by Joseph Lallo
Maelnar sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. Of all the infernal luck.
“Aye, I know one.”
“Do you think he’ll help us?” Athos asked.
“Of course he will,” Maelnar grumbled. “It’d give him something to hold over me. Very well. I’ll send word to Shardwyn. Come with me back to my study.”
Venk nodded. He and the others fell into step behind him. “The human wizard in R’Tal. Excellent choice. I hear he is very knowledgeable.”
Maelnar continued to mutter under his breath all the way back to his office. Grumbling softly, he reached for a sheet of parchment on his desk. He handed the message to an underling with instructions to deliver it to his son, Breslin. His son was the owner of Mythryd, one of the famous Mythra weapons. Each weapon allowed mental contact with the other two holders provided they were in contact with their weapons. Rhenyon, Commander of the Royal Guards in Castle R’Tal, was another holder. Hopefully he would facilitate the delivery of Shardwyn’s message.
Thirty minutes passed before the wizard’s response arrived. From the way Maelnar scowled when he read the reply, Shardwyn must have been delighted to lend his expertise in the matter and did not hesitate to rub it in.
The air suddenly crackled with power. Those that didn’t have their hair woven into braids, or else tied in place, suddenly discovered their hair standing straight up. A tiny globe of light appeared ten feet away and rapidly expanded in size. A bright white light lit the entire room for a few seconds, causing everyone to either cover their eyes or else turn away. The light faded to reveal a tall figure wearing extravagant white robes decorated with mystical runes woven in gold thread and held together by a blue velvet belt. Maelnar was glad to see that the wizard had elected to shave off the beard he had been attempting to grow. Maelnar grunted. No one could grow a beard better than a dwarf.
The tall thin man swaggered over to the group of dwarves and bowed low.
Maelnar shook his head. “Really? Do you think you could have planned a more extravagant entrance?”
A huge grin split Shardwyn’s face. “Whatever do you mean?”
“In all the years I have known you,” Maelnar stepped close to Shardwyn and pointed at one of the golden runes on his right sleeve, “never have you worn such a garish outfit as that. Do you even know what that symbol means?”
Shardwyn looked down at the rune woven on his sleeve and nodded. “It’s an ancient symbol of power. That one is for courage, I believe. I can understand if you didn’t know that.”
Maelnar stifled a laugh. “That symbol is not as old as you might think. It’s one of a special set of symbols dreamt up by a group of laborers. That one means ‘wash with care’.”
Venk and Athos snorted as they tried to contain their laughter. Enjoying this exchange between dwarf and human, both brothers looked at the wizard to see what his response would be. Would he be angry? Embarrassed?
Shardwyn threw his head back and howled with laughter.
“That explains so much! No wonder my tailor had such a twinkle in his eye!”
Shaking his head, Maelnar pointed at Lukas. “Would you be so kind as to tell us what you see on the boy’s back?”
The wizard wiped the corners of his eyes with his sleeve and approached Lukas. Still chuckling over the thought of his tailor pulling one over on him, Shardwyn knelt down to inspect the boy’s exposed back. What he saw silenced him instantly.
Immediately recognizable was the large hammer on the crest at the top of the mark. If not for the fact that he had devoted several months late last year tutoring young prince Mikal about Nar then the importance of the upside-down hammer would have been lost to him. Now, however, having read everything in the castle’s library that had anything to do with the fabled lost dwarf city, he fancied himself an expert on the subject.
Maelnar tapped him on the shoulder. “No doubt you have noticed the Narian hammer. See the scrollwork surrounding the rest of the mark? That appeared not long ago when another reference to Nar came into contact with it.”
Forgetting he had shaved off his beard, Shardwyn stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“A symbiotic charm. Very peculiar. May I ask which document you were referring to? I believe I have read everything there is which references Nar.”
Maelnar retrieved Trindolyn’s storybook from his desk and presented it to the wizard.
“This.”
Shardwyn took the shabby little book and made a tssk tssk noise.
“Really, dwarf, this is the best you can do? Perhaps you might be interested in touring a proper library, stocked with thousands of real books and scrolls.”
Maelnar pressed his fingertips together and kept his expression neutral.
“That is my granddaughter’s storybook. Ever see it before?”
“Of course. R’Tal’s library has an extensive selection of children’s literature. Our copy is in much better condition, I might add.”
“Mm-hmm. I held the book to that mark and the border appeared.”
“Have you tried holding a different Narian artifact to it to see if anything else happens?”
That brought the dwarf up short. “I haven’t.”
“Everyone knows you own the only Narian map in existence. In fact, I see it hanging right over there. Why don’t you hold it up to the mark and see what happens?”
Maelnar bit his lip as he turned and walked to the wall behind his desk. He gingerly lifted the framed map down from its holder and reverently laid it on his desk. He carefully pried open the frame and gently pulled the small map out.
“Do be careful with that,” Shardwyn scolded. “There aren’t many genuine Narian documents left in existence. It’d be a shame if –”
“Would you kindly hold your tongue, wizard? I know what I’m doing.”
Maelnar motioned for Lukas to join him. Stepping next to the large wooden desk, Lukas rose up on his toes to get a better look at the map. It wasn’t anything spectacular. The map just showed a simple topographical view of an area east of Lake Raehón.
“Would you kindly turn around so that we may see your back?”
Lukas obediently spun and faced the wall.
Shardwyn cackled triumphantly. “See? See? I told you so!!”
“What is it? What’s going on?” Lukas inquired.
Venk instantly appeared at his son’s side and motioned for Athos to join him. A new section of Lukas’ back, the lower left portion, had started to come into focus, but only marginally so.
Shardwyn began emptying his pockets. Spells, parchment, quills, two bottles of ink, no fewer than a dozen bottles filled with various powders and liquids, and several tiny mechanical devices were deposited on Maelnar’s desk.
“Can I offer you a trash receptacle?” the dwarf wryly asked.
Shardwyn pushed aside several of the diminutive machines and selected one that had a tiny pendulum and several complicated knobs and dials.
“What is that?” Maelnar asked, standing up on his tiptoes to peer at the tiny golden device.
“I call it my FJT. Foolproof jhorun tester. It’ll check to see if there is any jhorun present.”
Shardwyn held the device next to Lukas. The pendulum instantly started swinging back and forth, chiming every time it did so.
“There you have it. Jhorun.”
“I could have told you jhorun was present, you egotistical ninny,” Maelnar muttered.
“But now we know for certain, don’t we?”
“Does that thing say what type of enchantment it is?” Venk anxiously asked. “And what we have to do to break it?”
“It does not,” Shardwyn sadly told him. “It only tells me that there is a high level of jhorun here. And it’s Narian in nature. All kidding aside, may I make a recommendation?”
Surprised by the serious tone the wizard had adopted, Maelnar nodded.
“Last year when I was researching Nar, I –”
“Why were y
ou performing research on Nar?” Maelnar interrupted, curious.
“Kre’Mikal’s school lessons. He was asked to do a report on the subject and he enlisted my help. Anyway, we discovered there was a dwarf living amongst the Kla Rehn clan in the Selekai Mountains that claimed he was one of the last descendants of the Narian people. He claims he is the best Narian scholar in existence. Self-proclaimed, I might add. I would ask him.”
Maelnar was silent as he considered the wizard’s proposal.
“Bet you didn’t think I would find a descendent of Nar, eh?” Shardwyn gloated. “He is a learned dwarf with a very keen mind.”
“I’ll tell Tristofer you said so.”
This time it was the wizard who was shocked.
“I never said his name!”
“You didn’t need to say his name.”
“You know him?”
“He is the only Narian scholar, wizard. Of course I know him. As to whether or not he’s a genuine Narian descendant, I wouldn’t get too cocky.”
“Eh? What’s that?”
Ignoring Shardwyn, Maelnar continued. “When he arrived in person to request access to the Archives, who was I to deny a scholar? I’ll summon him to see what he thinks.”
“It’ll take a long time to get from the Selekais to here,” Shardwyn observed.
“Perhaps. In this case, however, I’ll give him about ten minutes.”
“Unless you have Lady Sarah tucked away here somewhere, I’d say not, dwarf.”
“That’s how long it takes me to get here from the Archives,” Maelnar explained.
“He’s here? Now?”
“Aye. He never left.”
“What has he been doing all this time?”
“Research.”
“For three years?”
Maelnar gave the wizard a smug smile. “We dwarves are very –”
“Stubborn?” Shardwyn guessed.
“No. We are very –”
“Obstinate?”
“I was going to say methodical.”
“What are you standing there for? Send for him, dwarf! I’m just as keen as everyone else to see what this mark means!”
Giving Shardwyn a speculative glare, Maelnar sent word for the visiting scholar to join them. He had said it would take around ten minutes to for someone to come all the way from the Archives. Once the scholar learned about the nature of the request, he made it there in five.
A middle-aged dwarf wearing a dark brown tunic with matching trousers, complete with a floor length khaki jacket lined with numerous pockets bursting with papers and scrolls, burst into the room. As soon as he skidded to a stop his spectacles slid down the tip of his nose and became tangled in his gray-streaked beard. As to be expected, he was completely out of breath. There were at least five bags slung over his shoulders into which more scrolls and books had been jammed. Every one of the bags was threatening to spill its contents out onto the floor. More than likely a paper trail had been left all the way from the Archives.
“Is it true? A new Narian clue has been unearthed? Where is it? Who has it? You must show it to me!”
Keeping his face expressionless, Maelnar handed the thin storybook to the wheezing scholar who was trying to extract his glasses from his beard.
“Very well. Here you go.”
Confused, the scholar opened the book as he put on his glasses. He stared at the crinkled pages.
“Is this a joke, Master Maelnar? I know you think my work is laughable, but I swear to you it is no laughing matter. I cannot fathom why –”
The scholar trailed off as Maelnar handed him his glass paperweight.
“Now I’m really confused. What am I supposed to do with this?”
Maelnar gently pulled the book from Tristofer’s hands and placed it on his desk. Selecting the illustration depicting the catastrophe, Maelnar set the glass down on the tiny figure of the king.
“Tell me what you see.”
“This is a children’s book,” Tristofer complained. “You cannot possibly expect me to think that... Heavens above, is that a Narian power hammer? Who wrote this? Why do I not know anything about this book? Where did you get it? How long have you had it?”
“This is my granddaughter’s storybook,” Maelnar explained to the flustered scholar. “I have read this book so many times that I could recite it word for word if I had to. As to how long it has been in my possession, I cannot say for certain, only that I’ve had it for a very long time.”
“Castle R’Tal has a copy as well,” Shardwyn added, drawing the scholar’s attention. “I cannot say for certain how long, either.”
“Who is this human?” Tristofer asked, eliciting a squawk of outrage from the wizard.
Maelnar tried, but failed, to hide his smile.
“This is the wizard from R’Tal, Shardwyn. Shardwyn, allow me to introduce Tristofer of the Kla Rehn. He has been scouring the Archives in the hopes of finding a piece of evidence that has thus far been overlooked and will, once deciphered, present him with the location of Nar’s main entrance. Does that about sum it up, Master Tristofer?”
Shardwyn frowned at the scholar. “What makes you think you will be successful where others have tried and failed?”
“I am different,” Tristofer declared. “Never will you find anyone with more dedication and perseverance than I.”
Maelnar nodded. “Perseverance, aye. No arguments there. Now, I asked you here to get your professional opinion on that.”
Tristofer turned and followed Maelnar’s pointing finger. He saw Lukas, still facing the opposite wall. The scholar went very quiet. He slowly approached Lukas and leaned down to inspect his back.
“The decorative scroll of the Second Age! Where did you... How did you... Look! Another Narian power hammer! I think I need to sit down.”
Athos slid a chair from across the room towards his brother, who deftly caught it and flipped it around to get the chair under Tristofer’s rear before he could collapse to the floor.
“This is very important, Tristofer,” Maelnar gently told him. “What does this mark tell you?”
Ignoring the question, Tristofer pointed at the lower left section of Lukas’ back. “Do you see that? Do you see the area that’s trying to come into focus?”
Maelnar, along with Shardwyn and Venk, squatted down next to the scholar. Athos elected to remain standing.
“What is it?” Venk asked. “Do you know what this mark is?”
Tristofer nodded excitedly. “It’s a Questor’s Mark!”
Maelnar, Shardwyn, Venk, Athos, and Lukas all said the same thing at the same time: “A what?”
“It symbolizes a beginning of a quest!” Tristofer said excitedly. “In essence, what we’re looking at here is a complex, multi-layered spell which tells a person what to do! Do you have any idea how rare these are?”
Venk scowled. The last thing he needed to hear was the mark on his son’s back was a Narian To Do list. “Are you certain of this?”
“Very. The Kla Rehn’s Archives contains several volumes of books about the Narian culture.”
“Allegedly contains,” Shardwyn murmured.
“One of these volumes spoke in great length about the lost art of layered spells and how the Narian people were quite fond of them.”
“Allegedly spoke of,” Shardwyn again murmured.
Maelnar nudged the wizard with his right shoulder. The mutterings ceased. Maelnar tugged on Shardwyn’s right sleeve and nodded his head towards the Questor’s Mark.
“Shardwyn, have you heard of a multi-layered spell?”
Shardwyn nodded. “I have, aye.”
“Perhaps you could explain how a layered spell works. Several of us here, myself included, are not familiar with the process.”
Delighted to be of help, Shardwyn bowed. “Absolutely! My apologies for not suggesting it before. Now, where should I begin?”
“How about from the beginning?” Athos g
rumbled. Venk chuckled and received a wink from Maelnar.
“A layered spell is a combination of more than one spell,” Shardwyn began. “The first spell is invoked by the caster. Its effectiveness dictates the behavior of the second. And if there’s a third, it will base its own behaviors on the second, and so on. Let’s say –”
Venk held up a hand and coughed loudly.
“May I ask a question before you get too much further?”
Shardwyn clasped his hands behind his back and smiled. “I would encourage you to ask as many questions as you can, dear boy. What do you wish to know?”
“First off, I am much older than you are, wizard,” Venk began, “so stop calling me boy.” Athos swallowed a laugh.
Shardwyn nodded.
“Second, we dwarves are known for not meddling with jhorun, yet several times now you have spoken of enchantments and casting spells. A dwarf wouldn’t dare cast a spell and dishonor themselves.”
“Ah! Not all dwarf clans think the same, do they Master Venk?” Shardwyn pointed out.
“Every clan we’re aware of will never touch the stuff,” Athos stated. “Unless you are unlucky enough to be born with it.”
“Very true,” Maelnar added. “Thankfully jhorun-wielding dwarves are very rare. The last one I knew about restored a fossilized egg which hatched a female guur, and I can’t begin to express my sadness on how unpopular he was with his fellows when everyone learned what his jhorun had done. If not for Sir Steve and his fire throwing jhorun, we would have been driven from our home by now.”
“Be that as it may,” Venk argued, “why are we hearing about spell casting and jhorun being performed in Nar? Correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s a dwarf city. No one should be practicing jhorun there.”
Surprised, Shardwyn turned to Maelnar and raised an eyebrow. “He brings up a good point. What were the Narian people doing practicing jhorun?”
The corners of Maelnar’s mouth turned upwards in the beginning of a smile. “Perhaps one day we will know. Now, what else were you saying about the mark? How difficult are these layered spells to cast? Have you ever tried?”