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 water 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 blemish-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.”
“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?”
Lost City Page 23