Quest SMASH

by Joseph Lallo

  Fanning away the heavy dust and pulverized stone that was now prevalent in the air, Breslin waited patiently for his vision to return. Twenty seconds later, when it finally did, they could see the true power the hammer held, as the door itself was still in one piece but was now heavily dented. The four bars that had been anchored into the surrounding stone wall had been ripped away from wall, taking huge chunks of stone with it.

  They were now in a well lit chamber that was piled high with books, scrolls, charts, and maps. A lumpy mattress was pushed up into a corner. Several threadbare chairs were scattered about, including a large chair that would be considered over-sized for a dwarf but average for a human. Adjacent to this chair was a rickety shelf full of ancient books. Sitting in the chair, looking like he wasn’t the least bit surprised that someone had just forced their way into his chamber, was the most ancient and wizened dwarf that anyone had ever seen.

  A long, dirty, unbraided beard lay unfurled along the ground. Long, thin white hair also came close to brushing the ground, but had been tied up with a simple leather cord. A plain threadbare tunic, long since faded to khaki, and a pair of worn black trousers patched in several places, completed the picture.

  Before anyone could ask the elderly dwarf a question, the ancient fellow surprised them with a smile and a bow. He turned to Breslin and shook his head.

  “You sure took your time, boy,” the ancient fellow accused. His voice was clear, strong, and completely belied his appearance. “I had just about given up hope.”

  Breslin was flummoxed. He cleared his throat nervously.

  “Do you know me?”

  The little fellow threw his head back and laughed heartily. What came out was a cackle that practically curdled their blood.

  “I should say so, boy! Maelnar, is that any way to treat your father?”

  Breslin’s eyes opened in shock. No one ever called him by his birth name. In order to prevent confusion, he always asked that people call him by his middle name, Breslin. Who was this person?

  “How do you know my name?”

  Confused, Lukas looked at the tiny old man. He pointed back at Breslin.

  “His name is Breslin, not Maelnar.”

  “Breslin? Breslin?? You’re lying. You must be.”

  “Maelnar Breslin is my given birth name,” Breslin explained to his companions. “To make sure the two of us aren’t confused, my father goes by Maelnar and I go by Breslin.”

  “Your father?”

  Everyone turned back to the ancient dwarf. He slowly got down from his chair and hobbled over to Breslin to study him closer. The old dwarf’s eyes widened with disbelief.

  “I can see it now. Dear me, how long have I been gone?”

  Breslin stared at the tiny stooped being and dropped down to one knee as finally realized who he was facing.

  “Grandfather.”

  Chapter 12 – Once Upon A Nar

  “Grandfather? You’re his grandfather?” Venk kept shifting his gaze from the tiny wizened being to his friend kneeling on the ground. His gaze finally settled on Breslin. “You never mentioned your grandfather was also searching for Nar!”

  “That’s because I didn’t know,” Breslin clarified as he slowly regained his feet. He turned to his grandfather and bowed once more. “Grandfather, may I present my companions? Over there in the black armor is Athos. In the red armor is his brother, Venk. The underling is Venk’s son, Lukas. On my right is Tristofer, of the Kla Rehn, who has been assisting us. My friends, I’d like you to meet my grandfather, Kasnar.”

  After the introductions were over, Venk approached the old dwarf and bowed.

  “Did you send the Questor’s Mark?”

  Kasnar smiled and nodded.

  “Aye. Pleased, I am, to see that you understood it for what it was.”

  Venk pointed at Tristofer. “Only because of him. I thought it was just a burn on my son’s back.”

  At this, Kasnar cocked his head and stared at Venk. Slowly, he turned his head so that he was staring straight at Lukas.

  “Are you telling me your son bore the Questor’s Mark?”

  “Bore? You mean bear. Aye. He still has it.”

  Kasnar shook his head. “Impossible. The mark served only to bring the bearer here.”

  Venk beckoned Lukas to come over.

  “I just looked at it less than an hour ago. Trust me, it’s there.”

  “Indeed? Can you show me?”

  Knowing what was coming, Lukas pulled up his shirt and exposed his back to the old man. Kasnar smiled and nodded.

  “Just as I thought. There’s nothing there.”

  “What?” Venk sputtered. He spun his son around so that he could see for himself. Sure enough, the mark was gone. Lukas’ back was as bare as the day he was born.

  “It’s gone!”

  “Of course it’s gone,” Kasnar scolded. “You accomplished your mission, therefore the quest was completed. No more mark.”

  Smiling profusely, all anger forgotten, Venk stepped back a few steps and pulled his son back with him.

  “Argumentative comments withdrawn.”

  Kasnar looked over at his grandson and caught his eye. “Why did the underling have the mark? How did your father manage to avoid receiving it? I spent years crafting that spell. Years! And now you’re telling me that I didn’t even get it to the right person?”

  Everyone in the room nodded, including Lukas.

  “Is that why it took so long for you five to make it here? I activated my spell, what, about six months ago? It’s starting to make sense now.”

  “What does?” Breslin asked.

  “To think that I actually second guessed myself,” Kasnar angrily exclaimed. He painfully climbed back up into the oversized chair. Sighing heavily, he scooted back so that his aching bones were resting against the hard wood. He eyed Lukas for a few moments before he finally smiled. “How long did it take for you to realize what was on your back, young master… master… I apologize lad. What was your name again?”

  Lukas nervously cleared his throat. “Lukas.”

  “Ah, yes. Right. Master Lukas. How long did it take to figure out what was on your back?”

  Suddenly shy, Lukas looked to his father for help.

  “Months,” Venk answered. “It was my fault. I thought it was a burn and it hadn’t healed properly. Seeing how Lukas was never in any pain, I never explored further. It was only when Lukas was burned by a drop of molten silver did we learn of its nature. That’s when the healer saw his back, asked a few questions, and then let the matter drop.”

  “Let the matter drop?” Kasnar sharply asked, frowning.

  “I wasn’t concerned and neither was he. Somehow, and I don’t know how, word got to your son, Maelnar, who wanted to see Lukas and ask him why he had a Narian hammer on his back.”

  “I thought that was the best part,” Kasnar confided. “I thought for certain that my son would take one look at the hammer, the only legible part of the mark, and instantly know the message was for him. I never dreamed the mark would be given to another in his stead.”

  “Maelnar would have known the mark was intended for him?” Tristofer asked. “How?”

  “Because he’s part Narian, too,” Kasnar answered. “Every descendant of Nar has the letters ‘nar’ somewhere in their name. First name, given name, or sometimes nickname, but almost always in the first name.”

  Athos gave Breslin a friendly nudge in the ribs. “You knew that, right?”

  “I remember my father telling me that at some point, aye.”

  “How long have you been here?” Venk wanted to know as he glanced around the sparsely furnished room.

  “More years than I can count,” Kasnar admitted. His eyes had suddenly attached themselves to his grandson’s belt. He had spotted the power hammer.

  Breslin, correctly guessing what his grandfather was staring at, eased the hammer out of the belt loop and held it out, handl
e first. A gnarled, arthritic hand gently closed upon the handle and gripped it tightly. The ruby on the hammer head glowed brightly, as if sensing the excitement emanating from the elder Narian descendant.

  “It’s heavy,” Venk warned. “Be careful.”

  Kasnar lifted the hammer high over his head, as though it weighed no more than a feather.

  “Not for us, it isn’t,” Kasnar answered with a coy grin. He tossed the hammer playfully to his left hand, but his heavily arthritic hand was unable to grip the hammer, even as light as it was for him. The hammer spun to the floor and landed with a loud thud.

  “I’m not as young as I used to be, I’m afraid.”

  Having landed closest to him, Athos bent down and clenched his teeth, being determined to effortlessly lift the hammer just as Breslin and Kasnar had done.

  “You’re not fooling anyone, lad,” Kasnar merrily informed Athos as the hammer was returned to him. Several veins were bulging on Athos’ forehead while his face had turned to beet red. “I appreciate the thought, though.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Athos managed to wheeze out.

  Kasnar noticed Breslin staring at him as though his beard had caught fire.

  “What is it, boy? Speak your mind.”

  Breslin was silent for another moment or two before he walked over to the closest chair, plopped it down in front of his grandfather, and sat heavily down.

  “Grandfather, what are you doing in Nar? How did you come to be here? Who’s been holding you here?”

  Kasnar smiled and indicated everyone should take a seat.

  “It’s a long story, my boy.”

  “Are we in danger?” Breslin suddenly asked, reaching out to take the hammer that Kasnar had set on the chair besides him. “Obviously someone has held you prisoner. Are they due back?”

  “He was just here yesterday,” Kasnar answered. “He’s not due to be back for a while.”

  “Who?” Breslin demanded. “Who isn’t due to be back in a while?”

  “Patience, lad. Patience. Allow me to tell you my story.”

  Once upon a time –

  Athos snorted in disbelief. Kasnar shot him a glare, cleared his throat, and tried again.

  Once upon a time, nearly a full millennia ago, my tale begins. Now that I think about it, it was about the same time the city had finally been found.

  Athos whistled. “A thousand years ago? Really?”

  Kasnar held up a withered hand and gave him a sweeping gesture. “Think that kind of pillaging out there happened overnight? Now be quiet.”

  “Sorry.”

  Now, as I was saying, this tale begins nearly a thousand years ago. I had completed my apprenticeship nearly a century prior, and had become a very gifted toymaker.

  Athos snickered.

  “A toymaker? Hmmmph. Wouldn’t have called that one.”

  Venk elbowed his brother in the gut. Hard.

  Ignoring the outburst, Kasnar continued.

  I was startled to learn that my skills were becoming well known. Not only was I making toys and trinkets for the children of prominent council members, I found that my services were being requested at other cities. Borahgg was just the beginning. Soon I was filling orders for Graun, Bykram, or any city the six clans laid claim to.

  Life was good, lads. My services were in high demand. My toys were selling just as fast as I could make them. What everyone really wanted were my dragons. I’ve been fascinated with dragons for so long I thought what better tribute could there be than small reproductions that could be made to move around of their own accord? Gold, red, blue, black, if a color combination existed, I’ve created it. Blue dragons were my favorite.

  Tristofer held up a hand. “Really? We saw a blue dragon a few days ago while we were being carried to Bykram. It was from a distance, mind you, but still a very dark shade of blue.”

  Everyone stared silently at the scholar. Tristofer’s cheeks reddened. He closed his mouth and dropped his eyes.

  I had just completed a special toy for the daughter of a noble, and was in the process of delivering the gift when –

  “What was the gift?” Lukas suddenly asked, breaking Kasnar’s concentration once again.

  Startled, Kasnar looked at the boy. “What was that?”

  “You said a ‘special toy’. I was wondering what it was you had made.”

  “Oh. You’re an underling so I’ll humor you. It was a dancing princess, specifically crafted to resemble her once she attained a marriageable age.”

  Lukas nodded and fell silent.

  Where was I? Oh, that’s right. The human girl. So, I knew the price the girl’s father paid easily covered my own costs, plus the time and effort to deliver the finished toy to its owner, and I also thought a change of scenery would do me good, so I paid R’Tal a visit. While the girl fussed over the likeness of herself, her father knew his gold had been well spent, so he drew me aside and wanted to know if I had ever done any commissioned work. He wanted to know if I ever made weapons. Naturally, I had. I mean, who amongst us has never made a hammer? It’s the very nature of our kind.

  Tristofer’s arm rose meekly into the air.

  Kasnar shook his head. “Shocking.”

  “He doesn’t even know me and he’s already insulting me,” Tristofer muttered softly.

  Overhearing, Athos grunted, but elected to keep quiet.

  The human noble wanted a sword, and a special one at that. Seems he had heard that a few of the dwarves were masters of coloring metal. It’s a trick that only a very select few had learned, and how this human knew I was one I was not certain. Regardless of how he knew, he promised me all kinds of riches if I would make a red single-handed blade with a pommel of solid gold. I thought the coloring was odd, but no more so than any of the other unusual requests I had heard in the span of my career.

  As I thought back to prior commitments waiting for me back in my workshop, the noble mistook the pause as a sign of refusal, so he began to offer me whatever treasures he had that he thought I might be interested in. After listing off jewels, gilded daggers, and even a set of ruby-encrusted tools, if you can believe that, he finally stumbled upon something that piqued my curiosity. He told me that he had a map of Nar.

  Naturally I scoffed at this. If you had a map leading to Nar, I argued, why weren’t you using it to find the city yourself? He told me that he had tried, but the map was either hiding something or else he had incorrectly interpreted it. Either way you looked at it, I was interested, and he knew it. Said he’d give me the map if I made him his sword.

  What could I do? If I didn’t agree, then I’d regret it for the rest of my life. I knew this. Sadly, he knew this, too. Therefore, I agreed to the bargain.

  After delivering him his sword a month later, he gave me the map. It was an unremarkable thing. Small, even smaller than a standard sheet of parchment. And, I might add, it showed a section of the Bohanis that had already been well mapped. I had been swindled.

  Or so I thought.

  “The map in father’s study?” Breslin interrupted. “That’s what you traded for? It’s not even accurate!”

  “It was drawn by a Narian cartographer, so by definition, it was a Narian map. What the map was used for we’ll probably never know.”

  “But you were swindled! He made you believe it was a map to Nar when it was nothing more than –”

  “They told me it was a Narian map. It was. Let it go, lad. May I continue?”

  Contrite, Breslin dropped his eyes and waited for his grandfather to resume his story.

  Upon closer examination of the map, I found a tiny upside-down hammer in the lower left corner. I decided it was just a mark made by the cartographer and was ready to dismiss it when curiosity got the better of me and I decided, since I was already at a castle, with a well stocked library, to do some research. Imagine my surprise when I was able to authenticate the map as genuinely Narian.

  From the time I c
ould barely walk I have heard stories about the fabled city of Nar. Every child thinks he can find it when he grows to adulthood. Every adult, once they reach adulthood, vows if they ever have the resources to properly search for the city, then they would.

  I did not have the proper resources to launch a full-scale expedition to Nar, but I also wasn’t a pauper. I carefully folded the map and tucked it into my papers. I remember turning around and coming face to face with the little human girl for whom I had just delivered the dancing doll. Standing next to her was a second human child, around the same age and garbed similarly. She introduced her best friend in the world and introduced me as the one who had created her favorite, most bestest toy in the world.

  “Bestest?” Breslin smiled, raising an eyebrow.

  “I’m paraphrasing,” Kasnar explained. “Those were her words not mine. Besides, she was no more than nine years old. Stop making me lose my focus.”

  “Sorry.”

  After she introduced her friend, she implored me, even begged me, to make her friend the same type of doll that I had made for her. I told her that this type of request wasn’t an easy one, and that perhaps if I were to speak to her father maybe, just maybe, we might be able to work something out. The first girl informed me that her friend’s family couldn’t afford to purchase all the pretty things like hers could, and that’s why she wanted to deal with me directly.

  I found myself between the proverbial rock and a hard place. While I paused to collect my thoughts, the first child grabbed my arm and asked if I would consider doing a trade, like her father had done for me. Not believing this human child could have anything that I would ever want, I gently asked what she had in mind. She told me to follow her. Turning on her heel, she led me deep into the castle, past several sets of guards, into a large room which I correctly guessed was the nursery set up for all the noble’s children. All manner of toys were scattered about. How these children could possibly want more toys was beyond me.