Lost City by Jeffrey M. Poole
“I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it! Look! We’ve recovered all the pieces! Hammer head, counter weight, handle, and spiral gem. Do you have any idea what historical significance these four objects hold? Hmm? Do you??”
“No clue,” Athos mumbled. “And I suppose you’re going to tell us?”
“Never since the time of the dragon riders has one of the famed Narian tools ever been recovered. If it proves to be authentic, think what benefits we’ll learn from the metallurgical analysis!”
“If it proves to be authentic?” Breslin repeated. “Don’t make me recant my earlier praise. You know just as well as I do that all four pieces are authentic. The only thing left to do now is to assemble the hammer. It should be simple.”
“Who gets the honor?” Athos asked, hopeful that he might selected to piece together the tool created so many centuries ago.
“I’d say the honor should go to Master Venk,” Breslin answered. “We’re all here because of his son.”
Nodding appreciatively, Venk took the carved handle and examined the ends, searching for some indication of which way was up. There was none. Shrugging, he picked up the misshapen head and threaded the handle through hole to the right of the striking head. Here now he paused. What was to prevent the head from sliding down the handle? Typically hammer handles were either flared at one end, allowing the head to be wedged into place, or else the end of the handle was flattened with repeated blows from another hammer. Either method was a generally accepted practice of creating a hammer. However, neither would work here.
The ornate wooden handle, with carvings covering every square inch of its surface, was just that: wooden. Any attempts to flatten either end of the handle would result in the shaft splintering or breaking. The handle was also, as Venk had already discovered, perfectly straight. Neither end was flared, so the head would simply slide off once the hammer was lifted upright.
Venk studied the other pieces. Could he have the order wrong? Basic hammer components remained the same, although their design could vary. Hammer head, handle, and counterweight if the hammer didn’t have dual striking heads, which this one didn’t. Either they were missing something or else the fourth and final piece of the hammer played a more significant role than he had originally believed.
Venk picked up the spiraled gem. He studied the glittering jewel and noted that the natural shape of the ruby whorl suggested it had to be inserted into the hammer. But how? There was no empty hole anywhere on the hammer’s head that indicated where the gem should sit. Maybe it could be forced in?
Almost instantly Venk shook his head, dismissing the thought. The last thing he wanted to do was be responsible for damaging the unique gem. Any situation which required a hammer in one hand and something delicate in the other could never end well. Not for him, anyway.
Nevertheless, Venk slid the hammer head into place on the handle and laid it reverently down on the grass. He picked up the square counterweight and slid that onto the head’s non-striking surface, positioning it up against the handle. Holding the gem in his left hand, he gently turned the hammer on its side. Careful not to let any of the pieces fall out of place, he tilted the hammer onto its back. A quick inspection of each side confirmed his earlier suspicions. There was nowhere to insert the gem.
“Tristofer, let’s see that book of yours again. I want to see where the gem is supposed to be.”
The scholar produced the book after a quick inventory of his pockets. He flipped to the page with the close-up of the hammer and handed it to Venk. Tristofer leaned over his shoulder and tapped the picture of the hammer.
“Look there. See? The gem doesn’t appear to be on the striking surface, but more on the side.”
A quick scowl from Venk had Tristofer yanking his arm out of harm’s way. He returned to studying the illustration of the tiny hammer.
“With the striking head on the left, and the small point on the right, with the weight sitting on the head directly after the handle, there’s no room for error.” Venk glanced up to judge the reactions from his companions. “There isn’t any other way to assemble the hammer. This must be right.”
Tristofer pointed at the square metal weight.
“The counter weight could be reversed. That might –”
“What?” Venk interrupted. “Affect how the crystal is inserted into the hammer? I don’t see how.”
Athos stared at the pieces of the hammer and rolled his eyes. He approached his brother and slid the counter weight off the hammer, rotated it 90° and returned it to its place on the head’s shank. Together he and his brother turned the hammer over so they could look for any changes. When none was forthcoming Athos rotated the counter weight again. When he had gone through all possible permutations, and still the mystery of the gem remained unsolved, Athos returned to Breslin’s side to brood some more.
Tristofer nodded appreciatively.
Breslin clapped his hands together, startling everyone out of there reverie.
“What we have here is a mystery. This hammer is supposed to hold incredible power. How? How do we activate it? Does anyone have any ideas?”
“The gem goes on the head,” Athos reminded everyone. “I say we pound it in.”
“We’d risk breaking the jewel,” Breslin told him, shaking his head no. “We can’t risk that. If we had another, perhaps. Since we don’t, we won’t attempt it.”
Athos pulled a hammer from his belt.
“You never know until you try.”
“Put it away, Athos,” Breslin told him. “You’re not going to pound the jewel into the hammer.”
“What about drilling our own hole into the head?” Venk suggested.
“We’d need a forge and smithing tools to do that,” Athos automatically replied. “And even then all hammer heads are heat tempered. I strongly doubt we’d be able to scratch it.”
The brainstorming session lasted another thirty minutes before the dwarves finally noticed it was getting late in the day and a suitable place to camp needed to be found.
“I want to be as far away from the Kla Rehn as possible,” Breslin informed his companions. “They steered us away from the tree on purpose. I don’t know who conspires against us, and until I do, I won’t trust any of them.”
“Is it any wonder why I didn’t stay?” Tristofer muttered sarcastically under his breath.
Athos snorted with laughter and slapped the scholar on the back. Surprised by the sudden show of camaraderie, Tristofer chuckled as he scooped up the pieces of the hammer and safely stowed them in his pack.
An hour later, after searching fruitlessly for a suitable campsite, Athos was sent out to scout around. The surrounding countryside, the dwarves learned, was perfect for camping as there was plenty of game in the forest and plenty of trees for stringing their hammocks, but was startled to discover they couldn’t find a single spring of fresh water with which to quench their thirst.
“How does this ruddy forest stay so blasted green without a river or a stream to sustain it?” Breslin grumbled loudly.
He, like the others, was tired of wandering aimlessly through the trees over uneven ground and was about ready to swallow his pride to call Rhamalli when Venk let out an exclamation of surprise.
Snatching his axe off his back, Breslin whirled around to see Athos similarly armed and glaring at his brother.
“What is it?” Breslin asked. He glanced left, then right, and then finally up before he faced his companion.
“I almost forgot. We don’t need to look for water. We have Shardwyn’s final spell.”
“And which one would that be?” Athos asked suspiciously.
“The one with the drop of water on it. I believe Shardwyn said it’d summon water.”
Athos crossed his arms over his chest.
“How much water?”
Venk shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Pah. I’d rather keep searching for wa
ter myself than rely on that imbecilic human and his spells.”
Venk reached into his pack and pulled out the white silk bag. He fished out the remaining sphere with the drop of water etched onto its surface and eyed his companions.
“What could it hurt? Besides, we’ve got it, haven’t we? Might as well use it.”
Breslin yawned and stretched his back. He dropped his pack to the ground and inclined his head at Venk.
“Very well. We make camp here. Once we’ve settled, then we’ll see what Shardwyn has in store for us.”
“Shouldn’t we try the spell before we make camp?” Athos asked. “What if the spell doesn’t work and we still don’t have any water?”
“Then we’ll make do until tomorrow.”
Grateful for the reprieve in walking, Tristofer allowed his heavy pack to slide off his shoulder and fall to the ground.
Within the hour hammocks had been strung, a fire had been started, and several fallen logs had been pulled in to serve as benches. Empty water bags were produced and held uncertainly as they each nervously eyed Venk. Gritting his teeth, Venk looked at the white sphere in his hand and thought back to the fire spell they were given. That spell had only produced a tiny flame, enough to light a candle. Surely this spell would summon enough water to satisfy five dwarves!
“Here we go. Brace yourselves.”
Venk silently invoked the spell. It disappeared in a bright burst of light and was gone.
Athos angled his water bag back so that he could look down its neck and see for himself how much water it contained. He scowled. It was the same as before. Shardwyn’s spell hadn’t worked.
Athos sighed loudly. “That fool has duped us again.”
It was as if the skies had split open. It wasn’t rain that assaulted them. Rainfall was comprised of drops of water that fell in various quantities. This was several thousand gallons of water falling out of the sky all at the same time. Their campfire disappeared in the blink of an eye. Their hearth became a pool. Everyone was drenched in a split second’s time. Branches were snapped off trees. Shrubs were ripped out of the ground. To add further insult to their injury, their hammocks were ripped off the trees, some still tied to their branches.
It all happened so fast that the dwarves didn’t have a chance to duck for cover. Several seconds later it was over. The remnants of the flood followed the gently sloping land and had completely drained away by the time Breslin, Athos, Tristofer, and even Lukas turned to stare at Venk.
“I really hate that wizard.”
Breslin looked down at the water bag still clutched tightly against his sopping chest. He wrung out his beard.
“Well, it worked. My bag is full.”
Venk awoke early the following morning. Early for a dwarf, that is. The sun had risen high enough to permeate the dense foliage in the forest, scattering sun beams all across the camp. One had the misfortune of hitting Venk square in the eye.
Venk grumbled and rolled to his side, pulling down his helmet even further. Another sun beam blinded him. Blinking away the spots dancing before his vision, Venk saw that an errant beam of light had hit his brother’s axe and had bounced it his direction. Naturally the beam had hit him right in the eyes again.
Softly cursing to himself Venk swung his legs over his hammock and pulled his boots on. Grabbing a dried strip of meat, he wandered over to the bag that held the pieces of the hammer. He quietly pulled them out and assembled the Narian tool once more.
As before, the pieces fit together nicely, but it was still unclear how the gem fit into the puzzle.
“Perhaps young Lukas should give it a try,” a voice softly suggested.
Venk looked up and saw that he wasn’t the only one starting the day early. He bowed.
“Master Breslin. You’re up early.”
“As are you, Master Venk.”
“Couldn’t sleep. The damn sun thought it funny to see how many different ways it could get into my eyes.”
Breslin grunted. Venk looked over at the still form of Lukas, asleep in his hammock. He looked back at Breslin and raised an eyebrow.
“You think my son should put the hammer together?”
“He is the bearer of the Questor’s Mark,” Breslin reminded him. “Perhaps this task should be his.”
Venk’s gaze returned to his son, who was stirring. Once the underling’s tousled head appeared and searched him out, Venk waved him over.
“What is it, father?”
Venk swept an arm over the hammer pieces lying in the grass.
“Care to give it a try?”
Pleased to be given such an important task, Lukas nodded. He eagerly gripped the handle and lifted the head into position. As had happened with everyone else, the head slid unencumbered down the handle. It would have smashed into Lukas’ hand had his father not caught the head before it made contact.
“Assemble it down on the ground,” he told his son. “That way you don’t have to worry about anything sliding or falling off.”
Lukas added the counter weight then picked up the gem. He looked at his father and then back at the hammer.
“I don’t know where this goes.”
“That makes two of us, boy.”
Catching sight of the intricate symbols and runes carved into the hammer’s handle, Lukas handed the head and counterweight to his father. Noticing that he still had the spiral gem in his left hand, he handed that to Breslin.
“Maybe the handle tells us what we need to do,” Lukas suggested. He peered closer at a carving of a rudimentary kyte.
Smiling proudly as he watched his son slowly rotate the handle, Venk caught sight of Breslin, who had been staring at his hand ever since Lukas had handed him the jewel.
“What’s the matter?” Venk asked in a whisper, intent on not disturbing Lukas during his examination of the handle.
Breslin was staring down at his hand, a look of surprise on his face. He glanced upward to note the sun’s position.
“What is it?” Venk repeated.
“This thing is warm,” Breslin whispered back, holding out the gem in an open hand. “Feels like it has been in the sun all day, but sunrise was less than an hour ago. Have you ever noticed it being warm?”
Breslin passed the gem to Venk who closed his fingers around it. Venk waited a few moments before looking back at his friend.
“It’s not warm. It’s cold.”
Breslin snatched it back. “No it’s not. It’s warm. You can’t feel that?”
Venk plucked the jewel back out of Breslin’s outstretched hand and felt it. It wasn’t warm for him. He looked up at his son who was running his fingers over several of the carvings on the handle.
“Son, when you held the gem, did it feel warm to you?”
Without looking up, Lukas shook his head no.
Venk looked back at the gem, then down at the rest of the hammer pieces.
“New plan. Master Breslin, you put that thing together.”
Lukas handed the handle over to Breslin, who shrugged. Setting the jewel down on the grass, Breslin picked up the head and slid the handle into place. He picked up the counter weight and also slid it on. He picked the gem back up just as the head slid down the shaft of wood. He let the handle fall to the ground and caught the head before it could fall to the ground, too.
The moment Breslin came into direct physical contact with both the head and the gem at the same time caused a reaction that no one anticipated: the ruby whorl began to glow. Venk hastily squatted to retrieve the fallen handle. He handed it to Breslin and then stepped back a few paces. Gripping the head and weight tightly, Breslin slid the handle back into position and with a firm grip of the jewel, gently lowered the hammer to the ground.
As soon as Breslin rotated the hammer so that he was looking at the side of the head, and not the striking surface, he let out an exclamation of surprise. There was now a tiny divot marring the once blemis
h-free surface of the axe head. Curious, he touched the tip of the jewel to the indentation.
The whorl spun in place as it screwed itself into the head of the hammer. Breslin noticed that the hammer instantly became lightweight, almost as though the hammer had lost its mass. He gazed with rapt fascination at the hammer. They had done it! He was holding an honest to goodness power hammer from Nar!
The hammer all but vibrated with power. It electrified his arm, sending jolts of energy up his arm and into his chest. His heart rate accelerated and his breathing increased. This was the only hammer a smith would ever want. The desire to smash something overwhelmed him and he looked around the glade they were in.
Breslin strode to the nearest boulder and delivered a swift blow. Lacking the momentum of a full swing, any normal hammer would have bounced harmlessly off the huge stone. The horse sized boulder shattered, becoming several thousand pieces of gravel. Breslin was grinning like an underling with a new toy.
“I need to get me one of these!”
He eagerly scanned the vicinity, looking for more potential targets he could reduce to rubble.
Athos suddenly appeared, axe in hand. He glanced suspiciously at his brother before noticing Breslin standing next to a large pile of pebbles.
“What’s going on?”
Breslin held up the hammer and showed Athos the sparkling jewel attached to the head. Recognizing the tool for what it was, Athos’ mouth fell open.
“What the… How did you do it? What… what holds it together?”
Breslin tapped the jewel. “Tristofer was right. The gem was the key.”
“Did someone say my name?” Tristofer sleepily asked as he appeared next to Athos. “What about me?”
Athos pointed at the hammer. “Look what Breslin is holding.”
Tristofer stared so long at the assembled hammer that Athos had to poke him in the ribs to see if he had fallen asleep. After a few minutes of awkward silence, the scholar finally approached Breslin and held out both hands.
“May I?”
Breslin nodded. Gripping the hammer by its head, he held out the handle and waited for Tristofer to take it. As soon as the hammer passed to Tristofer, the jewel faded and the hammer became inert. Tristofer dropped the hammer on the ground.
Venk, who hadn’t seen the hammer go inactive, looked at Tristofer as though he had just dropped the hammer off a cliff.
“What are you doing? Pick that back up!”
Clasping both hands on the hammer’s handle, Tristofer heaved the tool off the ground, but only managed a few feet before it slid back through his fingers and thumped back onto the ground.
“It’s so heavy! I never dreamed it’d be so difficult to wield!”
Confused, Breslin strode three steps towards the hammer and plucked the tool off the ground as though it weighed no more than a feather.
“It’s not heavy,” Breslin told Tristofer. “At least, it isn’t for me.”
Venk held out a hand. “Let me try it.”
Venk grunted with surprise as soon as he was given the hammer. Reaching over to clasp the handle with both hands, he struggled to keep the hammer off the ground. It felt as though someone had tied a rope around the hammer and was pulling it down.
“It’s not just Tristofer,” Venk reported through gritted teeth as he struggled to keep the hammer off the ground. “I’ve lifted anvils that are lighter than this.”
Lukas pointed at the hammer’s head. “The gem! Father, the gem is no longer glowing!”
“Really? It was glowing just a few moments ago.” Unable to lift the hammer up to his face to inspect the jewel, Venk leaned to the left to see for himself that the ruby was now dark.
His arms were aching, his grip tiring. He decided to let the hammer slide through his fingers and fall to the ground. He turned to Tristofer.
“Why’d it go dark for me?”
“When’s the last time you washed your hands?” Athos joked as he tried his luck with the power hammer. “Was it lit when you first picked it up?”
Venk thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. Once Breslin let go, it went dark.”
After a few minutes to ascertain for himself that the hammer was an ungainly as everyone had made it out be, Athos also let the priceless Narian keepsake fall to the ground. He looked over his shoulder at Breslin.
“I can’t say that I care for it that much.”
Breslin picked the hammer up and watched the gem start to glow once more. As before, it was incredibly lightweight in his hand, so much so that he imagined he could wield it for hours without feeling any fatigue.
“Why does it work for you and no one else?” Venk asked.
Breslin considered the question.
“When I was a boy, my father used to tell me that I had Narian blood running through my veins. I always thought that all fathers must tell their sons that as a way to get them to behave. ‘Do not disgrace your Narian ancestors,’ my father would always tell me.”
“How many times did you get into trouble when you were a lad?” Venk asked, curious. Try as he might, he just couldn’t picture the always reserved Breslin as an underling, let alone one that got into trouble.
“I was an ill-tempered brat in my youth,” Breslin added with a grin. “I guess it was my own way to get my father to pay attention to me as he never seemed to have time for anything else but his beloved workshop.”
Athos glanced first at the hammer and then back at Breslin. “So you’re part Narian, is that it? That’s why that thing works for you?”
“If that is so,” Venk argued, “then why didn’t it work for Tristofer? Isn’t he a descendant? I do recall someone mentioning that to me at some point.”
Everyone looked at the scholar, who was otherwise preoccupied by checking his leather boots for scuff marks.
“That must explain why my father was insistent that I join this expedition,” Breslin exclaimed. “It wasn’t to speak for the Council but instead it was in case the mission was successful.”
Venk nodded thoughtfully. “Then that means your father knew about your heritage. Did he know we were looking for a hammer?”
“I don’t think so,” Breslin answered. “There would have been no way for him to know. I can only guess that all other Narian tools and weapons would behave the same way. The wielder must be Narian.”
Athos frowned. “So the hammer was intended for Breslin all along? Why not just send the Questor’s Mark to him instead of Lukas?”
Athos suddenly straightened and a look of enlightenment crossed his surly features.
“I’ll wager I know what happened. The mark wasn’t meant for Lukas.”
“You don’t know that for certain,” Venk began.
“Let me finish. The mark wasn’t meant for Lukas, nor was it meant for Breslin. I’d say it was meant for Maelnar.”
Breslin nodded. “I see your point. I’m part Narian and therefore so is my father. Lukas received the mark in my father’s workshop, and I’m willing to bet that of all the people that was attending his seminar that day, he alone was the only one that could lay claim to the Narian line.”
Tristofer finally pulled his gaze up off the ground and joined the conversation.
“Why would someone want to give the Questor’s Mark to Maelnar? No offense to your father, Master Breslin, but he’s too old to go on an adventure such as this.”
Breslin shrugged. “I don’t know why my father was singled out other than someone clearly knew he was of Narian descent. Who would know that?”
Athos crossed his arms over his chest while Venk jammed his hands in his pockets. Tristofer clasped his hands behind his back and waited for someone else to proffer an answer. Venk looked up.
“Does it matter now that you have it? Whether it’s you or your father, the hammer pieces have been found and have been assembled. What’s more, the hammer actually works! So my question is, what do we do now???
?
“You feel like we’re missing something?” Breslin asked him. “Again?”
Venk nodded. “Don’t you? This feels rather anti-climatic if you ask me. Tristofer, why are you acting so smug? What do you know that we don’t?”
Tristofer had started smiling just a few moments ago. He was eagerly looking at each member of their party, as if trying to mentally share a secret with his companions.
Breslin sat down on the nearest stump and set the hammer head first down on the ground with the handle pointing up.
“Out with it. Are we missing something?”
Tristofer nodded, much like an underling would if asked if they’d like a sugary sweet.
“Well?”
“I should say so! Our quest isn’t over!”
“What? Yes, it is. We have overcome all the obstacles placed before us and found the pieces of the hammer.” Venk pointed at the hammer resting on the ground. “There it sits. What more is there to do?”
“Find Nar.”
Venk groaned, Athos snorted, and Breslin sighed. Only Lukas seemed eager to hear what the scholar had to say.
“How?” Breslin wanted to know.
“By using the hammer, of course.”
The two brothers sank down upon the closest bench and started whispering to each other as they wagered on the outcome of this confrontation.
“Use the hammer?” Breslin shook his head. “We’re no closer now to figuring out where Nar is than when we first set out. The Questor’s Mark was a map, alright, only it led us to the hammer and not to Nar.”
Tristofer smiled. “Are you sure about that?”
“About the mark leading us to the hammer?” Breslin looked down and inclined his head toward the hammer. “Pretty sure. As for the mark somehow leading us to Nar? Look around. There are no lost cities around here.”
Tristofer squatted down next to Breslin so that he could speak with him eye-to-eye.
“The Questor’s Mark guided us to the hammer. What if the Questor’s Mark also leads the way to Nar? We just have to figure it out.”
“Look, Tristofer,” Breslin began tiredly as he removed his helmet and wiped a sleeve along his brow, “I know you want to believe that somehow we’re missing something, but there’s no proof that anything is amiss on the Questor’s Mark. No one will ever be able to doubt you anymore. You’ve helped recover a Narian tool! That, by itself, is a remarkable feat. That hammer will be able to unlock some of the greatest metallurgical mysteries that have ever existed amongst our people. Don’t be too hard on yourself. I think you’ve done great work here. We all do, don’t we?”
Venk and Athos both nodded. Athos wordlessly tossed a small pouch to his brother, figuring Breslin would have degraded the scholar for even suggesting that they were missing something. A quest was a quest. They came, they searched, and they found. Mission accomplished as far as he was concerned.
Looking around the group, Tristofer smiled enigmatically. “We’re not done yet, my friends.”
Growing angry, Breslin stood.
“You had better base this on solid, tangible evidence,” he warned. “No more guessing.”
Tristofer didn’t appear unsettled at all. In fact, he couldn’t be more pleased with Breslin’s choice of words.
“Master Lukas, could you come here a moment? Can you show us the Questor’s Mark again?”
Lukas’ smile vanished as soon as the scholar’s intentions became clear. The underling had become self-conscious about showing his bare back ever since the mark had appeared and now it seemed that’s all anyone wanted to do was to gaze upon the large mark covering his back. He had hoped that once the handle had been found then he wouldn’t have to worry about exposing his back ever again.
Careful to face away from his father, Lukas rolled his eyes. He hitched his jerkin up to his chin and waited for the adults to finish commenting on the mark covering his back.
“You’re only proving my point,” Breslin was saying as he looked upon the Questor’s Mark. “There are no more hidden areas. All sections have been revealed. There’s nothing left to do.”
“On the contrary,” Tristofer began, still wearing his smug smile, “you couldn’t be more wrong.”
“Where’s your proof?” Athos demanded.
Tristofer pointed at the Questor’s Mark.
“Right there.”
“You’re looking at the same thing we’re looking at,” Venk pointed out. He was rapidly losing patience with the scholar, too. “Just get to the point, please.”
Breslin’s eyes widened.
“Wizards be damned. Tristofer, you’re right!”
“What?” Athos pushed his way past the scholar and his brother and studied Lukas’ back. “What is it? What do you see?”
“I had forgotten about that,” Breslin admitted. “Well done, Tristofer! Well done indeed.”
“Forgotten about what?” Athos demanded.
“The Questor’s Mark,” Tristofer told him. “It’s still there.”
“So?”
Venk let out an exclamation of surprise. He looked at his brother and smacked him on the back of his head.
“The Questor’s Mark is supposed to disappear once the quest was over. Remember?”
Rubbing the welt on his head, Athos turned back to his nephew’s mark and slowly nodded.
“Aye, I do remember that now. The mark is still there. Which means…”
“That we’re missing something,” Breslin and Venk said together.
Athos looked at the scholar and finally smiled. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Tristofer assured him.
“So what are we missing?” Breslin asked. He hooked a thumb in Lukas’ direction. “What does that tell you we need to do next?”
“Find Nar.”
“You still think my son’s back will lead us to Nar?” Venk asked incredulously. “There’s nothing left to reveal. You’re looking at the entire mark!”
Mumbling softly to himself, Tristofer squatted down next to Lukas and studied the mark. For nearly five minutes the scholar mumbled incoherently as his eyes skimmed over the Questor’s Mark.
“Talk it out,” Breslin encouraged, giving Tristofer a friendly pat on his shoulder. “If ever there was a person that could figure this out, it’d be you.”
Tristofer’s cheeks flushed as he continued to study Lukas’ back.
“Let’s review the facts,” he quietly said to himself, but loud enough for everyone to hear. “The mark turned out to be a map and it led us to the power hammer, which is consequently working. The mark was probably intended for someone else, presumably Master Maelnar as it was his workshop. However, for unknown reasons, the mark was bestowed upon an underling.
“We have since learned that in order to operate the hammer, the one who wields it must have Narian ancestry or else the hammer remains inert and practically unusable. Master Maelnar knew this and therefore insisted his son, who is also of Narian descent, join the group. I believe someone purposely wanted to give Maelnar, or in this case, Breslin that hammer. That begs the question who? Who would do that? Why would they do that?”
Breslin joined Venk and Athos on the log bench and watched with rapt fascination as Tristofer continued to recap all that they had learned thus far.
“One theory would be that there’s someone out there who knows where Nar is and is trying to lead us there. However, if that were the case, why send us all over Lentari on a scavenger hunt looking for pieces of a power hammer? That theory generates more questions than it answers. That couldn’t be right. Forget it.”
Tristofer started to pace as his brain cells warmed up. Lukas dropped his shirt back down and joined his father on the bench. All four watched the scholar pace back and forth.
“I’m forgetting what Shardwyn said. The spell necessary to create the Questor’s Mark is a very complex one, which sug
gests that whoever created it had plenty of time to do it. Taking that into consideration, what if that person knows the location of Nar and knows that the only way the city will be found is if the searcher also wields a power hammer?
“Wouldn’t that suggest that whoever created the Questor’s Mark is being held prisoner?” Breslin gently asked.
Tristofer’s head snapped up and over to Breslin. “Prisoner? Who said anything about a prisoner?”
“It’s just a suggestion.”
Venk rose to his feet. He pulled his son up with him and made a circular motion with a finger, indicating Lukas needed to turn around. The underling sighed again and pulled his shirt up.
“Let’s assume you’re right,” Venk began, “and say this is not only a guide to help us find the hammer but also to Nar itself. How do we find it? Is there something we need to do in order to reveal the next step?”
Tristofer shook his head. “I don’t think so. Let’s look at this logically. If we are to believe that we’ve been following a map, picking up pieces to a hammer along the way, then I would say that the very last location to be revealed should be where we start our search.”
Venk groaned. “You mean…”
Tristofer turned to look up at Dual Tree.
“Right. I think there might be more in that hollow between the trunks.”
“It figures,” Venk muttered darkly.
“So who goes?” Athos asked, still craning his neck to look up at the distant tree.
“As much as I don’t want to,” Breslin stated, leaning down to pick up the hammer, “none of you can wield this thing but me. That forces me to go. I’m hoping I can get a volunteer to accompany me.”
Venk and Athos eyed each other. Neither wanted to go, but neither would refuse if asked. Athos caught sight of Lukas and sighed again. Slowly, he raised a hand.
Rhamalli deposited the two dwarves back on the same tiny ledge as he had before. The huge red dragon took up his post of hanging from the nearby ridge and kept an eye on the dwarves tightly clutching the branches.
As soon as Athos’ feet had touched back down on the tiny ledge he had lunged forward to wrap his arms around the closest branch. Breslin followed suit moments later. Athos grunted and shook his head.
“The last time I was up here I vowed I would never be that far off the ground again.”
“And here you are,” Breslin commented as he carefully tilted his head from side to side to take in his surroundings. “So how do we do this? Care to lead the way?”
Athos nodded and began picking his way down the tree trunk until he finally approached the tiny opening at the base of Dual Tree. Casting a furtive glance behind him to make sure Breslin followed, he wiggled back through the tight hole and helped pull Breslin in as soon as he saw his hand poke through the entrance.
Climbing slowly to his feet, Breslin looked around at the insides of the hollow. Athos pointed up at the point where the two trunks came together.
“That’s where we found the handle.”
Breslin nodded. He pulled an axe from his belt and moved towards one of the many branches running through the cave.
“Maybe there’s something hiding behind one of these roots.”
Breslin readied a swing when Athos caught his arm and held it firm.
“Trust me, you don’t want to do that.”
The tree began swaying.
“Don’t mind him,” Athos called out in a loud voice. “He didn’t know. We won’t bother you. We’re just looking for clues. It’s been suggested that we’re missing something in here. I promise, no axes will be used.”
Breslin gave Athos a speculative stare. “You talk to trees?”
The tree stopped swaying.
Athos gave Breslin a smug smile. “Only when it works. Now put that axe away.”
One of the roots running throughout the hollow, about the same diameter as one of their legs, twitched.
After crawling about on their hands and knees for the better part of an hour, Athos finally sat back on his haunches and looked at his companion.
“There’s nothing here. Tristofer may very well believe we are missing something, and he’s probably right, but I don’t think it’s in here. Maybe we should check back at the waterfall?”
Breslin painfully rose to his feet and leaned against the closest wall.
“I’d have to agree. Roots and rock are the only things in here.”
They both heard the creaking and groaning of twisting wood. Venk nudged Breslin in the ribs and pointed at one of the smaller roots. It was lurching back and forth as apparently the tree attempted to pull the root out of the rocky soil. Now free of its stony confines, the root swiped across the floor in a back and forth motion. Several times it collided with the far cavern wall, knocking a few small pieces of stone loose in the process.
“What’s it doing?” Breslin anxiously asked Athos. “Did it do this to you last time?”
“It moved before, but not this much. This can’t be good. I think we need to get going. We’ll have to search the –”
The tree lurched violently, knocking the dwarves off their feet. One of the larger roots lifted up and extricated itself from the mountainside. Acting as a feeler, the root began questing about the room. The thick green tentacle bumped into Breslin and hesitated. The root retreated a few feet before it coiled back and snapped forward, thumping Breslin squarely in the chest, knocking him backward a few feet.
The root snaked out again as it quested about the hollow for the intruders. Both Breslin and Athos cautiously backed away from the tree’s root.
“Rhamalli, we’re getting ready to come out,” Breslin shouted towards the tiny entrance. “Although I have no intention of leaping outside, would you please be ready to catch us in case we fall?”
The ground trembled as the dragon inched closer to the tree. “Is everything alright in there?”
“For the time being. That could change at any moment, though.”
“Understood. I am ready.”
A third root, larger and thicker than the rest, silently extricated itself from the ground and lunged forward. Once more contact was made and Breslin found himself flying through the air. He impacted the far wall and slid down it into a heap.
“Breslin! Hold on, I’ll be right there!” Athos angrily looked up and scowled at the tree. “We didn’t do anything to you! Stop this nonsense immediately!”
Surprisingly, the tree complied. The roots settled down onto the floor and became quiescent. Athos hurried over to Breslin and helped him to his feet.
“Are you alright? I think it’s time to go while the tree is preoccupied. What are you waiting for? What are you doing?”
Breslin had turned around and placed a hand up against the wall he had just slammed into. Leaning first to the left, and then to the right, Breslin turned back to Athos, smiling profusely.
“What?” Athos snapped. “What are you smiling at me for? Did you hit your head? Maybe you should stay sitting down for a while.”
Athos reached for his friend but Breslin batted away his hand.
“Come, come, look here. What do you see?”
Athos peered at the impassable wall before them and shrugged. “Stone. Lots of it.”
“Stay right there but angle your head about twenty degrees west. Now tell me what you see.”
Athos did as he was told and shrugged again.
“More rock. What are you going on about? There’s nothing but…”
Breslin suddenly thrust his hand forward, appearing as though he was giving the mountain a violent shove. His hand, inexplicably, seemed to sink into the rocky wall.
Athos stared, open-mouthed.
Breslin beamed. “We have ourselves an entrance. A dwarven entrance!”
Chapter 11 – Lost City No More
“No clue,” Athos mumbled. “And I suppose you’re going to tell us?”
“Never since the time of the dragon riders has one of the famed Narian tools ever been recovered. If it proves to be authentic, think what benefits we’ll learn from the metallurgical analysis!”
“If it proves to be authentic?” Breslin repeated. “Don’t make me recant my earlier praise. You know just as well as I do that all four pieces are authentic. The only thing left to do now is to assemble the hammer. It should be simple.”
“Who gets the honor?” Athos asked, hopeful that he might selected to piece together the tool created so many centuries ago.
“I’d say the honor should go to Master Venk,” Breslin answered. “We’re all here because of his son.”
Nodding appreciatively, Venk took the carved handle and examined the ends, searching for some indication of which way was up. There was none. Shrugging, he picked up the misshapen head and threaded the handle through hole to the right of the striking head. Here now he paused. What was to prevent the head from sliding down the handle? Typically hammer handles were either flared at one end, allowing the head to be wedged into place, or else the end of the handle was flattened with repeated blows from another hammer. Either method was a generally accepted practice of creating a hammer. However, neither would work here.
The ornate wooden handle, with carvings covering every square inch of its surface, was just that: wooden. Any attempts to flatten either end of the handle would result in the shaft splintering or breaking. The handle was also, as Venk had already discovered, perfectly straight. Neither end was flared, so the head would simply slide off once the hammer was lifted upright.
Venk studied the other pieces. Could he have the order wrong? Basic hammer components remained the same, although their design could vary. Hammer head, handle, and counterweight if the hammer didn’t have dual striking heads, which this one didn’t. Either they were missing something or else the fourth and final piece of the hammer played a more significant role than he had originally believed.
Venk picked up the spiraled gem. He studied the glittering jewel and noted that the natural shape of the ruby whorl suggested it had to be inserted into the hammer. But how? There was no empty hole anywhere on the hammer’s head that indicated where the gem should sit. Maybe it could be forced in?
Almost instantly Venk shook his head, dismissing the thought. The last thing he wanted to do was be responsible for damaging the unique gem. Any situation which required a hammer in one hand and something delicate in the other could never end well. Not for him, anyway.
Nevertheless, Venk slid the hammer head into place on the handle and laid it reverently down on the grass. He picked up the square counterweight and slid that onto the head’s non-striking surface, positioning it up against the handle. Holding the gem in his left hand, he gently turned the hammer on its side. Careful not to let any of the pieces fall out of place, he tilted the hammer onto its back. A quick inspection of each side confirmed his earlier suspicions. There was nowhere to insert the gem.
“Tristofer, let’s see that book of yours again. I want to see where the gem is supposed to be.”
The scholar produced the book after a quick inventory of his pockets. He flipped to the page with the close-up of the hammer and handed it to Venk. Tristofer leaned over his shoulder and tapped the picture of the hammer.
“Look there. See? The gem doesn’t appear to be on the striking surface, but more on the side.”
A quick scowl from Venk had Tristofer yanking his arm out of harm’s way. He returned to studying the illustration of the tiny hammer.
“With the striking head on the left, and the small point on the right, with the weight sitting on the head directly after the handle, there’s no room for error.” Venk glanced up to judge the reactions from his companions. “There isn’t any other way to assemble the hammer. This must be right.”
Tristofer pointed at the square metal weight.
“The counter weight could be reversed. That might –”
“What?” Venk interrupted. “Affect how the crystal is inserted into the hammer? I don’t see how.”
Athos stared at the pieces of the hammer and rolled his eyes. He approached his brother and slid the counter weight off the hammer, rotated it 90° and returned it to its place on the head’s shank. Together he and his brother turned the hammer over so they could look for any changes. When none was forthcoming Athos rotated the counter weight again. When he had gone through all possible permutations, and still the mystery of the gem remained unsolved, Athos returned to Breslin’s side to brood some more.
Tristofer nodded appreciatively.
Breslin clapped his hands together, startling everyone out of there reverie.
“What we have here is a mystery. This hammer is supposed to hold incredible power. How? How do we activate it? Does anyone have any ideas?”
“The gem goes on the head,” Athos reminded everyone. “I say we pound it in.”
“We’d risk breaking the jewel,” Breslin told him, shaking his head no. “We can’t risk that. If we had another, perhaps. Since we don’t, we won’t attempt it.”
Athos pulled a hammer from his belt.
“You never know until you try.”
“Put it away, Athos,” Breslin told him. “You’re not going to pound the jewel into the hammer.”
“What about drilling our own hole into the head?” Venk suggested.
“We’d need a forge and smithing tools to do that,” Athos automatically replied. “And even then all hammer heads are heat tempered. I strongly doubt we’d be able to scratch it.”
The brainstorming session lasted another thirty minutes before the dwarves finally noticed it was getting late in the day and a suitable place to camp needed to be found.
“I want to be as far away from the Kla Rehn as possible,” Breslin informed his companions. “They steered us away from the tree on purpose. I don’t know who conspires against us, and until I do, I won’t trust any of them.”
“Is it any wonder why I didn’t stay?” Tristofer muttered sarcastically under his breath.
Athos snorted with laughter and slapped the scholar on the back. Surprised by the sudden show of camaraderie, Tristofer chuckled as he scooped up the pieces of the hammer and safely stowed them in his pack.
An hour later, after searching fruitlessly for a suitable campsite, Athos was sent out to scout around. The surrounding countryside, the dwarves learned, was perfect for camping as there was plenty of game in the forest and plenty of trees for stringing their hammocks, but was startled to discover they couldn’t find a single spring of fresh water with which to quench their thirst.
“How does this ruddy forest stay so blasted green without a river or a stream to sustain it?” Breslin grumbled loudly.
He, like the others, was tired of wandering aimlessly through the trees over uneven ground and was about ready to swallow his pride to call Rhamalli when Venk let out an exclamation of surprise.
Snatching his axe off his back, Breslin whirled around to see Athos similarly armed and glaring at his brother.
“What is it?” Breslin asked. He glanced left, then right, and then finally up before he faced his companion.
“I almost forgot. We don’t need to look for water. We have Shardwyn’s final spell.”
“And which one would that be?” Athos asked suspiciously.
“The one with the drop of water on it. I believe Shardwyn said it’d summon water.”
Athos crossed his arms over his chest.
“How much water?”
Venk shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Pah. I’d rather keep searching for wa
Venk reached into his pack and pulled out the white silk bag. He fished out the remaining sphere with the drop of water etched onto its surface and eyed his companions.
“What could it hurt? Besides, we’ve got it, haven’t we? Might as well use it.”
Breslin yawned and stretched his back. He dropped his pack to the ground and inclined his head at Venk.
“Very well. We make camp here. Once we’ve settled, then we’ll see what Shardwyn has in store for us.”
“Shouldn’t we try the spell before we make camp?” Athos asked. “What if the spell doesn’t work and we still don’t have any water?”
“Then we’ll make do until tomorrow.”
Grateful for the reprieve in walking, Tristofer allowed his heavy pack to slide off his shoulder and fall to the ground.
Within the hour hammocks had been strung, a fire had been started, and several fallen logs had been pulled in to serve as benches. Empty water bags were produced and held uncertainly as they each nervously eyed Venk. Gritting his teeth, Venk looked at the white sphere in his hand and thought back to the fire spell they were given. That spell had only produced a tiny flame, enough to light a candle. Surely this spell would summon enough water to satisfy five dwarves!
“Here we go. Brace yourselves.”
Venk silently invoked the spell. It disappeared in a bright burst of light and was gone.
Athos angled his water bag back so that he could look down its neck and see for himself how much water it contained. He scowled. It was the same as before. Shardwyn’s spell hadn’t worked.
Athos sighed loudly. “That fool has duped us again.”
It was as if the skies had split open. It wasn’t rain that assaulted them. Rainfall was comprised of drops of water that fell in various quantities. This was several thousand gallons of water falling out of the sky all at the same time. Their campfire disappeared in the blink of an eye. Their hearth became a pool. Everyone was drenched in a split second’s time. Branches were snapped off trees. Shrubs were ripped out of the ground. To add further insult to their injury, their hammocks were ripped off the trees, some still tied to their branches.
It all happened so fast that the dwarves didn’t have a chance to duck for cover. Several seconds later it was over. The remnants of the flood followed the gently sloping land and had completely drained away by the time Breslin, Athos, Tristofer, and even Lukas turned to stare at Venk.
“I really hate that wizard.”
Breslin looked down at the water bag still clutched tightly against his sopping chest. He wrung out his beard.
“Well, it worked. My bag is full.”
Venk awoke early the following morning. Early for a dwarf, that is. The sun had risen high enough to permeate the dense foliage in the forest, scattering sun beams all across the camp. One had the misfortune of hitting Venk square in the eye.
Venk grumbled and rolled to his side, pulling down his helmet even further. Another sun beam blinded him. Blinking away the spots dancing before his vision, Venk saw that an errant beam of light had hit his brother’s axe and had bounced it his direction. Naturally the beam had hit him right in the eyes again.
Softly cursing to himself Venk swung his legs over his hammock and pulled his boots on. Grabbing a dried strip of meat, he wandered over to the bag that held the pieces of the hammer. He quietly pulled them out and assembled the Narian tool once more.
As before, the pieces fit together nicely, but it was still unclear how the gem fit into the puzzle.
“Perhaps young Lukas should give it a try,” a voice softly suggested.
Venk looked up and saw that he wasn’t the only one starting the day early. He bowed.
“Master Breslin. You’re up early.”
“As are you, Master Venk.”
“Couldn’t sleep. The damn sun thought it funny to see how many different ways it could get into my eyes.”
Breslin grunted. Venk looked over at the still form of Lukas, asleep in his hammock. He looked back at Breslin and raised an eyebrow.
“You think my son should put the hammer together?”
“He is the bearer of the Questor’s Mark,” Breslin reminded him. “Perhaps this task should be his.”
Venk’s gaze returned to his son, who was stirring. Once the underling’s tousled head appeared and searched him out, Venk waved him over.
“What is it, father?”
Venk swept an arm over the hammer pieces lying in the grass.
“Care to give it a try?”
Pleased to be given such an important task, Lukas nodded. He eagerly gripped the handle and lifted the head into position. As had happened with everyone else, the head slid unencumbered down the handle. It would have smashed into Lukas’ hand had his father not caught the head before it made contact.
“Assemble it down on the ground,” he told his son. “That way you don’t have to worry about anything sliding or falling off.”
Lukas added the counter weight then picked up the gem. He looked at his father and then back at the hammer.
“I don’t know where this goes.”
“That makes two of us, boy.”
Catching sight of the intricate symbols and runes carved into the hammer’s handle, Lukas handed the head and counterweight to his father. Noticing that he still had the spiral gem in his left hand, he handed that to Breslin.
“Maybe the handle tells us what we need to do,” Lukas suggested. He peered closer at a carving of a rudimentary kyte.
Smiling proudly as he watched his son slowly rotate the handle, Venk caught sight of Breslin, who had been staring at his hand ever since Lukas had handed him the jewel.
“What’s the matter?” Venk asked in a whisper, intent on not disturbing Lukas during his examination of the handle.
Breslin was staring down at his hand, a look of surprise on his face. He glanced upward to note the sun’s position.
“What is it?” Venk repeated.
“This thing is warm,” Breslin whispered back, holding out the gem in an open hand. “Feels like it has been in the sun all day, but sunrise was less than an hour ago. Have you ever noticed it being warm?”
Breslin passed the gem to Venk who closed his fingers around it. Venk waited a few moments before looking back at his friend.
“It’s not warm. It’s cold.”
Breslin snatched it back. “No it’s not. It’s warm. You can’t feel that?”
Venk plucked the jewel back out of Breslin’s outstretched hand and felt it. It wasn’t warm for him. He looked up at his son who was running his fingers over several of the carvings on the handle.
“Son, when you held the gem, did it feel warm to you?”
Without looking up, Lukas shook his head no.
Venk looked back at the gem, then down at the rest of the hammer pieces.
“New plan. Master Breslin, you put that thing together.”
Lukas handed the handle over to Breslin, who shrugged. Setting the jewel down on the grass, Breslin picked up the head and slid the handle into place. He picked up the counter weight and also slid it on. He picked the gem back up just as the head slid down the shaft of wood. He let the handle fall to the ground and caught the head before it could fall to the ground, too.
The moment Breslin came into direct physical contact with both the head and the gem at the same time caused a reaction that no one anticipated: the ruby whorl began to glow. Venk hastily squatted to retrieve the fallen handle. He handed it to Breslin and then stepped back a few paces. Gripping the head and weight tightly, Breslin slid the handle back into position and with a firm grip of the jewel, gently lowered the hammer to the ground.
As soon as Breslin rotated the hammer so that he was looking at the side of the head, and not the striking surface, he let out an exclamation of surprise. There was now a tiny divot marring the once blemis
The whorl spun in place as it screwed itself into the head of the hammer. Breslin noticed that the hammer instantly became lightweight, almost as though the hammer had lost its mass. He gazed with rapt fascination at the hammer. They had done it! He was holding an honest to goodness power hammer from Nar!
The hammer all but vibrated with power. It electrified his arm, sending jolts of energy up his arm and into his chest. His heart rate accelerated and his breathing increased. This was the only hammer a smith would ever want. The desire to smash something overwhelmed him and he looked around the glade they were in.
Breslin strode to the nearest boulder and delivered a swift blow. Lacking the momentum of a full swing, any normal hammer would have bounced harmlessly off the huge stone. The horse sized boulder shattered, becoming several thousand pieces of gravel. Breslin was grinning like an underling with a new toy.
“I need to get me one of these!”
He eagerly scanned the vicinity, looking for more potential targets he could reduce to rubble.
Athos suddenly appeared, axe in hand. He glanced suspiciously at his brother before noticing Breslin standing next to a large pile of pebbles.
“What’s going on?”
Breslin held up the hammer and showed Athos the sparkling jewel attached to the head. Recognizing the tool for what it was, Athos’ mouth fell open.
“What the… How did you do it? What… what holds it together?”
Breslin tapped the jewel. “Tristofer was right. The gem was the key.”
“Did someone say my name?” Tristofer sleepily asked as he appeared next to Athos. “What about me?”
Athos pointed at the hammer. “Look what Breslin is holding.”
Tristofer stared so long at the assembled hammer that Athos had to poke him in the ribs to see if he had fallen asleep. After a few minutes of awkward silence, the scholar finally approached Breslin and held out both hands.
“May I?”
Breslin nodded. Gripping the hammer by its head, he held out the handle and waited for Tristofer to take it. As soon as the hammer passed to Tristofer, the jewel faded and the hammer became inert. Tristofer dropped the hammer on the ground.
Venk, who hadn’t seen the hammer go inactive, looked at Tristofer as though he had just dropped the hammer off a cliff.
“What are you doing? Pick that back up!”
Clasping both hands on the hammer’s handle, Tristofer heaved the tool off the ground, but only managed a few feet before it slid back through his fingers and thumped back onto the ground.
“It’s so heavy! I never dreamed it’d be so difficult to wield!”
Confused, Breslin strode three steps towards the hammer and plucked the tool off the ground as though it weighed no more than a feather.
“It’s not heavy,” Breslin told Tristofer. “At least, it isn’t for me.”
Venk held out a hand. “Let me try it.”
Venk grunted with surprise as soon as he was given the hammer. Reaching over to clasp the handle with both hands, he struggled to keep the hammer off the ground. It felt as though someone had tied a rope around the hammer and was pulling it down.
“It’s not just Tristofer,” Venk reported through gritted teeth as he struggled to keep the hammer off the ground. “I’ve lifted anvils that are lighter than this.”
Lukas pointed at the hammer’s head. “The gem! Father, the gem is no longer glowing!”
“Really? It was glowing just a few moments ago.” Unable to lift the hammer up to his face to inspect the jewel, Venk leaned to the left to see for himself that the ruby was now dark.
His arms were aching, his grip tiring. He decided to let the hammer slide through his fingers and fall to the ground. He turned to Tristofer.
“Why’d it go dark for me?”
“When’s the last time you washed your hands?” Athos joked as he tried his luck with the power hammer. “Was it lit when you first picked it up?”
Venk thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. Once Breslin let go, it went dark.”
After a few minutes to ascertain for himself that the hammer was an ungainly as everyone had made it out be, Athos also let the priceless Narian keepsake fall to the ground. He looked over his shoulder at Breslin.
“I can’t say that I care for it that much.”
Breslin picked the hammer up and watched the gem start to glow once more. As before, it was incredibly lightweight in his hand, so much so that he imagined he could wield it for hours without feeling any fatigue.
“Why does it work for you and no one else?” Venk asked.
Breslin considered the question.
“When I was a boy, my father used to tell me that I had Narian blood running through my veins. I always thought that all fathers must tell their sons that as a way to get them to behave. ‘Do not disgrace your Narian ancestors,’ my father would always tell me.”
“How many times did you get into trouble when you were a lad?” Venk asked, curious. Try as he might, he just couldn’t picture the always reserved Breslin as an underling, let alone one that got into trouble.
“I was an ill-tempered brat in my youth,” Breslin added with a grin. “I guess it was my own way to get my father to pay attention to me as he never seemed to have time for anything else but his beloved workshop.”
Athos glanced first at the hammer and then back at Breslin. “So you’re part Narian, is that it? That’s why that thing works for you?”
“If that is so,” Venk argued, “then why didn’t it work for Tristofer? Isn’t he a descendant? I do recall someone mentioning that to me at some point.”
Everyone looked at the scholar, who was otherwise preoccupied by checking his leather boots for scuff marks.
“That must explain why my father was insistent that I join this expedition,” Breslin exclaimed. “It wasn’t to speak for the Council but instead it was in case the mission was successful.”
Venk nodded thoughtfully. “Then that means your father knew about your heritage. Did he know we were looking for a hammer?”
“I don’t think so,” Breslin answered. “There would have been no way for him to know. I can only guess that all other Narian tools and weapons would behave the same way. The wielder must be Narian.”
Athos frowned. “So the hammer was intended for Breslin all along? Why not just send the Questor’s Mark to him instead of Lukas?”
Athos suddenly straightened and a look of enlightenment crossed his surly features.
“I’ll wager I know what happened. The mark wasn’t meant for Lukas.”
“You don’t know that for certain,” Venk began.
“Let me finish. The mark wasn’t meant for Lukas, nor was it meant for Breslin. I’d say it was meant for Maelnar.”
Breslin nodded. “I see your point. I’m part Narian and therefore so is my father. Lukas received the mark in my father’s workshop, and I’m willing to bet that of all the people that was attending his seminar that day, he alone was the only one that could lay claim to the Narian line.”
Tristofer finally pulled his gaze up off the ground and joined the conversation.
“Why would someone want to give the Questor’s Mark to Maelnar? No offense to your father, Master Breslin, but he’s too old to go on an adventure such as this.”
Breslin shrugged. “I don’t know why my father was singled out other than someone clearly knew he was of Narian descent. Who would know that?”
Athos crossed his arms over his chest while Venk jammed his hands in his pockets. Tristofer clasped his hands behind his back and waited for someone else to proffer an answer. Venk looked up.
“Does it matter now that you have it? Whether it’s you or your father, the hammer pieces have been found and have been assembled. What’s more, the hammer actually works! So my question is, what do we do now???
“You feel like we’re missing something?” Breslin asked him. “Again?”
Venk nodded. “Don’t you? This feels rather anti-climatic if you ask me. Tristofer, why are you acting so smug? What do you know that we don’t?”
Tristofer had started smiling just a few moments ago. He was eagerly looking at each member of their party, as if trying to mentally share a secret with his companions.
Breslin sat down on the nearest stump and set the hammer head first down on the ground with the handle pointing up.
“Out with it. Are we missing something?”
Tristofer nodded, much like an underling would if asked if they’d like a sugary sweet.
“Well?”
“I should say so! Our quest isn’t over!”
“What? Yes, it is. We have overcome all the obstacles placed before us and found the pieces of the hammer.” Venk pointed at the hammer resting on the ground. “There it sits. What more is there to do?”
“Find Nar.”
Venk groaned, Athos snorted, and Breslin sighed. Only Lukas seemed eager to hear what the scholar had to say.
“How?” Breslin wanted to know.
“By using the hammer, of course.”
The two brothers sank down upon the closest bench and started whispering to each other as they wagered on the outcome of this confrontation.
“Use the hammer?” Breslin shook his head. “We’re no closer now to figuring out where Nar is than when we first set out. The Questor’s Mark was a map, alright, only it led us to the hammer and not to Nar.”
Tristofer smiled. “Are you sure about that?”
“About the mark leading us to the hammer?” Breslin looked down and inclined his head toward the hammer. “Pretty sure. As for the mark somehow leading us to Nar? Look around. There are no lost cities around here.”
Tristofer squatted down next to Breslin so that he could speak with him eye-to-eye.
“The Questor’s Mark guided us to the hammer. What if the Questor’s Mark also leads the way to Nar? We just have to figure it out.”
“Look, Tristofer,” Breslin began tiredly as he removed his helmet and wiped a sleeve along his brow, “I know you want to believe that somehow we’re missing something, but there’s no proof that anything is amiss on the Questor’s Mark. No one will ever be able to doubt you anymore. You’ve helped recover a Narian tool! That, by itself, is a remarkable feat. That hammer will be able to unlock some of the greatest metallurgical mysteries that have ever existed amongst our people. Don’t be too hard on yourself. I think you’ve done great work here. We all do, don’t we?”
Venk and Athos both nodded. Athos wordlessly tossed a small pouch to his brother, figuring Breslin would have degraded the scholar for even suggesting that they were missing something. A quest was a quest. They came, they searched, and they found. Mission accomplished as far as he was concerned.
Looking around the group, Tristofer smiled enigmatically. “We’re not done yet, my friends.”
Growing angry, Breslin stood.
“You had better base this on solid, tangible evidence,” he warned. “No more guessing.”
Tristofer didn’t appear unsettled at all. In fact, he couldn’t be more pleased with Breslin’s choice of words.
“Master Lukas, could you come here a moment? Can you show us the Questor’s Mark again?”
Lukas’ smile vanished as soon as the scholar’s intentions became clear. The underling had become self-conscious about showing his bare back ever since the mark had appeared and now it seemed that’s all anyone wanted to do was to gaze upon the large mark covering his back. He had hoped that once the handle had been found then he wouldn’t have to worry about exposing his back ever again.
Careful to face away from his father, Lukas rolled his eyes. He hitched his jerkin up to his chin and waited for the adults to finish commenting on the mark covering his back.
“You’re only proving my point,” Breslin was saying as he looked upon the Questor’s Mark. “There are no more hidden areas. All sections have been revealed. There’s nothing left to do.”
“On the contrary,” Tristofer began, still wearing his smug smile, “you couldn’t be more wrong.”
“Where’s your proof?” Athos demanded.
Tristofer pointed at the Questor’s Mark.
“Right there.”
“You’re looking at the same thing we’re looking at,” Venk pointed out. He was rapidly losing patience with the scholar, too. “Just get to the point, please.”
Breslin’s eyes widened.
“Wizards be damned. Tristofer, you’re right!”
“What?” Athos pushed his way past the scholar and his brother and studied Lukas’ back. “What is it? What do you see?”
“I had forgotten about that,” Breslin admitted. “Well done, Tristofer! Well done indeed.”
“Forgotten about what?” Athos demanded.
“The Questor’s Mark,” Tristofer told him. “It’s still there.”
“So?”
Venk let out an exclamation of surprise. He looked at his brother and smacked him on the back of his head.
“The Questor’s Mark is supposed to disappear once the quest was over. Remember?”
Rubbing the welt on his head, Athos turned back to his nephew’s mark and slowly nodded.
“Aye, I do remember that now. The mark is still there. Which means…”
“That we’re missing something,” Breslin and Venk said together.
Athos looked at the scholar and finally smiled. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Tristofer assured him.
“So what are we missing?” Breslin asked. He hooked a thumb in Lukas’ direction. “What does that tell you we need to do next?”
“Find Nar.”
“You still think my son’s back will lead us to Nar?” Venk asked incredulously. “There’s nothing left to reveal. You’re looking at the entire mark!”
Mumbling softly to himself, Tristofer squatted down next to Lukas and studied the mark. For nearly five minutes the scholar mumbled incoherently as his eyes skimmed over the Questor’s Mark.
“Talk it out,” Breslin encouraged, giving Tristofer a friendly pat on his shoulder. “If ever there was a person that could figure this out, it’d be you.”
Tristofer’s cheeks flushed as he continued to study Lukas’ back.
“Let’s review the facts,” he quietly said to himself, but loud enough for everyone to hear. “The mark turned out to be a map and it led us to the power hammer, which is consequently working. The mark was probably intended for someone else, presumably Master Maelnar as it was his workshop. However, for unknown reasons, the mark was bestowed upon an underling.
“We have since learned that in order to operate the hammer, the one who wields it must have Narian ancestry or else the hammer remains inert and practically unusable. Master Maelnar knew this and therefore insisted his son, who is also of Narian descent, join the group. I believe someone purposely wanted to give Maelnar, or in this case, Breslin that hammer. That begs the question who? Who would do that? Why would they do that?”
Breslin joined Venk and Athos on the log bench and watched with rapt fascination as Tristofer continued to recap all that they had learned thus far.
“One theory would be that there’s someone out there who knows where Nar is and is trying to lead us there. However, if that were the case, why send us all over Lentari on a scavenger hunt looking for pieces of a power hammer? That theory generates more questions than it answers. That couldn’t be right. Forget it.”
Tristofer started to pace as his brain cells warmed up. Lukas dropped his shirt back down and joined his father on the bench. All four watched the scholar pace back and forth.
“I’m forgetting what Shardwyn said. The spell necessary to create the Questor’s Mark is a very complex one, which sug
“Wouldn’t that suggest that whoever created the Questor’s Mark is being held prisoner?” Breslin gently asked.
Tristofer’s head snapped up and over to Breslin. “Prisoner? Who said anything about a prisoner?”
“It’s just a suggestion.”
Venk rose to his feet. He pulled his son up with him and made a circular motion with a finger, indicating Lukas needed to turn around. The underling sighed again and pulled his shirt up.
“Let’s assume you’re right,” Venk began, “and say this is not only a guide to help us find the hammer but also to Nar itself. How do we find it? Is there something we need to do in order to reveal the next step?”
Tristofer shook his head. “I don’t think so. Let’s look at this logically. If we are to believe that we’ve been following a map, picking up pieces to a hammer along the way, then I would say that the very last location to be revealed should be where we start our search.”
Venk groaned. “You mean…”
Tristofer turned to look up at Dual Tree.
“Right. I think there might be more in that hollow between the trunks.”
“It figures,” Venk muttered darkly.
“So who goes?” Athos asked, still craning his neck to look up at the distant tree.
“As much as I don’t want to,” Breslin stated, leaning down to pick up the hammer, “none of you can wield this thing but me. That forces me to go. I’m hoping I can get a volunteer to accompany me.”
Venk and Athos eyed each other. Neither wanted to go, but neither would refuse if asked. Athos caught sight of Lukas and sighed again. Slowly, he raised a hand.
Rhamalli deposited the two dwarves back on the same tiny ledge as he had before. The huge red dragon took up his post of hanging from the nearby ridge and kept an eye on the dwarves tightly clutching the branches.
As soon as Athos’ feet had touched back down on the tiny ledge he had lunged forward to wrap his arms around the closest branch. Breslin followed suit moments later. Athos grunted and shook his head.
“The last time I was up here I vowed I would never be that far off the ground again.”
“And here you are,” Breslin commented as he carefully tilted his head from side to side to take in his surroundings. “So how do we do this? Care to lead the way?”
Athos nodded and began picking his way down the tree trunk until he finally approached the tiny opening at the base of Dual Tree. Casting a furtive glance behind him to make sure Breslin followed, he wiggled back through the tight hole and helped pull Breslin in as soon as he saw his hand poke through the entrance.
Climbing slowly to his feet, Breslin looked around at the insides of the hollow. Athos pointed up at the point where the two trunks came together.
“That’s where we found the handle.”
Breslin nodded. He pulled an axe from his belt and moved towards one of the many branches running through the cave.
“Maybe there’s something hiding behind one of these roots.”
Breslin readied a swing when Athos caught his arm and held it firm.
“Trust me, you don’t want to do that.”
The tree began swaying.
“Don’t mind him,” Athos called out in a loud voice. “He didn’t know. We won’t bother you. We’re just looking for clues. It’s been suggested that we’re missing something in here. I promise, no axes will be used.”
Breslin gave Athos a speculative stare. “You talk to trees?”
The tree stopped swaying.
Athos gave Breslin a smug smile. “Only when it works. Now put that axe away.”
One of the roots running throughout the hollow, about the same diameter as one of their legs, twitched.
After crawling about on their hands and knees for the better part of an hour, Athos finally sat back on his haunches and looked at his companion.
“There’s nothing here. Tristofer may very well believe we are missing something, and he’s probably right, but I don’t think it’s in here. Maybe we should check back at the waterfall?”
Breslin painfully rose to his feet and leaned against the closest wall.
“I’d have to agree. Roots and rock are the only things in here.”
They both heard the creaking and groaning of twisting wood. Venk nudged Breslin in the ribs and pointed at one of the smaller roots. It was lurching back and forth as apparently the tree attempted to pull the root out of the rocky soil. Now free of its stony confines, the root swiped across the floor in a back and forth motion. Several times it collided with the far cavern wall, knocking a few small pieces of stone loose in the process.
“What’s it doing?” Breslin anxiously asked Athos. “Did it do this to you last time?”
“It moved before, but not this much. This can’t be good. I think we need to get going. We’ll have to search the –”
The tree lurched violently, knocking the dwarves off their feet. One of the larger roots lifted up and extricated itself from the mountainside. Acting as a feeler, the root began questing about the room. The thick green tentacle bumped into Breslin and hesitated. The root retreated a few feet before it coiled back and snapped forward, thumping Breslin squarely in the chest, knocking him backward a few feet.
The root snaked out again as it quested about the hollow for the intruders. Both Breslin and Athos cautiously backed away from the tree’s root.
“Rhamalli, we’re getting ready to come out,” Breslin shouted towards the tiny entrance. “Although I have no intention of leaping outside, would you please be ready to catch us in case we fall?”
The ground trembled as the dragon inched closer to the tree. “Is everything alright in there?”
“For the time being. That could change at any moment, though.”
“Understood. I am ready.”
A third root, larger and thicker than the rest, silently extricated itself from the ground and lunged forward. Once more contact was made and Breslin found himself flying through the air. He impacted the far wall and slid down it into a heap.
“Breslin! Hold on, I’ll be right there!” Athos angrily looked up and scowled at the tree. “We didn’t do anything to you! Stop this nonsense immediately!”
Surprisingly, the tree complied. The roots settled down onto the floor and became quiescent. Athos hurried over to Breslin and helped him to his feet.
“Are you alright? I think it’s time to go while the tree is preoccupied. What are you waiting for? What are you doing?”
Breslin had turned around and placed a hand up against the wall he had just slammed into. Leaning first to the left, and then to the right, Breslin turned back to Athos, smiling profusely.
“What?” Athos snapped. “What are you smiling at me for? Did you hit your head? Maybe you should stay sitting down for a while.”
Athos reached for his friend but Breslin batted away his hand.
“Come, come, look here. What do you see?”
Athos peered at the impassable wall before them and shrugged. “Stone. Lots of it.”
“Stay right there but angle your head about twenty degrees west. Now tell me what you see.”
Athos did as he was told and shrugged again.
“More rock. What are you going on about? There’s nothing but…”
Breslin suddenly thrust his hand forward, appearing as though he was giving the mountain a violent shove. His hand, inexplicably, seemed to sink into the rocky wall.
Athos stared, open-mouthed.
Breslin beamed. “We have ourselves an entrance. A dwarven entrance!”
Chapter 11 – Lost City No More