“I have been tasked with determining who will go. Since this expedition has been sanctioned by the Council, I have to wonder whether or not we should send an armed presence? Or is discretion better? In the end, we decided the expedition should remain small. Unnoticed.”
Tristofer had started to twist his beard through his fingers.
“The members are... Lukas. Clearly the bearer of the mark must go. As such, his father and uncle will also go.”
Venk and Athos both nodded.
“Since we are dealing with a time and place that hasn’t existed for many years, a scholar would prove to be useful. Tristofer, you’re invited to go, but I can’t speak for your clan. I encourage you to contact the Kla Rehn as soon as possible, or if you tell me who you’d like me to contact on your behalf, I’d be more than happy to do so.”
Tristofer formally bowed. “I’m sure the Kla Rehn wouldn’t have any objections. There’s really no need for you to contact them. I know they’d want me to go.”
Maelnar raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. Very well. The final member of the team will be Breslin. As my son, and the newest member of the Council, he will speak on its behalf should the situation call for it.”
Breslin nodded his approval. Shardwyn gave a little cough and cleared his throat.
“Fear not, wizard. I have not forgotten. Last night Shardwyn and I touched upon the subject of extra precautions, in case any unpleasant situations are encountered. Since it was originally suggested to send along a contingent of armed guards, we realized that extra help would be beneficial. Shardwyn volunteered to provide several spells which can be invoked by anyone regardless of their level of jhorun.”
Confused, Athos turned to his brother and nudged him. “Did he just say that we have to use jhorun?”
Venk elbowed him back. “Were you not listening? He said that the wizard will give us some spells to use in case we encounter any difficulties. Even if we don’t have any jhorun, which none of us do, we will still be able to use the spells.”
“I don’t want anything to do with it,” Athos stubbornly said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Dwarves don’t use jhorun.”
Venk shoved his brother aside and faced Shardwyn. “Pay him no mind, wizard. Anything you can give me so that I may protect my son will be much appreciated.”
Shardwyn nodded. He pulled a small white sack from within his robes. Opening the drawstring silk pouch, he withdrew a white sphere the size of large pebble. On the sphere was a symbol that had been etched onto the surface with what looked like maroon ink. The symbol on the sphere in Shardwyn’s hand was a quill.
“There are five spells in here,” Shardwyn began. “One for each of you. This one is for sending a message. Note the quill. All you have to do is to have a message planted firmly in your head, invoke the spell, and speak the name of the person you wish to give the message to. Somebody hurt? Need to call for help? Use this spell to send word.”
“How many times can we use it?” Breslin asked, taking the small circular object from the wizard.
“Just once, good sir,” Shardwyn told him. “Use it wisely.”
“Are all of these only allowed to be used once?” Maelnar asked, frowning. This wasn’t the type of help he had envisioned.
Shardwyn nodded. “Aye. Do not let that concern you. I have considered all possibilities and I do believe I have you covered in any type of emergency.”
Bemused, Maelnar smiled. “Indeed. Very well, let’s see what other spells you have to offer.”
“Of course. As I said, this one is for sending a message.” Shardwyn opened the pouch and placed the other four spells out on the closest table. He selected a sphere with a several wavy lines etched on the surface. “This one, when properly invoked, will bestow the powers of levitation upon its caster. If you find that you must scale a tremendous height, or else descend a ravine or canyon, this spell will be invaluable.”
“How long will the effects last?” Breslin asked.
“Enough to get the task done,” Shardwyn answered as he turned to retrieve the next spell. He selected the one with a tear drop on its surface. “Ah. Here’s one I’m very proud of. This will conjure water. Parched of thirst? Need to quickly douse a campfire? This will do it.”
“How much water will it summon?”
Shardwyn smiled at Breslin and tapped his right ear. “When you ask a question, you really need to speak up. Lately I find that I’m becoming hard of hearing. Now, let’s see what else we have.”
The next spell to be selected had a picture of a shield.
“Protection,” Shardwyn told them, smiling patronizingly as he did so. “Perfect for protecting campsites for the night.”
“But for only one night!” Athos complained.
“You really need to speak up, Master Venk. I am having a terrible time hearing you.”
“I am Athos. He’s Venk.”
“My sincerest apologies. Now, listen carefully. The last will probably be the most helpful.”
Catching sight of the symbol, Maelnar nodded. “Fire.”
“Aye. The holder of this spell can summon fire. It’ll be perfect for lighting campfires to chase away the chill of the night air.”
“But it can only be used one time!” Athos complained again. “What if we need to use it on more than one night?”
The wizard’s condescending expression remained on his face. “Would you rather I just hand you a map and say here’s where you need to go?”
Athos returned Shardwyn’s frank stare. “That would be lovely.”
“Balderdash. Those spells are meant to be used when all other avenues have been explored.”
“We will use them only when we have no other recourse,” Breslin assured him.
Satisfied, Shardwyn turned to Maelnar and shrugged, as if to say he has done all he can.
“Get some rest, lads,” Maelnar told everyone. “Be ready to depart by sunrise.”
****
By late morning the next day the group of adventurers was Topside and traveling south. Since virtually all dwarves were agoraphobic, all five members of the group remained huddled together as they walked. No dwarf wanted to be out under the open sky for too long. Topside simply had too many dangers lurking about, not the least of which was the unspoken fear of jumping too hard, or getting knocked up into the air and not having anything to prevent you from floating away. If anyone were to ask a dwarf if they would prefer to be subterranean or Topside then they would more than likely be given a look would indicate the recipient that had just been classified as an imbecile.
At the moment, the five dwarves were traveling through the lush valley that lay south of Lake Raehón, Lentari’s northernmost body of water. The lake was ringed by mountains on all sides except for a small valley that jutted up against the lake on the southeastern edge. Being protected by the elements, and its remoteness, the valley was home to a plethora of wildlife, most notable being the large dimwitted bolgers. The slow moving quadrupeds were shaggy brown beasts that had large flat feet, a short squat neck, and a wedge shaped head. Two spiraled horns curved up and then down the back of its skull before flaring off to the sides, giving it the appearance of having two large spikes protruding from its sides when viewed from a distance. The creatures roamed from one side of the valley to the other, always searching for the tastiest piece of grass. Another notable inhabitant of the area was a species that fed on the bolgers: dragons. The bulk of the flying variant of wyverians called the northern Bohani Mountains home, with a high concentration of the dragons living near or around Lake Raehón. Several dwarf clans chose the small valley as their “front doors” for that very reason. They couldn’t have designed a more secure front entrance with so many dragons in the area. Thankfully a truce existed between dragons and dwarves, so if one were to come into contact with the other, then pandemonium would not ensue. For the dwarf.
As the lake began to grow smaller behind them, the grassland they were traversing through seemed to stretch on
for infinity. The dwarves knew the valley was small by most standards, but when one averaged four feet tall, even a small valley seemed endless. Thankfully they could see the northern border of Anakash Forest, visible as a faint green line just below the horizon. Once they made it to the forest it was a three day trek through the trees to the mighty Zylan river. Once they crossed the river, Lake Alpin should only be a two or three hour walk southeast.
Venk grumbled softly to himself. How had he gotten himself into this predicament? Sure, he wanted what was best for Lukas, and he was more than willing to sacrifice everything to make that happen. Even now as they marched through the waist level grass he wished he was safely back at home under the ground. Heck, he would much rather read the books that Maelnar had recommended than go on another adventure. Anything but this.
The sun was high in a cloudless sky and beat down mercilessly on the fully armored, leather-clad dwarves. The only one who seemed to be enjoying himself was Lukas, who had been spared from having to wear the extra layers of protection as the leather armor didn’t come in his size. Tristofer, while not outfitted in protective gear, had elected to wear a jacket that had even more pockets than his previous one and like before, it was crammed full of various items. Books, scrolls, bottles of ink, a fresh pack of new quills, and spare reading glasses were just some of the things that could be found tucked inside his pockets. Thankfully, Venk noted, the scholar appeared as uncomfortable walking through the grass as he was.
“Never thought I’d be doing this again so soon,” Venk grumbled as he followed his son up the next hill. They had already crossed a dozen of these grassy knolls and there were at least twice as many more directly in their path.
Athos glanced behind him. Not to check on his brother but to ascertain his nephew was managing to keep up with the group. Not only did Lukas not appear to be fatigued but he was also inspecting various blades of grass, picking up every twig they stepped over, and even turning a few rocks over to see what kind of insects lived below. The boy’s eyes were alive with wonder as he uncovered treasure after treasure.
Athos stopped walking to allow Venk to catch up. He slapped his brother on the back.
“We have made it, what, three leagues and you are complaining already?”
Venk caught his son’s eyes and pointed off to the distance. When Lukas looked, Venk made a rude gesture towards his brother. “If dwarves were meant for walking long distances then we would have longer legs.”
With as much stealth as a dragon, which was considerable, Breslin appeared behind the two of them and draped an arm over each of their shoulders.
“We are on the adventure of a lifetime, my friends! We are searching for Nar! How can you not be in anything but a great mood?”
There was a clinking of metal as the axe strapped to Breslin’s back shifted position and made contact with the simple black axe fastened to Venk’s.
“Are the stories about that axe true?” Venk asked as he eyed the striking red weapon.
“What might those stories be?” Breslin wanted to know as he pulled Mythryd off his back. “What have you heard?”
“I have heard that your axe is lighter than any other and that no one can wield it but its rightful owner.”
Breslin smiled. “Actually, it –”
“I heard,” Athos interrupted, “that it can cut through any material, even metal. Is that true?”
“Well, I have never tried to –”
“I heard you could throw it and it will return to you, much like my orix.”
Breslin looked at the brother in the jet black armor and raised an eyebrow. “An orix? That is an antiquated weapon, my friend. No one uses them anymore. Are you jesting?”
Athos ran a hand along one of the two belts crisscrossing across his chest. Sliding something out of one of the belts, he flicked his wrist. Two extendable arms appeared and locked into place with a loud click. Athos held the orix up so that Breslin could see what it was.
The dwarf was holding a modified boomerang, one that had been crafted to resemble a dragon. Its front legs were curled slightly under it while its hind legs were bunched together as if rearing into the air. The tail and wings, which had been concealed under the rest of the dragon’s long sinewy body, had snapped into place to complete the picture.
Breslin studied the rudimentary weapon and noted its coloring. The dragon’s body had been painted an emerald green color, with the very tips of its wings and ears painted black. He had seen this dragon before.
“It’s Pryllan, is it not? Kahvel’s mate.”
Athos nodded, pleased. There weren’t many people who could correctly identify which dragon he had modeled his orix after.
“Aye. After last year I’ve had a change of heart about dragons and thought it would be a noble way to honor them.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t make it gold. Kahvel is much more intimidating than Pryllan.”
Athos patted the sheath strapped to the other belt on his chest. “My spare orix is gold.”
Breslin nodded. “Admirable. Can you hit anything with it?”
Venk rolled his eyes. “Here we go.”
Athos puffed out his chest with pride. “I hit whatever I’m aiming at.”
Breslin nodded. “So you say. Do you see that clump of grass that’s darker than the rest? The one that has a flower stalk in the middle of it? Can you hit it?”
Athos looked at the ground where Breslin was indicating. About thirty feet away he saw the clump of grass that was darker than its neighbors. He targeted the bright yellow flower sitting on the lone stalk and flicked his orix into the air.
The green weapon spiraled neatly through the air as it curved to the left in an elliptical orbit. The yellow flower disappeared into a puff of petals as the orix hit the plant and kept going. The orix spun through the air for another few seconds before it smacked back into the hand of its thrower. Athos grinned at his brother before turning back to the Council’s representative.
“That’s not bad,” Breslin admitted. “Although the target was fairly close, it was a good shot.”
“Fairly close? Fairly close? Very well. Pick a target, Master Breslin.”
Realizing what was coming, Venk sighed dramatically and sank down into the tall grass. Lukas followed suit a few moments later.
“What are you doing?” Tristofer asked as he stared at father and son. The scholar turned to Breslin and Athos, confusion evident on his face. “Is a cessation of our expedition really the best course of action at this time?”
Lukas stared at Tristofer with large, unblinking eyes. “What?”
“He wants to know why we’ve stopped,” Venk translated. “You may as well make yourself comfortable, scholar. This might take a while.”
Still unsure of what was happening, Tristofer squatted down into the soft grass and stared in bewilderment at Breslin, who kept pointing out objects for Athos to hit. Thus far Athos was true to his word. His skill with the orix was not to be taken lightly.
“I will say that I have not seen anyone with a better cast,” Breslin finally admitted after spending a quarter of an hour watching Athos hit various targets. Athos had even been able to shave a few inches of growth off a clump of grass fifty feet away. That was impressive! “What’s the range?”
Athos raised his right arm and watched the orix spin in its elliptical orbit until it expertly returned to his hand.
“Accuracy drops the farther out you cast it,” Athos explained. “The farthest I’ve been able to cast with any amount of accuracy is about one hundred and fifty feet.”
“Accuracy notwithstanding, what’s the farthest you have ever thrown it?” Breslin inquired, curious. Athos’ skill had impressed him greatly and he was considering whether or not he should approach the Council and suggest the guards take up the ancient weapon once more.
“Depending upon the design, and how it’s thrown, I’ve been able to hurl an orix close to three hundred feet.”
Breslin nodded his head. He was
convinced. He was definitely going to reintroduce the archaic throwing weapon at the next Council meeting.
“I still prefer my crossbow,” Venk called out to them. “Better range.”
“You mean easier to use?” his brother teased him.
“Bite me.”
“At least I won’t run out of ammunition.”
Venk patted a pouch on his belt. “I have enough bolts, never you fear.”
“Uncle!”
Athos glanced over at his nephew.
“Think fast!”
Lukas pulled up a small clump of grass, grasped it by the tips of the long blades, and swung it around his head. Gaining speed, he finally released the grass after the fourth swing. Lukas waited. His uncle had yet to miss a target, and provided everyone was out of harm’s way, Athos would be unable to resist a chance to show his skill.
Athos was waiting. As soon as the clump had hit the apex of its upward climb, he flung the orix at the falling grass. The clump was instantly transformed into a cloud of falling blades. The orix, encountering barely any resistance from the grass, kept traveling ahead and disappeared around the next grassy knoll.
“I’ll get it, uncle.”
Lukas rose to his feet and started to climb the hill when Athos told him to stop.
“It’ll come back. This valley is perfect for throwing orixes; there are no trees. This hill isn’t big enough to hide any obstructions, so it couldn’t have hit anything. Just wait a moment. It’ll be back.”
Ten seconds passed. No orix. Everyone turned to look at Athos.
“It’ll be back, I assure you.”
“It wasn’t thrown that hard,” Venk pointed out. “It should have returned by now. You must have hit something.”
“I’ll look,” Lukas told them again. The boy climbed thirty feet to the top of the grassy knoll and looked down at the other side of the hill.
“Father! Uncle! You might want to see this!”
Lost City Page 6