Lost City

by Jeffrey M. Poole

“How do we even know we’re heading towards the correct waterfall?” Athos complained. “Do you really want to take his word for it?”

  Tristofer turned to look at Athos with undisguised hurt on his face.

  “That was uncalled for.”

  Athos shook his head. “No, it’s not. I seem to recall being guided to the wrong lake.”

  “It was an honest mistake.”

  “I seem to recall you lost the map.”

  “Misplaced,” Tristofer hastily corrected. “I misplaced the map.”

  “You couldn’t answer Two Head’s riddle.”

  “Well, neither could you!”

  “I’m not the scholar, you are.”

  “Your point is taken, Master Athos,” Tristofer sniffed, raising his nose in the air. “Trust me, the waterfall we want is the one we are heading towards now.”

  Athos mumbled something under his breath. Wisely deciding he didn’t want it to be repeated, Tristofer kept silent.

  Breslin held up an arm, signaling the group to halt. They came to a stop near the trunk of an enormous evergreen, which wasn’t surprising as the trees were growing so thick that barely any sunlight found its way down to the forest floor. Lukas craned his neck to look up at the distant treetops, wondering why they had stopped. Had Breslin heard something? Had the Zweigelan escaped and was now pursuing them?

  The underling shuddered. The last thing he wanted to see was the mean two-headed dragon again.

  “Why have we stopped?” Venk whispered, unsure if he needed to lower his voice but thought it couldn’t hurt to be safe.

  “The trees are beginning to thin,” Breslin explained. He pointed north. “Behold! There’s a path through those trees up ahead. See it?”

  Venk nodded. He could see a small, but well worn path snaking amongst the trees as it angled northeast. They had finally caught some good luck and now had a path to follow!

  “I hope it’s one of those enchanted paths,” Tristofer remarked.

  Breslin shook his head. “I doubt it. The path is way too small. As long as it leads out of the forest we’ll be fine. Let’s move.”

  The five of them stepped out onto the path and wordlessly headed northeast. The path wove tightly around the trees, oftentimes circling the massive tree trunks instead of just veering off in another direction. Clearly the path’s creator wanted to proceed in a direct line and wouldn’t tolerate any deviations whatsoever.

  “That’s the fourth tree we’ve walked around,” Breslin remarked. “If they would have just angled the path ten degrees north they could have completely bypassed the last two trees.”

  Athos snorted. “Humans. How are we to know what goes on in their tiny little brains?”

  “Not all humans are like that,” Breslin returned, frowning at Athos.

  “No dwarf would ever disgrace themselves by creating such an appalling path,” Athos carried on. “Look at it. It was hugging that last tree so tightly that I could smell the bark.”

  “Be glad you’re not a human then,” Venk pointed out as he nudged his brother in his ribs.

  “Absolutely,” Athos agreed. “I’d never be able to live with myself.”

  “Just what the ruddy hell is wrong with my path, you snot-nosed bearded excuse of a fool?”

  The dwarves came to an abrupt halt. Standing before them was a scrawny human armed with a bow much too large for him to effectively handle. Nevertheless, an arrow had been nocked and was ready to shoot.

  Breslin studied the gaunt human. He was middle aged, scraggly, looked malnourished, and was dressed in rags. Hooked to his belt was a quiver full of crooked, homemade arrows. Joining him were half a dozen more humans all in the same condition as their leader. Four had bows and two carried crossbows. All were aimed at their party.

  “Drop your packs, your weapons, axes, and anything else of value you may be carrying,” the first thief instructed. “Be quick about it.”

  Breslin gripped Mythryd tightly, having pulled his beloved red axe the moment they had been accosted. Venk and Athos had also drawn their weapons. Tristofer, as was the norm with him, was cowering beside Lukas.

  “We don’t want any trouble,” Breslin cautioned. He glared at the thieves’ leader. “However, we will not be surrendering any of our weapons. Go about your business before someone gets hurt.”

  Those that weren’t ready to fire their arrows became so. Bowstrings were pulled back and the dwarves were targeted. Smiling profusely, the leader strode forward and sneered at them.

  “You’re about to become a pincushion, dwarf. You have one minute to decide.”

  Venk nervously eyed the ruffians. Every one of them was ready to fire an arrow at them. Proximity to the shooters was too close; if the arrows were loosed there’d only be one outcome. The dwarves huddled together to consider their options.

  “They have the upper hand,” Venk whispered to Breslin.

  “We have the upper hand,” Breslin whispered back. “I think now would be a good time to use another of Shardwyn’s spells.”

  “Which one?” Venk wanted to know.

  “Do you think it matters? Any one of them will do. Just get one and be ready! Follow my lead.”

  Breslin slowly straightened and then pretended to be angry. He slipped his pack from his should and let it fall to the ground. The others mimicked him. While the thieves chortled gleefully amongst themselves, Venk nudged his pack open and slipped a hand inside, hoping he would be able to quickly locate the silk bag containing the spells. As luck would have it, the bag was sitting just inside the opening. Venk shoved his hand in and grabbed one of the spheres. He glanced down at it as he nodded to Breslin. It was the fire spell. Perfect! Hesitating a few moments longer, Breslin knelt to retrieve his pack from the ground.

  “I do believe I’ve changed my mind.”

  On cue, Venk threw the sphere at their attackers and mentally invoked the spell, hoping they’d be able to get to safety before the expected wall of flames appeared. He grabbed Lukas and dove to the ground. Athos, Tristofer, and Breslin threw themselves to the ground moments later.

  The muggers roared with laughter.

  Confused, Breslin looked up at their attackers. His face reddened as he saw what had happened. Shardwyn’s fire spell had only generated a single flame, enough to light a candle. In this case the tip of the arrow closest to them had ignited.

  “Wizards be damned,” Breslin muttered.

  “He will be once I’m done with him,” Athos grumbled.

  “Ooo, I’m scared, dwarf,” the leader sneered. “For a moment there I actually thought things were about to turn ugly like an unfortunate incident that happened to me years ago. But this?” A quick puff extinguished his burning arrow. “This I can deal with. That little act of insolence is going to cost you.”

  The ground suddenly lurched so violently that everyone was thrown off their feet. Two massive claws broke through the wall of trees and parted them, as though a giant’s hands were opening a really large set of drapes.

  Trees were either uprooted or snapped in half as a large opening appeared. Rhamalli thrust his head into the opening and growled at the humans.

  Breslin held up a hand and indicated the dragon. “Ah! I see introductions are in order. Rhamalli, lunch. Lunch, meet Rhamalli.”

  The group of thieves broke rank and fled. Way out ahead, and already disappearing into the forest, was the group’s fearless leader. The dwarves heard someone shout something about giving up this line of work for good and then the humans were gone.

  “We had them right where we wanted them,” Athos told the dragon.

  Rhamalli nodded his massive head. “Of course you did. Why aren’t you out on the enchanted path? It’s just over there, past the edge of the forest.”

  The dwarves peered sheepishly through the trees and out onto the open grassland. They had only been about thirty feet from exiting the forest.

  “We were
following this path,” Breslin explained, looking down at the tiny path. He blinked. The path was gone!

  “We were duped,” Athos told him. “I’m not happy about it either. We should have been able to tell. We were led right into an ambush.”

  Rhamalli withdrew his head and waited for the dwarves to follow him out into the open. The wizard’s spell had alerted him the dwarves were in danger. Thankfully he hadn’t been that far away while he was waiting for the dwarves to exit the forest. When they hadn’t appeared in time, he began flying lower while he tried to locate his charges. Once the spell had been activated, he had been able to instantly locate them and was able to see that they had been accosted by a group of humans.

  Humans were cowardly. Most would not stand up to a dragon, let alone one of his size. Being larger than most of his kind, Rhamalli knew that he could intimidate the most stubborn of humans just by his presence alone. That was all that was needed to scare off the motley band of humans.

  “There’s the path,” he told the dwarves, indicating a well maintained, cobbled path heading east. “The human king had it enchanted against harm. Stay on it and you’ll be safe.”

  “We are not a lost group of school boys,” Athos retorted. “Try not to treat us like such.”

  “Forgive me. That was not my intent. Follow the road and it’ll lead you to the human village of Donlari.”

  “Great,” Athos muttered, “that’s just what we need right now: an entire village of humans. No thank you.”

  “I think I’d have to agree,” Breslin began. “Perhaps we should –”

  “Look to the underling,” Rhamalli scolded them. “He needs sustenance and rest.”

  “Are you trying to tell me how to take care of my own son?” Venk demanded. He glanced at Lukas standing quietly behind him and nudged his shoulder. “Are you well?”

  Lukas nodded.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Lukas shrugged.

  Venk frowned. “Did the humans steal your tongue?”

  “No, father.”

  “Are you able to keep going?”

  Lukas shrugged. Afraid his father wouldn’t appreciate his less than stellar non-vocal response, he added, “Of course.”

  “Rhamalli is right,” Tristofer told them. “We need to rest. Donlari should be an acceptable resting point.”