“What’s happening?” Breslin asked, twisting in midair to study their location. “Are we going down?”
Venk looked closely at the wall of stone next to them. “I don’t think we... wait! Aye, we are. Look down there. Two Head’s cave is getting closer.”
“This is ridiculous,” Athos spat in disgust. “The sun will set before we reach the ground. Can we not move things along?”
“Er, Venk, can I ask how much longer this spell will hold out?” Tristofer warily asked.
“Not much longer by my reckoning,” Venk told him. He addressed his left hand again. “We need to get down faster than this.”
The rate they were descending doubled, which wasn’t saying much.
“Faster than that.”
Their velocity doubled again.
“Getting closer. Keep going.”
Their speed increased until they were being lowered to the ground at a much more comfortable rate. They had already passed the dragon’s cave and were nearing the treetops when bad luck graced them with its presence once more. Shardwyn’s spell gave out.
One moment Venk was clutching the small warm sphere and the next his hand was empty. As soon as the spell vanished Venk knew with absolute certainty that they were in serious trouble.
“I’m really starting to dislike that wizard.”
Venk and his companions screamed as they plummeted towards the trees. Gaining in speed, they punched through the forest canopy, snapping off twigs and getting mouthfuls of leaves and pine needles for their troubles. They dropped another fifty feet when they landed on something that was soft and springy. The surface stretched as it absorbed the energy from their fall and recoiled back into place, causing them to bounce back into the air. The next thing they hit was much harder. The surface resembled a pile of shields all overlapping one another. The ground shifted, tilting steeply down, sending the five of them tumbling and sliding down the lumpy slide. They rolled several times along the ground until they came to a stop in a tangled heap of arms and legs.
Breslin was the first to crack an eye open. He was flat on his back, looking up, way way up, at their savior: a dragon. Or more specifically, the owner of the dragon wing they had landed on. The wing must have bounced them over to its leg and then they had slid down the dragon’s heavily scaled foreleg to the ground. Confused, the dragon stared at the distant treetops, wondering what else was planning on falling from the sky.
“What do we do now?” Athos whispered to Breslin.
“Start smiling,” Breslin whispered back. He cautiously regained his feet and cleared his throat as he did so. “Good day to you, my fine scaly friend. You have our thanks for breaking our fall.”
The black dragon jerked its head down. Its eyes narrowed as it located those responsible for its sore wing.
“You landed on her wing,” a familiar voice told them. “She’s not exactly happy to see you.”
Rhamalli had appeared. The dark red dragon with the purple edged wings angled its head and indicated the dwarves should back away from the unknown dragon.
“They soiled my scales, Rhamalli!”
Rhamalli turned to look back at the black dragon that was now holding up her left foreleg.
“Kem, don’t be melodramatic.”
“Is there or is there not something dripping off my scales?”
Sure enough, some type of liquid could be seen trickling off the glossy black scales, coalescing onto the ground. Rhamalli turned back to stare at the dwarves with a shocked expression on his face.
“You urinated on her??”
Breslin’s mouth dropped open, aghast. His expression quickly turned to anger as he looked at Athos, who angrily looked at his brother. Horrified, Venk looked down at his son.
“Boy, you’d better tell me you didn’t do that.”
Lukas shook his head. “I didn’t.”
Everyone slowly turned to Tristofer.
“Don’t look at me. I didn’t pee on the dragon.”
Breslin gave Tristofer’s clothes a quick once over.
“Why are your clothes wet?”
“My clothes aren’t wet! What in the world gave you... wait. What’s this? They are wet. Was it really me?”
Breslin sighed and closed his eyes. Shaking his head, he turned to face the black dragon.
“Please accept my humblest of apologies. I didn’t know my companion would do that.”
“It’s water! I didn’t pee on the dragon. Look, see? It’s just water!” Tristofer held up his punctured water bag. “It must have ripped during the slide down. That’s all, it’s only water. Er, please don’t eat us, Mister Kem.”
“Kemxandra is a female,” Rhamalli informed the scholar, albeit a little coldly. “I wouldn’t think you’d want to insult the same dragon twice on the same day.”
“Stop talking,” Breslin told Tristofer. “Close your mouth. All the way. There you go. Keep it that way until we’re safely away from here.”
Tristofer nodded glumly and jammed his hands into his pockets. Meanwhile, Kemxandra had bent her long black neck down so that she could take a few cautious sniffs of her leg. Satisfied that it was only water, the female dragon resumed ignoring the dwarves.
Breslin shook his head as he scowled at Tristofer. He turned to look up at Rhamalli. “So what are you doing here? What happened to Two Heads?”
Rhamalli moved his vast bulk to the side so that the dwarves could see what was happening behind him. The Zweigelan was struggling to escape, but it was a lost battle. A full size green dragon was holding each of the two necks tightly against the ground while another green dragon had pinned its wings back behind it. A third dragon, this one as white as snow, was leaning its enormous body against the Zweigelan’s, preventing any chance of an escape.
“You captured it?” Breslin asked. “Whatever for?”
“The rebel must be taken to Rinbok Intherer. There will be no renegades in his domain. This Zweigelan has been a thorn in his side long enough.”
“That’s why it dove past us and disappeared into the trees,” Tristofer mused. “It sensed the presence of the others and it was trying to escape.”
Rhamalli nodded. “Aye. We knew it would flee once we had been detected. That’s why more of us were hiding on the ground.”
“Well played,” Venk nodded, impressed.
“Rinbok Intherer is indebted to you for discovering the renegade’s lair,” Rhamalli told them. “He has authorized the five of you to be carried back to your valley if you so choose.”
All five dwarves vehemently shook their heads no.
“Thanks, but I think we’ll walk,” Breslin told the dragon. “I think I can speak for all of us here when I say that we’re done with flying. Besides, we have to figure out what the next move is.”
“Did you find what you were searching for?”
Venk held up the spiraled ruby.
“What’s that?” Rhamalli wanted to know.
“It’s a gem,” Venk answered, using a tone typically reserved for Lukas whenever he asked a silly question.
“Your powers of observation do you credit, master dwarf. I have not seen a jeweled whorl before. Have you fathomed its part in your quest?”
Venk shook his head. “Not yet.”
Athos located his fallen orix in a clump of prickly bushes. Cursing loudly, he retrieved his weapon and inspected it closely for damage. Not a scratch could be found. Smiling, he snapped it closed and returned it to its holder on his chest plate.
Several hours later the dwarves were all sitting around the hearth at their hastily constructed camp. Packs were stowed, hammocks were strung, and once everyone had finished their evening meal, only then did Breslin ask Venk to produce the unique jewel. Tristofer leaned forward and plucked the jewel out of Venk’s hands just as soon as he laid eyes on it.
“It’s almost cold to the touch. Anyone else notice that?”
Venk nodded. “Aye. Just as soon as I touched it. It made the hairs on my arm stand up.”
“Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”
With his water bag raised high in the air, Venk briefly glanced over at the scholar before taking several large swallows of the cool mountain water they had found earlier.
“I highly doubt it.”
“It’s synthetic. It has to be. Look how perfect the spiral is. Look how each cut is precisely aligned with the next. These gems don’t occur naturally. The Narians engineered them.”
Breslin grunted. “Balderdash. You have no proof.”
“The dragons said they’ve never seen a jewel like this,” Tristofer continued, anxious to prove his point. “We certainly haven’t. What does that tell you?”
“It tells me that you still haven’t cleaned the grime out of my pack like you promised you would.”
Chagrined, Tristofer glanced at the grubby mess Venk’s pack had become after he had stuffed it full of books and scrolls back at the Zweigelan’s lair.
“That’s right, I did say that.”
“I know you did,” Venk agreed. “Get that moldy mess out of my pack and start cleaning.”
“What about the gem? When are we going to see what happens to Lukas’ back when we touch the gem to the map?”
“Soon. As for you, get busy. I’d like to be able to pick my pack up again without thinking about tossing it into the fire.”
Resigned, Tristofer turned to the task at hand. The sooner he had Venk’s pack clean, the sooner he could study whatever changes the jewel brought to the map. Regardless of what Venk had said, he was going to keep a close eye on the proceedings from his vantage point. However, the scholar in him had other ideas in mind. Noticing that he had acquired quite a few new books and pieces of literature from the Zweigelan’s cave, he decided to catalog the newest additions to his traveling collection of books and scrolls. The items that were originally his went into one pile while those that were new went into another. Not until they had been closely examined, of course.
Lukas and the gem were quickly forgotten.
As he dropped a moldy book about trade routes down onto the new pile, a piece of paper partially slipped out from within its pages. Curiosity piqued, Tristofer pulled the yellowing parchment out and carefully unfolded it. It was a request from the human king to add an additional shipment of par bark to his order. Apparently the king enjoyed the earthy taste of the spice and wanted to increase his supply. Tristofer tossed the paper onto the discard pile and returned his attention to the next book.
“What was that?” Breslin asked as he walked by with an armful of firewood.
“It’s just a request from the human king to bring back more spice that he had originally ordered. Mundane stuff.”
Breslin glanced back at the sheet of paper and noticed its condition.
“Which king? Kri’Entu?”
Tristofer leaned over to pick up the discarded paper. He shook his head.
“No. This king’s name is Kre’Jurin.”
“Kre’Jurin?” Breslin deposited his load of wood next to the hearth. “Kre’Jurin was king of the humans when my father was my age, and I won’t even begin to tell you how many hundreds of years ago that was.”
Tristofer shrugged. Whether it was two hundred years ago or two thousand, he didn’t care.
“It goes to show you how long Two Heads had been terrorizing the area,” Breslin explained.
“You’d think the Dragon Lord would have dealt with it long before we came along,” Venk idly mused.
“Maybe he couldn’t find him?” Breslin guessed. “Or else maybe he had, and Two Heads had been given warnings, but elected not to pay heed? We may never know. What else do you have in there?”
Tristofer picked a few of the discarded books up and showed them to his companions.
“Nothing of interest, I’m afraid. We have titles on trade routes, horticulture, and even a book on bow making. Over there are a few children’s books that I haven’t checked yet.”
Breslin looked down at the half dozen badly damaged books and shook his head. He looked at Lukas and motioned him over.
“See anything down there that you’d like?”
“No. They’re all dirty.”
“They may be able to be cleaned.”
About to shake his head no, Lukas hesitated. A thin book barely thicker than a leaflet caught his eye. The cover, torn in several areas and missing the lower left portion, looked familiar. He stooped to pick the thin book up. Giving it a shake to dislodge years of dust, Lukas peered at the cover. It was a picture of a city. A golden city.
Lukas wiped the cover on the grass next to him and looked again. A badly tattered copy of the Legend of Nar looked back at him, only this copy had been illustrated by a different artist.
“Father, come see! It’s a copy of the Legend of Nar, like that which Master Maelnar showed us, only this one looks older.”
Venk abandoned watching Tristofer’s attempt at cleaning his pack and joined his son. He frowned as Lukas handed him the dilapidated book.
“It’s a copy of the Legend of Nar. You have that book. You’ve read that book. I’ve read you that book. Besides, yours is in much better condition.”
Lukas nodded. “Aye! But see here? The pictures are different!”
Venk brought the book up closer to his eyes. He squinted. The cover was a picture of an aerial view of a city. The golden buildings sparkled radiantly while the tiny specs that were supposed to be Nar’s inhabitants went about their business. Opening the first page, Venk began to read aloud:
In the annals of history,
Long has it been told:
Lying deep beneath the mountains,
Was a fabled city of old.
“I may not be a scholar, son, but I can tell you that this is the same book.”
“It is not! The pictures are different!”
Lukas looked wildly around until he spotted Tristofer on his hands and knees scrubbing his father’s pack. He ran over to him and dropped down on his knees as well.
“Tristofer, look! It’s a copy of the Legend of Nar, but the pictures are different.”
Tristofer, who had his head jammed up inside the freshly scrubbed pack to make certain he had extricated all traces of grime, pulled his head out and focused on the underling.
“What was that?”
Lukas held out the frayed book. About to ask the boy what he was supposed to do with that, Tristofer noticed the different illustrations, too.
“Where did you get this?”
“From you. It was one of the books you brought back from the Zweigelan’s cave.”
Tristofer sank back on his knees and slowly, reverently, read the book while he simultaneously inspected the illustrations. Right away Tristofer knew that the drawings were different from the one belonging to Maelnar’s granddaughter. The style was different. These pictures were dark; foreboding. It was as if the pictures had been commissioned for something else and as an afterthought had been assembled into a collection to be passed off as a piece of children’s literature.
Tristofer turned to the page depicting the catastrophe and held his breath. The king! The king was shown holding his hammer and it was a much better close-up than little Trindolyn’s book had ever been. There, clutched tightly in the king’s hand, was the power hammer with the red jewel clearly visible on the tool’s head. Also visible was the small sharp point that comprised the other side of the hammer head. Next to the point was...
“Who has that metal thing from the lake?” Tristopher excitedly asked.
Athos and Venk both shrugged and held up their hands, palms up. They didn’t have it.
“Breslin?”
Maelnar’s son pulled his pack over to him and began rifling through its contents.
“Here it is. What’s the problem?”
“No problem. None whatsoever. In fact, I think we just had several questions answered. Look. Look here!”
Everyone crowded around the book and looked at what Tristopher was pointing at.
> “It’s the king’s hammer,” Venk told him. “I remember looking at this when Maelnar showed all of us his granddaughter’s book. So what?”
“But it’s not the same picture, is it?”
Venk stared at the book with a blank expression. Athos merely shrugged.
“Trust me, it isn’t. Look at the hammer. You can see much more detail in this illustration!”
Venk raised his eyes and met Tristopher’s. “Fine. It isn’t quite the same. What’s your point?”
“Look at the hammer! Or more specifically, look at the hammer’s head! See this right here? It’s the object we were given by the nixies! It’s the hammer’s counterweight!”
Tristofer placed the square metal disk and the ruby whorl down on the book next to the hammer’s pictograph.
Intrigued, Breslin stared at the hammer. The flat square block adjacent to the tapered point did resemble the gift from the nixies. And if the ruby whorl was viewed straight down from the top it did resemble a normal gem. It could be a match for the gem depicted on the power hammer, but if so, why the curlicue shape? Was the gem supposed to be embedded inside the hammer somehow?
Breslin scowled. Was that what they were doing? Tracking down pieces of an ancient hammer?
“After all this time, there’s the proof,” Tristofer proudly declared. “We have the weight and we have the gem. Each piece is leading us to the next. This is remarkable!”
Breslin wasn’t convinced.
“Remarkable my arse. The purpose of this whole expedition is just to find pieces of a hammer? What about Nar? I don’t care about some ruddy hammer.”
“I think it’s remarkable all right,” Athos grumbled.
Tristofer beamed with pleasure.
“Thank you.”
“It’s a remarkable waste of time.”
“Excuse me,” Venk interjected. “The reason we’re here is to get that blasted mark of my son’s back. If we find pieces to some hammer, fine. If we find Nar, so what? I’m only interested in helping Lukas.”
Tristofer’s smile vanished.
“What is wrong with you people? This is a Narian power hammer! Think of all the advances in metallurgy we could learn if we could produce an actual, honest to goodness power hammer from Nar? Why, it would be worth more than its weight in gold! We’d be famous! Songs would be sung about us!”
Lost City Page 14
