****
Several months later the neighboring city of Borahgg sent out a call for every available healer to help battle a pox that had rapidly spread throughout the population. Peridal and his apprentice were immediately dispatched to their southern neighbors. Together, they worked long hours treating case after case of sick people with symptoms ranging from simple blisters to dangerously high fevers and pustules covering their bodies. It was close to a full week before Borahgg’s chief healer, Kovabel, was certain the pandemic had been neutralized. Finally able to relax, they all agreed to share a communal meal at the council chambers and compare notes before they all parted ways.
“It is without a doubt the fastest infection rate I have ever witnessed,” one Chanusian healer noted, eliciting nods of approval from the others. “Treat a family member in the morning and the rest of the family will become infected by midday. Simply incredible.”
“At least there were no fatalities,” Kovabel noted, taking a healthy swig of ale.
“There shouldn’t be, not after we inoculated the entire populace,” another scoffed.
Finished with his meal, Peridal pushed his plate away and pulled out his pipe. “I still find it alarming how quickly this virus spread amongst the people. I treated a young boy two days ago and within an hour the boy’s sister was standing before me.”
“Stranger things have happened,” one of the apprentices piped up, eager to add something to the conversation.
Packing tobacco into his pipe, Peridal’s brow furrowed as he tried to remember the name of master Jocastin’s apprentice.
“Indeed, young Creedyn,” Kovabel said. “Just last week I treated an underling who had a small contusion on his upper arm which I thought was a tattoo of a guur. I accused the poor lad of falling in with the wrong crowds.”
“I’ll bet the boy’s father loved that,” one healer quipped, eliciting several chuckles from his colleagues.
“I think we can all agree,” Peridal began, slowly, “that we have all witnessed something during our careers that simply defied logic. I am no different. Earlier this year I treated a boy for a burn on his shoulder.”
“What’s so remarkable about that?” Jocastin dryly asked.
“His shoulder wasn’t what had drawn my attention, but his back. It was covered with what the father called a burn, but it wasn’t a burn. I maintain it was a tattoo. It looked as though he had rolled in soot. He was –”
“Children often play in the dirt,” Jocastin haughtily interrupted. “Soiled skin should not arouse suspicion.”
Peridal rolled his eyes. “Care to let me finish before you interrupt?”
Jocastin impatiently waved him on.
“In the lower left corner of the mark there was a hammer. Not a style that is in use today, but still undeniably a hammer.”
Curiosity piqued, Jocastin and several others leaned forward. “A hammer, eh?”
Peridal nodded. “Aye.”
“Can you describe it?”
“It was upside-down and resting on its head. I remember seeing a jewel on the head, and a –”
A new voice interrupted their conversation.
“Unlikely. No one puts gems on axe heads.”
Peridal, Jocastin, and several others turned to see an on-duty guard standing nearby.
“Too easy to be dislodged,” the guard said impassively.
“How would you know?” Jocastin dryly asked. “Are you an expert in the creation of hammers? Have you made many?”
The guard shook his head. “I have not. But he has.”
The group turned to see who the guard was pointing at. All conversation died off and it became eerily quiet.
A dozen feet away, enjoying a meal, was perhaps the single most recognizable dwarf in Borahgg. Maelnar, the famous portal keymaker, was staring pointedly at the group of healers.
“I have made a few hammers in my time,” Maelnar began, rising from his table where he was having lunch with one of his many granddaughters. “He is quite right. Hammers are never adorned with jewels. Repeated blows will loosen any adornments on a hammer’s head. That’s why decorations are typically carved into the surface. You saw something that shows otherwise?”
Peridal nodded. “Aye. The hammer was resting upside down on its head. A jewel was visible on the large part of the head, while the other side of the hammer –”
“Tapered to a point.” Maelnar finished for him. “An atypically small point.”
Peridal nodded, unsurprised that a master blacksmith would know more about hammers than he would.
“Are you familiar with that type of hammer, Master Maelnar? I have not seen the like before.”
Maelnar sighed. “The description reminds me of a type of hammer I know I have seen, but I cannot remember where.” One of his young granddaughters suddenly appeared and tugged on his sleeve, trying to pull him back towards their table.
“Come on, grandfather! You told me I could pick whatever dessert I wanted!”
Maelnar smiled at the young girl. “Aye, I did. I will be right there.”
With a pout on her face, the girl returned to her table and crossed her thin arms over her chest.
Maelnar returned his attention to the healer. “Please forgive the intrusion. As I was saying, I remember seeing a hammer that fits the description you gave, but damned if I can remember where I saw it.”
“A journal of metallurgy perhaps?” Peridal suggested.
Maelnar nodded. “Perhaps. It will come to me. Good day, sir.”
Nodding politely, Peridal returned to the group of healers as though there had been no interruptions.
“As I was saying, the hammer on the –”
“Forget the hammer!” Jocastin remarked as he turned to watch Maelnar and his family disappear through the building’s exit. “You spoke with Maelnar! That’s remarkable!”
“So I spoke with an affluent blacksmith,” Peridal huffed out with annoyance. “Just because he is well known does not mean we should all act like fools. Are we done here? I am looking forward to returning home.”
A chorus of agreement met his ears. The healers finished their meal and headed to their respective cities.
Lost City Page 7
