“How many times have you set out to find this city?” Venk mildly asked. He frowned at the wood he was holding. His attempts to try and carve a troll skull from the wood were not that successful.
“Six times,” Tristofer told him with a smile.
“How far have you made it?”
Small curls dropped onto his lap as he continued to whittle away at the chunk of wood.
“Not very far,” Tristofer admitted. “I led several expeditions to the northeastern section of the Bohanis. I was convinced I had found the valley of the Three Crags.”
“I take it you were wrong?”
Tristofer grunted with annoyance. His most recent failed attempt was still a bitter point of contention between him and Maelnar.
“You said the Narians made good armor?”
“No,” Tristofer corrected. “I said they made great armor.”
“What about weapons?”
“It sounds strange,” Tristofer admitted, “but they weren’t known for their weapons. They focused more on tools than weapons.”
Busy carving one of the two fangs on a troll’s lower jaw, Venk paused.
“What can you tell us about that power hammer I heard you mention earlier?”
Tristofer nodded. “The Narian power hammer. What I can tell you is that it’s an immensely powerful hammer that is rumored to be able to pulverize the hardest stones with a single blow.”
“Do you think they used jhorun to make it work?”
The scholar shook his head. “I do not. In all my years of research, not once has there been any mention of jhorun when it came to Nar.”
“How do you think the hammer works? You must have a theory.”
Athos and Breslin appeared. Both claimed an open spot near the fire. Athos leaned up against a large boulder and pulled his pipe and tobacco out from a pouch on his belt. Breslin mumbled something and pulled his own pipe out but then scowled as he realized he had forgotten his pouch of tobacco. After packing his pipe full of tobacco, Athos tossed the pouch to Breslin, who nodded appreciatively. Breslin packed his pipe full and tossed the pouch back.
“I personally think the gem is the key,” Tristofer continued. “It somehow enhances the hammer. I see no other reason for it to be there.”
Lukas nodded. “My friends all think the hammers are more dangerous than the swords.”
Venk’s hand paused as he worked to remove another sliver of wood. He regarded his son as though he was staring at a stranger.
“You’ve talked about Nar before?”
Lukas twisted around to look at his father. “Aye. With my friends. Sometimes we pretend we’re Narian soldiers. We always carry hammers, never swords.”
“The hammer was important to the Narians, obviously,” Tristofer told Lukas, turning to face the young boy. “It’s featured on their crest, and of course, it’s featured on your back.”
“Why is it upside down?” Lukas wanted to know.
Curious, all three adults looked at the scholar for an answer.
Tristofer was silent as he considered. “Presumably because it was heavy.”
Lukas thought for a moment and then shook his head. “I don’t think they’d make a hammer that they couldn’t wield properly.”
Venk noticed with keen interest that Tristofer had started to fidget uncomfortably. Enjoying this exchange between his son and the scholar, Venk let the half carved skull drop into his lap, forgotten. He crossed his legs at his ankles and waited to see how Tristofer would respond. Chewing thoughtfully on a broken twig, Breslin looked over at the scholar and waited for a response, too. Bored, Athos pulled his pack over to him, retrieved a small whetstone, and proceeded to sharpen his axe.
Tristofer shrugged. “Why they chose to depict the power hammer in such a manner is a mystery that will have to be solved once we find Nar.”
Lukas nodded. “So you don’t know. That’s all you had to say.”
Tristofer frowned as the underling nonchalantly shifted his attention back to the twinkling stars. The last thing he needed on this expedition was another opportunity in which he could lose what little credence he had left. One couldn’t project an aura of confidence when one became stymied by a simple boy.
The following morning began abruptly as Tristofer awoke with a start and let out a bellow of outrage.
“A pox on this accursed place!”
“What the deuce are you blathering about now?” Athos demanded grumpily from his hammock. He had draped his heavy parka across himself and sometime during the night he had completely covered his face. He was now propping a corner of his makeshift blanket up and was peering at Tristofer from within the recesses of his warm cocoon. “Keep your voice down, will you? You’ve been hanging around the humans too long if you think a measly eight hours is enough sleep.”
“My books! My things! They’re gone!”
Breslin, forgetting he was sleeping several feet off the ground, made a move to stand and ended up tangled in his hammock. He crashed heavily to the ground. Moments later, his snores resumed.
Tristofer hurried over to his sleeping form and shook him roughly to wake him up.
“We’ve been robbed! Everything I brought with me has vanished! This is a catastrophe!”
Breslin finally cracked an eye and glared at the scholar. A quick glance up confirmed the sun had not risen, although it was close. The sky was beginning to lighten as dawn approached. Breslin’s brow furrowed.
“You wake me up to tell me you’ve misplaced something?”
“I didn’t misplace anything. It was stolen! We’ve been robbed!”
Breslin gave a quick cursory check of himself by patting several of his pockets. He pulled his pack from where it was leaning up against a tree and rifled through it.
“Everything is here. Food, water, weapons. I haven’t lost anything.”
Venk checked his belongings, and his son’s, and confirmed that they weren’t missing anything, either. He looked over at the still form of his brother, swaying gently in the breeze.
“Athos? Are you missing anything?”
The parka covering Athos bulged slightly as he checked the contents of his pockets. An arm then snaked out from under the warmth of the parka and checked the status of his pack, which was sitting on the ground directly beneath him. The thin leather cord he had used to tie his pack and his hammock together remained intact.
“My stuff is fine,” Athos grumpily responded. He pulled his arm back in under the covers and tried to go back to sleep.
Tristofer started to whine. “So it’s just me? Oh, that’s just great. Why do these things always happen to me?”
“I’ll help you look for your things.”
Tristofer turned to see Venk’s young son swing his legs out over his hammock and drop lightly to the ground.
“Your pockets were all full,” Lukas remembered as he stared around at the forest floor. “It’s too much stuff for one person to carry off. Let’s look for clues!”
“Son, it’s too dark,” Venk told him. “We’ll search for Tristofer’s junk at first light.”
Tristofer crossed his arms over his chest and sulked. “It’s not junk.”
An entire hour was spent searching for some signs of what had happened to Tristofer’s possessions. No signs, no footprints, not even a trace of any of Tristofer’s numerous books could be found. He might as well have dug a hole, held his jacket upside down over it, and then filled the hole back up. The scholar was right. His things had vanished. Only when the group had officially given up the search did Lukas give Tristofer a glimmer of hope.
“I think I see something!”
Tristofer hurried eagerly to Lukas’ side.
“What? What is it? Have you found something?”
“No, but I see something. Look, there in the water. There’s something floating about twenty feet away.”
Tristofer shaded his eyes from the overhead sun and squinted out at the water. There was something in the water, and it looked an awful
lot like –
“It’s one of my books! What is it doing in the water?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Venk asked as he joined his son at the water’s edge. “I’d say your things were pilfered by a nixie.”
“Where’s your proof?” Tristofer sputtered. “You have none. Why? Because nixies are extinct.”
Venk looked left, then right, and then behind them. “See anyone else around here? It’s quiet enough where we would have heard the splash of your book being thrown. I think it was carried in.”
“How did you know that nixies could leave the water?” Tristofer asked. His respect for Lukas’ father just rose by several levels. That fact wasn’t commonly known.
“You aren’t the only one who has heard stories.”
“Who...”
“Our father has regaled us with many a tale when we were young,” Athos explained, finally extricating himself from his hammock. “Tobin used to tell stories of when he and my grandfather would sneak Topside and listen to the nixies sing.”
“They sang?” Tristofer asked, astonished. “I have never heard any mention of singing.”
“Exactly how often do you research anything besides Nar?” Breslin asked.
“My knowledge about occurrences that may or may not have happened Topside is severely limited as my area of expertise is focused on but one thing: Nar.”
“Sounds like you have used that line before,” Venk observed.
Tristofer smiled mischievously. “Once or twice.”
Breslin rubbed his temples. His head was throbbing mercilessly. It was becoming uncomfortably common for him to get a headache in Tristofer’s presence. He sighed.
“In case someone present,” Breslin began, “happens to know a thing or two about these water sprites, perchance that person, or persons, will care to enlighten those that don’t?”
Tristofer looked at Lukas’ father and held out an arm in an open invitation to accept Breslin’s request. Venk shook his head no. Tristofer turned to look back out over the water at his floating book.
“I’ll tell you what I know about nixies but first we must get my book back. Who’s the best swimmer?”
Three adult dwarves, and one underling, all cringed.
“It’s your book,” Athos pointed out. “If anyone has to get wet I’d say it should be its owner. That means you.”
Tristofer gazed helplessly back out at the water. “But I can’t swim! Surely one of you must know how to swim. Lukas, help an old man out and fetch me my book.”
Lukas shook his head no and hid behind his father.
“Venk?”
Venk shook his head. “No.”
“Breslin?”
“I’ve never waded in any farther than my knees. Not a chance.”
Desperate, Tristofer turned to the last member of their group. “Athos, do you think that...”
“Never learned how, pal.”
“Tristofer, you know we all avoid the water,” Breslin patiently reminded him. “We don’t swim for a reason. We sink.”
“I know, I know,” Tristofer snapped. He turned to look longingly at his floating book. As if on cue, the book slipped below the surface and didn’t reappear.
“Someone must have taken your things,” Breslin told him. “I want to know who, or what, is responsible.”
“As I said before,” Venk reminded everyone as he laid a hand on his son’s shoulder, “I think this is a prank masterminded by the nixies.”
“You don’t know that,” Athos scolded. His trademark frown had reappeared on his face.
“We’ve searched this entire area and have found no traces. The one thing that has been found was in the water. According to Shardwyn, this is the last known location of the nixies. I’d say this proves they’re still alive.”
“How long has it been since anyone has seen a nixie?” Lukas wanted to know.
“Oh, about a day ago,” Athos chuckled softly.
Breslin, standing nearby, snorted with laughter and expertly disguised it as a cough.
“At least 500 years,” Tristofer answered. Neither he nor Lukas had heard Athos’ comment. “According to Shardwyn.”
Lukas’ naturally inquisitive nature took over.
“What’d they look like? You say there’s a picture of a nixie on my back. Is it accurate?”
“Ordinarily I’d say that I wouldn’t know,” Tristofer answered with a smile, “but both Shardwyn’s notes and the Questor’s Mark are a match. The nixies are humanoid, about a quarter the size of a human, which makes them about half our size. They have long black hair usually tied so that it falls evenly down their back. Their skin is pale, almost to the point where it appears light green. Naturally, they have gills. Where the gills are located remains a mystery as no one has ever studied a nixie up close. There are reports of nixies venturing out onto dry land for a period of several minutes, which suggests they can hold their breath that long. They can’t survive out of water; that much is certain. What’s also certain, since they pilfered my belongings, is that they are a mischievous people. Whether they puncture the bottom of boats or else pull them under, many people have reported mysterious accidents when trying to cross any body of water said to be inhabited by a tribe of nixies.”
“So they’re dangerous,” Athos decided, absentmindedly resting his hand on the handle of his axe.
“They won’t openly harm anyone,” Tristofer countered. “Quite the opposite. If a boat sinks in their water, they’ll make sure all occupants make it to shore, albeit typically the wrong shore.”
“Then why bother sabotaging the blasted boat in the first place?” Breslin asked.
Tristofer shrugged. “Maybe they take offense to someone else using their waters? Perhaps they’re offended by people who don’t swim? No one can say.”
“In that case, they’re going to just love us,” Athos grumbled. Breslin chuckled.
“How can we tell them we’re friends?” Lukas suddenly asked, drawing everyone’s attention. “We need to let them know we won’t hurt them.”
“There is a way, aye. The problem is,” Tristofer scratched the back of his head as he said this, “it’s more likely we could find the nixies on our own.”
Breslin gave Lukas an approving smile and tousled his hair. He turned to face Tristofer.
“It seems to me that this quest is one huge challenge after another, so it fits that we have to accomplish some task to proceed. What do you need, Tristofer?”
“An orikai flower.”
“A what?”
“It’s a rare flower that I haven’t seen in over a hundred years.”
“Describe it. There’s got to be one around here.”
Tristofer shook his head. “I can tell you, but it won’t do any good. It’s probably the most rare and sought after flower known to exist.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. We’re looking for pontal now?” Athos threw his hands up in protest. “This is not the type of quest I signed up for!”
“Ignore him,” Venk told Tristofer, glaring at his brother as he did so. “What are we looking for?”
“You’re looking for a tri-petal flower that has purple elongated petals with white edges. The column and stamen are golden that will sparkle when exposed to the sunlight. It’s presumed the nixies are attracted to the reflected light.”
“Sounds like a very unique flower,” Breslin admitted. “So once we find one of these flowers, then what do we do?”
“I doubt very much you’ll find an orikai, but if you do, you’ll know it. The flower lives on a distinctive blue stalk that looks a lot like a vine. If you find it, bring it back here as quickly as possible.”
“Split up,” Breslin told the group. “Find one of these flowers. Call out when you do.”
“You’re not going to find one,” the scholar insisted. “There haven’t been any sightings for a very long time.”
Breslin grabbed Tristofer by his jacket collar and dragged him along. “Don’t think you’re getting out
of searching. The more eyes, the better. Get moving.”
Four hours later, after meticulously combing the area around the lake and then expanding the search for a full two leagues beyond, Breslin was forced to admit Tristofer had been right. There were no exotic purple flowers anywhere in the area. How were they supposed to summon the nixies now?
“Was there any other way to get their attention?” Venk asked.
The group was all sitting around the hearth eating their midday meal which consisted of cold mutton and hard crusty bread. Several fallen logs had been dragged over to serve as seats.
“There’s no other way that I’m aware of,” Tristofer admitted. He was hot, sore, and quite ready to take a nap. He hadn’t had this much activity in the last five years combined.
“Then we must find one of these flowers,” Breslin decided. “Who’s got the spells Shardwyn gave us?”
“I do. I’ve got them in my pack,” Venk answered.
“Get them, will you? I think it’s time we use one of them.”
Curious, Venk stood up and went to his pack. Retrieving the small silk bag, Venk handed it to Breslin. The bag was opened and upended on the ground in front of the hearth. Selecting the white sphere with the symbol of the quill on it, Breslin gathered up the other four spells and dropped them back into the bag and handed it back. Venk pointed at the sphere Breslin was still holding.
“That’s the messenger spell. Who are you going to contact?”
“My father. He wants this quest to succeed just as much as we do. Therefore we’re going to make it his problem to find one of these blasted flowers.”
Venk and Athos both grinned at the same time in the same manner. Each caught sight of the other and the two brothers gently clinked their axes together.
Lost City Page 9
