Athos raised a hand. “If my nephew undergoes this quest, and is successful, then the mark will vanish?”
The scholar nodded. “In theory, aye.”
“In theory?” Venk repeated, frowning.
“This is a civilization that existed thousands of years ago,” Tristofer cautioned. “Whether or not we’re right could be anyone’s guess.”
“Can you determine when that spell was cast?” Venk asked. “Is this a remnant from ancient Nar or did someone actually cast the spell this year?”
Everyone turned to the wizard.
“The boy received the mark earlier this year, am I right?”
Venk and Athos both nodded.
“Then it was cast this year.”
“Are you aware of anyone that could have created the mark?” Maelnar asked.
Shardwyn shook his head. “I have no qualms in revealing that I could not have cast that spell. It is beyond me.”
“Does that mean there’s a more powerful wizard out there somewhere?”
Shardwyn shrugged helplessly. “I certainly hope not, master dwarf. Whether there is or isn’t, I will need to inform the king.”
“How do I accept the quest?” Lukas suddenly asked.
“You don’t,” Venk told him flatly.
“The mark is on me, father. I was given it for a reason.”
“You will let someone else determine that reason,” his father told him.
“If you want the mark removed from his back, and I know you do,” Athos told his brother, “then we should see this through.”
Venk rounded on his brother. “And are you prepared to... to... we don’t even know what we would have to do!”
“Irrelevant. If this is what it’ll take to remove that mark from my nephew’s back, then so be it. I’m ready.”
Venk sighed and turned back to Shardwyn.
“Very well. What do we have to do?”
Tristofer raised a hand. “I believe I can answer that question. The answer can be found in the history books. Those that were lucky enough to get a Questor’s Mark would say, in a loud voice, ‘challenge accepted’. Then it is said that the first leg of the journey would be revealed.”
Lukas looked at his father, who nodded in return. The boy cleared his throat.
“Challenge accepted.”
The lower left quadrant of the mark shimmered and suddenly leapt into focus. A series of wavy lines appeared. Centered in the midst of the lines was the outline of a humanoid head. Long, flowing hair was splayed out to the right.
Venk tapped the image of the head. “Is this supposed to be a human’s head? In the water? How does that help us?”
Just as baffled as the rest of the group, Maelnar grunted. “I’m not sure. Does this mean anything to anyone? How this is supposed to –”
Maelnar trailed off as he caught sight of Shardwyn. The wizard was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, practically bursting at the seams.
“Alright Shardwyn, what is it? I can see you have something to add.”
“It’s a nixie!”
“A what?”
“A nixie!”
Maelnar shot a glance at Tristofer, who shrugged. “I’m not familiar with that word.”
“A nixie is a water sprite, my dear fellow. How can you not know what a nixie is?”
“There aren’t many subterranean lakes, wizard. Perhaps you have noticed? Besides, haven’t the water sprites been extinct for centuries?”
Shardwyn nodded. “I’m aware. Terrible shame. They were a very friendly species. Too trusting, I’m afraid, which is what led to their downfall.”
“I’d say this confirms the spell which put that mark on my son was cast many years ago,” Venk decided.
Ignoring him, Maelnar turned back to the wizard. “When they were alive, what was their native habitat? And if you tell me ‘water’ I will personally dispose of everything presently cluttering up my desk.”
“Only the purest freshwater lakes, like the ones you would find nestled in the thick of a forest.”
“Which forest?” Athos asked.
Shardwyn shrugged. “Any forest.”
“That’s just great. Where do we start? What exactly are we looking for?”
“Do you have a map of Anakash Forest?” Shardwyn asked Maelnar.
Tristofer patted several of his pockets before he produced a rolled tube of paper from inside his jacket. He unfurled the map and placed several of Shardwyn’s bottles on each corner to prevent the map from rolling back up.
“Been holding on to this for a while,” the scholar admitted. “Not sure why.”
Shardwyn tapped a small lake southwest of the river village of Donlari. The lake was surrounded on all sides by leagues of forest.
“I would start here at Lake Alpin, master dwarf. This is the largest freshwater lake in the area and was their last known location.”
“Last known location?” Athos sputtered. “Of the nixies? Why the ruddy hell did you not say so before?”
The wizard sniffed disdainfully. “No one asked.”
“Do we even know what we are looking for?” Athos asked the room, annoyance written all over his face. “The last thing I want to do is trek halfway across Lentari without any real indication of what we’re supposed to be doing. Let’s say we find this insignificant body of water. Then what?”
“Have no fear,” Tristofer reassured him. “The mark is our guide.”
Athos stared at the scholar. “Our? This is a family affair. We will deal with this.”
Athos’ resentment bounced harmlessly off the scholar’s chest. “Aye. Our. Who better to interpret a Narian mark than a Narian scholar? Trust me, there are no better scholars suited for this journey. Besides, it’ll be fun!”
Athos placed himself directly in the scholar’s path and crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. Tell me this, scholar. You said that mark is the start of a quest. A quest to find what?”
Tristofer regarded Athos with an expression he typically reserved for dealing with mentally challenged individuals.
“Why, the lost city of Nar, of course.”
Chapter 3 – Adventurers Assemble!
“Not again!” Maelnar snapped. “Do you know how many times I have heard you claim that definitive proof of Nar’s location has been found? Twenty six, Tristofer. Refresh my memory. How many times were you proved wrong?”
“Well, twenty six if you must know. This time is different!”
Maelnar crossed his arms over his chest. “If ever there were a time to convince me, lad, it would be now.”
“Can you not see that this mark is a map?”
Maelnar held up the map he was still clutching in his right hand.
“This is a map. That is a mark. Map. Mark. See the difference?”
Tristofer was unfazed. “Look at the facts, Master Maelnar. The multi-layered spell that created the mark was cast recently.”
“You don’t know that for certain.”
“Shardwyn has all but confirmed it. The mark reacts to –”
“I have not,” Shardwyn contradicted.
“The mark also reacts to Narian artifacts,” Tristofer continued, ignoring Shardwyn’s objections. “It also –”
“I have a question,” a small voice asked, and was promptly drowned out by the heated argument Maelnar and Tristofer were having. Shardwyn was the one who noticed Lukas’ raised hand.
“I believe the young master has a question.”
Everyone turned to Lukas. Everyone but Tristofer, that is. Taking advantage of the sudden silence, the scholar tried yet again to convince everyone that the mark was indeed a map.
“If you will just listen a moment you will see that –”
Shardwyn held up his right hand as a warning. White sparks erupted out of the tip of his index finger as he did so. Tristofer instantly fell silent.
Lukas was silent for a few moments as he thought about how to best phrase his question. “Do all Questor Marks have some t
ype of reaction when brought into contact with other Narian objects?”
Tristofer waved his hand as though he was shooing away an irritating insect. “I’m sure they do. Now, obviously the –”
“Wait a moment,” Venk interrupted. The gruffness of his voice managed to silence the scholar.
Tristofer glanced irritably at Venk to see why he had been interrupted.
“If jhorun is involved, how do we know the mark doesn’t react to all maps? Or all books? Can we verify my son’s mark only reacts to Narian items?”
Maelnar nodded. It was a valid question. And, he had just the thing to address Venk’s query. In the top drawer of his desk was a dagger rumored to have been created in Nar. Unfortunately, no one could authenticate it. For over two centuries it had remained locked in his desk. Maelnar retrieved the dagger, but not before he wrote out another request and handed it to an additional underling.
“See to it that it arrives here with all the speed that can be afforded,” he told the boy. The underling nodded and slipped away through the door.
“The owner of this dagger asserts it is a true Narian dirk. I disagree, as does most everyone else. Let’s see what happens to the mark.”
Unsheathing the small four inch dagger and holding the curved blade close to the boy’s back, Maelnar and Shardwyn both leaned over to inspect the mark. No changes.
“Do you have access to any other Narian artifacts that we can use to test this hypothesis?” Shardwyn asked him.
“The Archives has one other artifact,” Maelnar told him, “which I have just sent for. It’s an inventory list from a Narian merchant. It’s one of the other few Narian documents we know to be true. If young master Lukas’ mark reacts to that list, we’ll know.”
“Hold that storybook next to him now,” Athos instructed. “Now that the quest has been accepted, will the mark react again?”
Curious, Maelnar retrieved his granddaughter’s book and held it out to Lukas’ back. The tiny Narian hammer within the border darkened and became more pronounced. Pulling the book away from the mark resulted in the hammer becoming several shades lighter. Maelnar repeated the test with the map and then the dagger. Same results with the map, but the dagger failed to elicit a response from the mark. Tristofer was right. The mark was only reacting to authentic Narian artifacts. He was definitely going to have to research the book’s author when he had some time.
Ten minutes later the inventory sheet arrived from the Archives. Keeping the document in the sealed frame, Maelnar held the scrap of paper to Lukas’ mark. Sure enough, the hammer intensified in color one more time. It reverted back to the same shade as the rest of the mark once the paper had been pulled away.
“Very well,” Maelnar conceded. “That’s one point for Tristofer. However, this still doesn’t convince me this is a map to Nar.”
“Of course it’s a map,” Tristofer insisted. “Think about the mark’s origin. Only the strongest and most talented wizards could have cast the spell necessary to make that mark. And the very existence of that mark proves that a quest is waiting. How can we not see it through to the end? Especially when it will lead us to the lost city?”
“What if the person who cast the spell was Narian?” Lukas wondered aloud.
Everyone fell silent. Most everyone.
“Of course!” Tristofer exclaimed, drawing frowns from both Maelnar and Venk, with the latter directing his scowl at his son. “We have to ask ourselves if this might be a misfired spell cast by a Narian centuries ago. Or could it be that there are survivors still living in Nar that are trying to make contact? If so, why did they wait so long? Why choose to give the mark to a boy when it should have been given to someone more...”
Tristofer trailed off as both Venk and Athos focused their angry stares on him.
“Suitable. I was going to say suitable, not deserving.”
“Wise choice, scholar,” Athos mumbled under his breath.
Tristofer groaned aloud and ran his hands through his hair. “Why can you not see what needs to be done? What do I have to do? Present these clues to someone else to see what their opinion is? One clue by itself is enough to warrant an expedition. If you take into consideration the discovery of all the clues in such a short amount of time then you must see that an expedition is inevitable. There is only one question you must now consider: do we ignore or do we act?”
“Present the clues to whom?” Maelnar asked suspiciously. If the scholar was threatening to make his findings public then he was in for a rude awakening.
Tristofer shrugged. “To anyone who will listen. This is too important to ignore. I’m sorry, Maelnar, but if you do not convince the Council to –”
Tristofer’s threat came to an abrupt halt as Maelnar looked over at Shardwyn and then inclined his head towards the scholar. He whispered a few words to the wizard. Moments later a heavy piece of burlap appeared out of thin air and adhered itself to Tristofer’s mouth, silencing him instantly. No amount of pulling would dislodge the piece of cloth and restore his speech. The scholar’s surprised eyes locked on Shardwyn’s. The wizard shrugged.
“Apologies. I was challenged to render someone mute from ten feet away. I told him I could do it from a hundred. Besides, I have always wanted to try that spell.”
Tristofer turned to Maelnar, his eyes pleading for an explanation.
“Listen carefully,” Maelnar began, in a much lower tone than was expected. The others inadvertently crowded a little closer so as to hear what was being said. “Several prominent families have spent countless fortunes on expeditions to find Nar. Powerful families. If this is as legitimate as you say it is, then this must be kept very quiet.”
Tristofer squawked with outrage. He had a chance to be a part of the single most important archaeological discovery of his people in the last millennia and he had to keep quiet? Everyone knows scholars share their work!
Maelnar nodded at Shardwyn, who waved his arm dismissively. The seal over Tristofer’s mouth disappeared.
“And I suppose if I were to announce my findings I would find my mouth sealed shut again?” Tristofer asked, casting a condescending look at the wizard.
“Indubitably.”
“Will I ever be allowed to share the discovery?”
“That remains to be seen.”
Tristofer sighed. “But you will send an expedition, will you not?”
Maelnar was silent as he stared down at the map which had been in his family’s possession for centuries. His eyes flicked to the merchant paper brought over from the Archives. Finally, his gaze settled on the underling’s back and the Questor’s Mark it held.
“Let us adjourn until tomorrow. I will meet with the Council and see which course of action they wish to follow. I will send for everyone when a decision has been made. Shardwyn, before you return to R’Tal, may I have a word?”
Surprised, the wizard followed Maelnar out of the room.
****
It took the Council of Elders less than two hours of deliberation to determine an expedition to locate Nar was warranted. After all, if it was true, and the boy’s back did contain a map to Nar, would Borahgg not benefit greatly from its discovery? The fabled armor alone would fetch kingly sums and sustain their economy for many centuries to come. What warrior wouldn’t want a suit of impenetrable armor to protect them when they walked onto a field of battle? If they could unlock the secrets of Narian metallurgy then their economic future was guaranteed.
As Maelnar had reminded them, armor wasn’t Nar’s only contribution to the people. Powerful tools, enhanced by unknown means, had the capability of outperforming any other tool in existence. The Narian power hammer, it was said, could pulverize any rock with a single blow. And the forges! Their forges could melt any metal with minimal effort, regardless of its composition. That was technology that Borahgg desperately wanted to get its hands on.
The problem was the Council was certain other clans would love to unlock the secrets of Nar, too. Maelnar’s recommendation
that no word of the expedition was to be mentioned, to anyone, was upheld. As it was Maelnar, the celebrated Strathos, or keymaker, who had brought the discoveries to the attention of the Council, it was left to him to determine who would be allowed to go on the Nar expedition.
Later that day, Maelnar was back in his study and was again addressing the same faces from yesterday, with one addition: his only son, Breslin, was present.
“Venk! Athos! Nice to see you again, lads!”
The two dwarf brothers bowed. Venk thumped his son on the back of his head to get his attention and waited from him to follow suit.
Breslin approached father and son and returned their bow. “Ah! Would this be the collector of dragon scales?”
Lukas smiled at the boisterous newcomer. “Aye. Madisonia and I still fight over who has the better dragon scale. I do, of course.”
Breslin grinned. He winked at Venk as he went down on one knee to regard the underling at eye level.
“Word has it that Venk here went to great trouble to acquire those scales. Value them well. The dragon he stole them from was enormous!”
Lukas smiled. He already knew his father had been given those scales by Pryllan, a very friendly green dragon. She was mate to Kahvel, who was dragon liaison to the human king. Lukas knew that Pryllan and her mate had been involved in the huge human skirmish last year, which was the same skirmish that his father and uncle had participated in. What their roles had been remained unclear to him as fighting and killing monsters did not interest him in the slightest. Collecting fascinating souvenirs, such as dragon scales, did. Therefore he elected to smile and nod his head as everyone expected him to.
“So what’s the word?” Athos asked. “Are we going on this expedition or not?”
Maelnar nodded. “The word is, it’s a go.”
Tristofer’s eyes opened wide. He thought for sure Maelnar would be telling him that yet another expedition he had fervently hoped would come to pass had been abandoned. He could only hope his name was one of those that were allowed to go.
Lost City Page 5