all waited for the healer to arrive.
“If the boy did have a burn, do you not think it would have healed by now, lad?” Maelnar gently asked. “Did you ever wonder why the mark remained?”
“Father, I was never burned,” Lukas insisted again. “I have been burned before and it hurts. Believe me, it hurts. This did not.”
“Lukas, you are not helping the situation.”
“If you are worried about what is discovered here,” Maelnar told them, in a hushed tone, “then be assured nothing leaves this room.”
A surprisingly young dwarf, for a healer, entered the room followed closely by two underlings.
“What seems to be the pro-”
“Master Kovabel,” Maelnar interrupted. “There will be no need for apprentices today.”
Kovabel shrugged and dismissed his assistants.
“You remember hearing about the boy with the mark on his back?” Maelnar asked the healer.
Kovabel nodded. “The boy from Master Peridal’s story, I presume. Aye, I do remember.”
“Here he is. I would like you to inspect his back and ascertain, if you can, the origin of the mark.”
“Certainly.” Kovabel turned to Lukas and patted the stool in front of him. “Young master, please have a seat and remove your tunic.”
Lukas hopped up on the stool and pulled his shirt over his head. Maelnar got out of his seat for a better look. Both he and Kovabel crowded close to Lukas’ back.
“That’s no burn,” Maelnar observed, gently touching the pebble-sized hammer on the boy’s back. He pulled out Trindolyn’s storybook and flipped to the page with the close up of the king’s hammer. They were a match.
Maelnar turned to Athos and pointed back at his desk.
“I have a stack of blank parchment on my desk right over there. Could you hand me one? And the quill and ink next to it?”
Once Athos had handed the items over, Maelnar knelt down next to Lukas and tried to sketch out what he saw. His hand refused to cooperate. Confused, Maelnar stared at his motionless hand and again tried to recreate what he was looking at on the boy’s back. Again his hand refused to move. Alarmed he had forgotten how to sketch, Maelnar thought back to the golden dragon sword his human friend Sir Steve possessed and tried to sketch the hilt. His hand instantly began to draw.
Certain there was nothing wrong with his hand, he flipped the sheet over and tried again to sketch the shape and design of the large mark. Again his hand refused to comply. His eyes widened. This was no burn and this was certainly no tattoo.
“The mark is Narian. I’m certain of it.”
Holding the open storybook close to Lukas’ skin as he inspected the hammer, the book slipped out of his grasp and started to fall. Belying his age, Maelnar deftly caught the book before it could hit the ground, but not before it bounced off of Lukas’ back. As soon as the book came into contact with the boy’s skin, the outer edges of the mark suddenly sharpened, as if coming into focus. Once contact was broken, the mark lost focus and reverted back to its previous state.
Maelnar gasped with shock. He stretched out his arm towards the boy and gently touched the book to Lukas’ back and held it in place. The outer edges focused again and became a braided decorative border. The elegant frame elongated as it approached the tiny upside-down hammer and flowed around it without breaking its pattern. Within moments the mark was contained within a delicate border that stretched completely around it. There, in the top center of the border, was a prominent sign that they were on the right track. A shield had also been incorporated into the woven border. It was the Narian crest: a larger upside-down hammer sitting on a field of purple velvet with silver scrollwork.
Having witnessed the appearance of the border, Venk and Athos stared at each other in shock. Maelnar clapped a hand on Venk’s shoulder.
“There’s no doubt about it, lad. The hammer is Narian and has been placed on your son’s back for a purpose!”
Chapter 2 – More Than Meets the Eye