Quest SMASH

by Joseph Lallo

  “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.”

  Venk nodded thoughtfully. “Then that means your father knew about your heritage. Did he know we were looking for a hammer?”

  “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?”

  Tristofer had started smiling just a few moments ago. He was eagerly looking at each member of their party, as if trying to mentally share a secret with his companions.

  Breslin sat down on the nearest stump and set the hammer head first down on the ground with the handle pointing up.

  “Out with it. Are we missing something?”

  Tristofer nodded, much like an underling would if asked if they’d like a sugary sweet.

  “Well?”

  “I should say so! Our quest isn’t over!”

  “What? Yes, it is. We have overcome all the obstacles placed before us and found the pieces of the hammer.” Venk pointed at the hammer resting on the ground. “There it sits. What more is there to do?”

  “Find Nar.”

  Venk groaned, Athos snorted, and Breslin sighed. Only Lukas seemed eager to hear what the scholar had to say.

  “How?” Breslin wanted to know.

  “By using the hammer, of course.”

  The two brothers sank down upon the closest bench and started whispering to each other as they wagered on the outcome of this confrontation.

  “Use the hammer?” Breslin shook his head. “We’re no closer now to figuring out where Nar is than when we first set out. The Questor’s Mark was a map, alright, only it led us to the hammer and not to Nar.”

  Tristofer smiled. “Are you sure about that?”

  “About the mark leading us to the hammer?” Breslin looked down and inclined his head toward the hammer. “Pretty sure. As for the mark somehow leading us to Nar? Look around. There are no lost cities around here.”

  Tristofer squatted down next to Breslin so that he could speak with him eye-to-eye.

  “The Questor’s Mark guided us to the hammer. What if the Questor’s Mark also leads the way to Nar? We just have to figure it out.”

  “Look, Tristofer,” Breslin began tiredly as he removed his helmet and wiped a sleeve along his brow, “I know you want to believe that somehow we’re missing something, but there’s no proof that anything is amiss on the Questor’s Mark. No one will ever be able to doubt you anymore. You’ve helped recover a Narian tool! That, by itself, is a remarkable feat. That hammer will be able to unlock some of the greatest metallurgical mysteries that have ever existed amongst our people. Don’t be too hard on yourself. I think you’ve done great work here. We all do, don’t we?”

  Venk and Athos both nodded. Athos wordlessly tossed a small pouch to his brother, figuring Breslin would have degraded the scholar for even suggesting that they were missing something. A quest was a quest. They came, they searched, and they found. Mission accomplished as far as he was concerned.

  Looking around the group, Tristofer smiled enigmatically. “We’re not done yet, my friends.”

  Growing angry, Breslin stood.

  “You had better base this on solid, tangible evidence,” he warned. “No more guessing.”

  Tristofer didn’t appear unsettled at all. In fact, he couldn’t be more pleased with Breslin’s choice of word
s.

  “Master Lukas, could you come here a moment? Can you show us the Questor’s Mark again?”

  Lukas’ smile vanished as soon as the scholar’s intentions became clear. The underling had become self-conscious about showing his bare back ever since the mark had appeared and now it seemed that’s all anyone wanted to do was to gaze upon the large mark covering his back. He had hoped that once the handle had been found then he wouldn’t have to worry about exposing his back ever again.

  Careful to face away from his father, Lukas rolled his eyes. He hitched his jerkin up to his chin and waited for the adults to finish commenting on the mark covering his back.

  “You’re only proving my point,” Breslin was saying as he looked upon the Questor’s Mark. “There are no more hidden areas. All sections have been revealed. There’s nothing left to do.”

  “On the contrary,” Tristofer began, still wearing his smug smile, “you couldn’t be more wrong.”

  “Where’s your proof?” Athos demanded.

  Tristofer pointed at the Questor’s Mark.

  “Right there.”

  “You’re looking at the same thing we’re looking at,” Venk pointed out. He was rapidly losing patience with the scholar, too. “Just get to the point, please.”

  Breslin’s eyes widened.

  “Wizards be damned. Tristofer, you’re right!”

  “What?” Athos pushed his way past the scholar and his brother and studied Lukas’ back. “What is it? What do you see?”

  “I had forgotten about that,” Breslin admitted. “Well done, Tristofer! Well done indeed.”

  “Forgotten about what?” Athos demanded.

  “The Questor’s Mark,” Tristofer told him. “It’s still there.”

  “So?”

  Venk let out an exclamation of surprise. He looked at his brother and smacked him on the back of his head.

  “The Questor’s Mark is supposed to disappear once the quest was over. Remember?”

  Rubbing the welt on his head, Athos turned back to his nephew’s mark and slowly nodded.

  “Aye, I do remember that now. The mark is still there. Which means…”

  “That we’re missing something,” Breslin and Venk said together.

  Athos looked at the scholar and finally smiled. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe,” Tristofer assured him.

  “So what are we missing?” Breslin asked. He hooked a thumb in Lukas’ direction. “What does that tell you we need to do next?”

  “Find Nar.”

  “You still think my son’s back will lead us to Nar?” Venk asked incredulously. “There’s nothing left to reveal. You’re looking at the entire mark!”

  Mumbling softly to himself, Tristofer squatted down next to Lukas and studied the mark. For nearly five minutes the scholar mumbled incoherently as his eyes skimmed over the Questor’s Mark.

  “Talk it out,” Breslin encouraged, giving Tristofer a friendly pat on his shoulder. “If ever there was a person that could figure this out, it’d be you.”

  Tristofer’s cheeks flushed as he continued to study Lukas’ back.

  “Let’s review the facts,” he quietly said to himself, but loud enough for everyone to hear. “The mark turned out to be a map and it led us to the power hammer, which is consequently working. The mark was probably intended for someone else, presumably Master Maelnar as it was his workshop. However, for unknown reasons, the mark was bestowed upon an underling.

  “We have since learned that in order to operate the hammer, the one who wields it must have Narian ancestry or else the hammer remains inert and practically unusable. Master Maelnar knew this and therefore insisted his son, who is also of Narian descent, join the group. I believe someone purposely wanted to give Maelnar, or in this case, Breslin that hammer. That begs the question who? Who would do that? Why would they do that?”

  Breslin joined Venk and Athos on the log bench and watched with rapt fascination as Tristofer continued to recap all that they had learned thus far.

  “One theory would be that there’s someone out there who knows where Nar is and is trying to lead us there. However, if that were the case, why send us all over Lentari on a scavenger hunt looking for pieces of a power hammer? That theory generates more questions than it answers. That couldn’t be right. Forget it.”

  Tristofer started to pace as his brain cells warmed up. Lukas dropped his shirt back down and joined his father on the bench. All four watched the scholar pace back and forth.

  “I’m forgetting what Shardwyn said. The spell necessary to create the Questor’s Mark is a very complex one, which suggests that whoever created it had plenty of time to do it. Taking that into consideration, what if that person knows the location of Nar and knows that the only way the city will be found is if the searcher also wields a power hammer?

  “Wouldn’t that suggest that whoever created the Questor’s Mark is being held prisoner?” Breslin gently asked.

  Tristofer’s head snapped up and over to Breslin. “Prisoner? Who said anything about a prisoner?”

  “It’s just a suggestion.”

  Venk rose to his feet. He pulled his son up with him and made a circular motion with a finger, indicating Lukas needed to turn around. The underling sighed again and pulled his shirt up.

  “Let’s assume you’re right,” Venk began, “and say this is not only a guide to help us find the hammer but also to Nar itself. How do we find it? Is there something we need to do in order to reveal the next step?”

  Tristofer shook his head. “I don’t think so. Let’s look at this logically. If we are to believe that we’ve been following a map, picking up pieces to a hammer along the way, then I would say that the very last location to be revealed should be where we start our search.”

  Venk groaned. “You mean…”

  Tristofer turned to look up at Dual Tree.

  “Right. I think there might be more in that hollow between the trunks.”

  “It figures,” Venk muttered darkly.

  “So who goes?” Athos asked, still craning his neck to look up at the distant tree.

  “As much as I don’t want to,” Breslin stated, leaning down to pick up the hammer, “none of you can wield this thing but me. That forces me to go. I’m hoping I can get a volunteer to accompany me.”

  Venk and Athos eyed each other. Neither wanted to go, but neither would refuse if asked. Athos caught sight of Lukas and sighed again. Slowly, he raised a hand.

  Rhamalli deposited the two dwarves back on the same tiny ledge as he had before. The huge red dragon took up his post of hanging from the nearby ridge and kept an eye on the dwarves tightly clutching the branches.

  As soon as Athos’ feet had touched back down on the tiny ledge he had lunged forward to wrap his arms around the closest branch. Breslin followed suit moments later. Athos grunted and shook his head.

  “The last time I was up here I vowed I would never be that far off the ground again.”

  “And here you are,” Breslin commented as he carefully tilted his head from side to side to take in his surroundings. “So how do we do this? Care to lead the way?”

  Athos nodded and began picking his way down the tree trunk until he finally approached the tiny opening at the base of Dual Tree. Casting a furtive glance behind him to make sure Breslin followed, he wiggled back through the tight hole and helped pull Breslin in as soon as he saw his hand poke through the entrance.

  Climbing slowly to his feet, Breslin looked around at the insides of the hollow. Athos pointed up at the point where the two trunks came together.

  “That’s where we found the handle.”

  Breslin nodded. He pulled an axe from his belt and moved towards one of the many branches running through the cave.

  “Maybe there’s something hiding behind one of these roots.”

  Breslin readied a swing when Athos caught his arm and held it firm.<
br />
  “Trust me, you don’t want to do that.”

  The tree began swaying.

  “Don’t mind him,” Athos called out in a loud voice. “He didn’t know. We won’t bother you. We’re just looking for clues. It’s been suggested that we’re missing something in here. I promise, no axes will be used.”

  Breslin gave Athos a speculative stare. “You talk to trees?”

  The tree stopped swaying.

  Athos gave Breslin a smug smile. “Only when it works. Now put that axe away.”

  One of the roots running throughout the hollow, about the same diameter as one of their legs, twitched.

  After crawling about on their hands and knees for the better part of an hour, Athos finally sat back on his haunches and looked at his companion.

  “There’s nothing here. Tristofer may very well believe we are missing something, and he’s probably right, but I don’t think it’s in here. Maybe we should check back at the waterfall?”

  Breslin painfully rose to his feet and leaned against the closest wall.

  “I’d have to agree. Roots and rock are the only things in here.”

  They both heard the creaking and groaning of twisting wood. Venk nudged Breslin in the ribs and pointed at one of the smaller roots. It was lurching back and forth as apparently the tree attempted to pull the root out of the rocky soil. Now free of its stony confines, the root swiped across the floor in a back and forth motion. Several times it collided with the far cavern wall, knocking a few small pieces of stone loose in the process.

  “What’s it doing?” Breslin anxiously asked Athos. “Did it do this to you last time?”

  “It moved before, but not this much. This can’t be good. I think we need to get going. We’ll have to search the –”

  The tree lurched violently, knocking the dwarves off their feet. One of the larger roots lifted up and extricated itself from the mountainside. Acting as a feeler, the root began questing about the room. The thick green tentacle bumped into Breslin and hesitated. The root retreated a few feet before it coiled back and snapped forward, thumping Breslin squarely in the chest, knocking him backward a few feet.

  The root snaked out again as it quested about the hollow for the intruders. Both Breslin and Athos cautiously backed away from the tree’s root.