****
“What’s the matter, grandfather?” a small voice suddenly asked him. “Are you well?”
Surprised, Maelnar glanced down at his granddaughter, the same one who celebrated her birthday earlier today. He smiled and knelt down besides the girl.
“All is well, Trindolyn. I was presented a puzzle earlier today and I am keen to solve it before it drives me insane.”
The child’s face lit up with wonder. “I love puzzles, grandfather! May I help?”
“I wish you could, lass.”
“Maybe I can! Tell me about the puzzle. Oftentimes if you describe a problem to someone else then enlightenment is just around the corner. Do try, grandfather.”
Maelnar stared at Trindolyn with a look of bemusement on his face. Since when had his seven year old granddaughter become so wise?
“Very well, princess. Do you remember at lunchtime when you interrupted me talking with the strangers?”
The child’s face turned red. She had been thoroughly admonished by her parents for interrupting her grandfather when he had been discussing grownup matters.
“I am sorry, grandfather.”
“Bah. Think nothing of it. Anyway, one of those healers mentioned seeing a strange mark on a boy’s back. A boy close to your own age from the sounds of it. This mark is what intrigues me, Trindolyn. A hammer was visible.”
“What is so important about a hammer?” Trindolyn asked thoughtfully.
“The hammer is a unique design. A jewel was on one side of the head and the other side tapered to a point. I have seen a hammer with a jewel on it before but I cannot remember where.”
Trindolyn swelled with excitement. “I have seen it before, too, grandfather! It’s a hammer from one of my storybooks.”
Maelnar eyed his youngest granddaughter. “You think you recognize this hammer from one of your stories?”
Trindolyn again adopted her trademark stance by crossing her thin arms over her chest. “I don’t think. I know.”
“Enlighten me, lass.”
“Grandfather, how is it you don’t remember?”
Maelnar swallowed his impatience and pulled the girl up onto his lap.
“Help your grandfather out, will you? What story are you referring to?”
“The one you have read me many times.”
Maelnar took several deep, calming breaths.
“Which one, princess?”
“The story of Nar, silly!”
Maelnar hesitated. He did remember that one of Trindolyn’s favorite bedtime stories was about the fabled lost city of Nar.
“You think that hammer is Narian? Have you seen a picture of such a hammer?”
The child nodded. “Aye! It’s in my book. The king carried one, and –”
“Where is this book now?” Maelnar wanted to know.
“My room, with all my other books.”
“Would you kindly fetch it for me?”
“Of course, grandfather.”
Eager to please, Trindolyn leapt off her grandfather’s lap and darted away.
Maelnar leaned back in his chair behind his desk and stroked his beard. The hammer was Narian? Incredible. There had been no known hints or clues from Nar in many centuries. No supposed sightings and no new rumors had recently surfaced that he knew of. There were only a few known Narian documents in existence and all were accounted for. There was the military dispatch inquiring as to the combat readiness of the one of the two Narian armies. There was a sheet of parchment with a list of provisions. And finally, there was a map of the northwestern section of the Bohani Mountains. Thanks to that map, that particular area of the Bohanis had been searched incredibly well.
Maelnar glanced at the framed document next to a portrait of his father. That small map was perhaps the most valuable possession he owned. Everyone knew he had it, and practically everyone had at one time studied it. In the lower left corner of that document was another hammer. It, too, was upside-down.
So what was the image of a Narian hammer doing on an unknown boy’s back? He had never been a believer of coincidences. The mark had to mean something!
Maelnar tapped his fingers on his desk. First things first. Before he would let himself get excited he had to inspect Trindolyn’s book and see for himself what her hammer looked like. Wouldn’t it be fascinating to discover another authentic reference to Nar and have it be under his roof all this time?
His granddaughter zipped back into his study several minutes later and proudly plopped her book down on his desk. A tattered, illustrated children’s book he was very familiar with met his eyes. Trindolyn was right. He had seen this book many times, having read it to his own children and countless grandchildren over and over. He picked up the thin dilapidated book entitled The Legend of Nar and began to flip through the crinkled pages.
In the annals of history,
Long has it been told:
Lying deep beneath the mountains,
Was a fabled city of old.
Located within its walls,
A dwarf clan held reign.
Unchallenged masters of metal,
Apprentices they did train.
Secrets of their armor,
Were sought year after year.
Impervious from attack,
From sword, bow, and spear.
As word of their skill,
Spread rapidly throughout the land,
Commissioned suits of armor,
Kings and warriors did demand.
At the height of their fame,
A catastrophe they did befall.
The city was abandoned,
By one and all.
Many have searched,
Explored realms afar.
Searching, always searching,
For the lost city of Nar.
Maelnar harrumphed to himself and closed the book. He gently turned it back over to study the cover. Nowhere could he see any hammers, just an artist’s rendering of a generic city with hundreds of tiny figures outfitted in suits of armor. The city had been drawn from an aerial point of view and encompassed dozens of buildings. Also, the artist must have believed that every building in Nar had been made of solid gold as the city sparkled with radiance. Even the streets were paved with gold.
Maelnar flipped to the page with the passage about kings and warriors. The illustration depicted a king at the head of an army, presumably leading them into battle. Sure enough, the tiny king was clutching a hammer, but it was too small to show much detail.
He sighed. His granddaughter, not having much experience with hammers, understandably associated the description of the hammer he was looking for with the only picture of a hammer she had probably seen. The picture was way too small to show any –
Maelnar turned the page and hesitated. The catastrophe. This time the artist had drawn a close up of the king. The tiny figure was gesturing for his people to follow as the structure they were in went up in flames. Ignoring everything else in the busy scene, Maelnar singled out the king and stared at the tool in his right hand. It was a hammer, and damned if it didn’t have a red gem on the head of it. His eye then caught sight of the king’s shield.
Maelnar swept aside piles of papers and various small instruments on his desk as he searched for his reading glass. The tear-shaped paperweight served double duty as a magnifying lens as his eyes had trouble focusing on anything that tiny. Setting the glass down on the illustration, Maelnar leaned over his desk and stared intently at what he saw. The Narian crest was proudly displayed on the king’s shield and was a match for the crest on his prized map. The shield contained a picture of a hammer, and it was upside-down. A large rectangular striking head, displaying a bright red jewel on its side, also met his eye. Didn’t the healer say that the hammer on the boy’s back was also upside down?
Maelnar tapped his fingers on the open page and thought about what he knew of Nar. Surprisingly,
it wasn’t very much. Everyone knew that Nar once existed but it had been abandoned by its people many centuries ago. Its location, however, was the mystery. It was said that the city lay somewhere beneath the heart of the Bohanis, but to this day no traces had ever been found. The general consensus was that the city had been constructed deep beneath a small valley nestled between three barren crags; unfortunately no such valley could be found. The problem was the northern mountains practically stretched from coast to coast and remained largely unexplored. Besides, his people were known for burrowing through the hardest stone, so unfortunately that meant the city could be anywhere. Many a dwarf had willingly spent decades of their lives searching for, but never finding, Nar.
So what was a Narian hammer doing tattooed on a young boy’s back? There was only one way to find out.
Thanking Trindolyn, Maelnar set off to find Kovabel.
Lost City Page 8
