Lost City

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  ****

  By late morning the next day the group of adventurers was Topside and traveling south. Since virtually all dwarves were agoraphobic, all five members of the group remained huddled together as they walked. No dwarf wanted to be out under the open sky for too long. Topside simply had too many dangers lurking about, not the least of which was the unspoken fear of jumping too hard, or getting knocked up into the air and not having anything to prevent you from floating away. If anyone were to ask a dwarf if they would prefer to be subterranean or Topside then they would more than likely be given a look would indicate the recipient that had just been classified as an imbecile.

  At the moment, the five dwarves were traveling through the lush valley that lay south of Lake Raehón, Lentari’s northernmost body of water. The lake was ringed by mountains on all sides except for a small valley that jutted up against the lake on the southeastern edge. Being protected by the elements, and its remoteness, the valley was home to a plethora of wildlife, most notable being the large dimwitted bolgers. The slow moving quadrupeds were shaggy brown beasts that had large flat feet, a short squat neck, and a wedge shaped head. Two spiraled horns curved up and then down the back of its skull before flaring off to the sides, giving it the appearance of having two large spikes protruding from its sides when viewed from a distance. The creatures roamed from one side of the valley to the other, always searching for the tastiest piece of grass. Another notable inhabitant of the area was a species that fed on the bolgers: dragons. The bulk of the flying variant of wyverians called the northern Bohani Mountains home, with a high concentration of the dragons living near or around Lake Raehón. Several dwarf clans chose the small valley as their “front doors” for that very reason. They couldn’t have designed a more secure front entrance with so many dragons in the area. Thankfully a truce existed between dragons and dwarves, so if one were to come into contact with the other, then pandemonium would not ensue. For the dwarf.

  As the lake began to grow smaller behind them, the grassland they were traversing through seemed to stretch on for infinity. The dwarves knew the valley was small by most standards, but when one averaged four feet tall, even a small valley seemed endless. Thankfully they could see the northern border of Anakash Forest, visible as a faint green line just below the horizon. Once they made it to the forest it was a three day trek through the trees to the mighty Zylan river. Once they crossed the river, Lake Alpin should only be a two or three hour walk southeast.

  Venk grumbled softly to himself. How had he gotten himself into this predicament? Sure, he wanted what was best for Lukas, and he was more than willing to sacrifice everything to make that happen. Even now as they marched through the waist level grass he wished he was safely back at home under the ground. Heck, he would much rather read the books that Maelnar had recommended than go on another adventure. Anything but this.

  The sun was high in a cloudless sky and beat down mercilessly on the fully armored, leather-clad dwarves. The only one who seemed to be enjoying himself was Lukas, who had been spared from having to wear the extra layers of protection as the leather armor didn’t come in his size. Tristofer, while not outfitted in protective gear, had elected to wear a jacket that had even more pockets than his previous one and like before, it was crammed full of various items. Books, scrolls, bottles of ink, a fresh pack of new quills, and spare reading glasses were just some of the things that could be found tucked inside his pockets. Thankfully, Venk noted, the scholar appeared as uncomfortable walking through the grass as he was.

  “Never thought I’d be doing this again so soon,” Venk grumbled as he followed his son up the next hill. They had already crossed a dozen of these grassy knolls and there were at least twice as many more directly in their path.

  Athos glanced behind him. Not to check on his brother but to ascertain his nephew was managing to keep up with the group. Not only did Lukas not appear to be fatigued but he was also inspecting various blades of grass, picking up every twig they stepped over, and even turning a few rocks over to see what kind of insects lived below. The boy’s eyes were alive with wonder as he uncovered treasure after treasure.

  Athos stopped walking to allow Venk to catch up. He slapped his brother on the back.

  “We have made it, what, three leagues and you are complaining already?”

  Venk caught his son’s eyes and pointed off to the distance. When Lukas looked, Venk made a rude gesture towards his brother. “If dwarves were meant for walking long distances then we would have longer legs.”

  With as much stealth as a dragon, which was considerable, Breslin appeared behind the two of them and draped an arm over each of their shoulders.

  “We are on the adventure of a lifetime, my friends! We are searching for Nar! How can you not be in anything but a great mood?”

  There was a clinking of metal as the axe strapped to Breslin’s back shifted position and made contact with the simple black axe fastened to Venk’s.

  “Are the stories about that axe true?” Venk asked as he eyed the striking red weapon.

  “What might those stories be?” Breslin wanted to know as he pulled Mythryd off his back. “What have you heard?”

  “I have heard that your axe is lighter than any other and that no one can wield it but its rightful owner.”

  Breslin smiled. “Actually, it –”

  “I heard,” Athos interrupted, “that it can cut through any material, even metal. Is that true?”

  “Well, I have never tried to –”

  “I heard you could throw it and it will return to you, much like my orix.”

  Breslin looked at the brother in the jet black armor and raised an eyebrow. “An orix? That is an antiquated weapon, my friend. No one uses them anymore. Are you jesting?”

  Athos ran a hand along one of the two belts crisscrossing across his chest. Sliding something out of one of the belts, he flicked his wrist. Two extendable arms appeared and locked into place with a loud click. Athos held the orix up so that Breslin could see what it was.

  The dwarf was holding a modified boomerang, one that had been crafted to resemble a dragon. Its front legs were curled slightly under it while its hind legs were bunched together as if rearing into the air. The tail and wings, which had been concealed under the rest of the dragon’s long sinewy body, had snapped into place to complete the picture.

  Breslin studied the rudimentary weapon and noted its coloring. The dragon’s body had been painted an emerald green color, with the very tips of its wings and ears painted black. He had seen this dragon before.

  “It’s Pryllan, is it not? Kahvel’s mate.”

  Athos nodded, pleased. There weren’t many people who could correctly identify which dragon he had modeled his orix after.

  “Aye. After last year I’ve had a change of heart about dragons and thought it would be a noble way to honor them.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t make it gold. Kahvel is much more intimidating than Pryllan.”

  Athos patted the sheath strapped to the other belt on his chest. “My spare orix is gold.”

  Breslin nodded. “Admirable. Can you hit anything with it?”

  Venk rolled his eyes. “Here we go.”

  Athos puffed out his chest with pride. “I hit whatever I’m aiming at.”

  Breslin nodded. “So you say. Do you see that clump of grass that’s darker than the rest? The one that has a flower stalk in the middle of it? Can you hit it?”

  Athos looked at the ground where Breslin was indicating. About thirty feet away he saw the clump of grass that was darker than its neighbors. He targeted the bright yellow flower sitting on the lone stalk and flicked his orix into the air.

  The green weapon spiraled neatly through the air as it curved to the left in an elliptical orbit. The yellow flower disappeared into a puff of petals as the orix hit the plant and kept going. The orix spun through the air for another few seconds before
it smacked back into the hand of its thrower. Athos grinned at his brother before turning back to the Council’s representative.

  “That’s not bad,” Breslin admitted. “Although the target was fairly close, it was a good shot.”

  “Fairly close? Fairly close? Very well. Pick a target, Master Breslin.”

  Realizing what was coming, Venk sighed dramatically and sank down into the tall grass. Lukas followed suit a few moments later.

  “What are you doing?” Tristofer asked as he stared at father and son. The scholar turned to Breslin and Athos, confusion evident on his face. “Is a cessation of our expedition really the best course of action at this time?”

  Lukas stared at Tristofer with large, unblinking eyes. “What?”

  “He wants to know why we’ve stopped,” Venk translated. “You may as well make yourself comfortable, scholar. This might take a while.”

  Still unsure of what was happening, Tristofer squatted down into the soft grass and stared in bewilderment at Breslin, who kept pointing out objects for Athos to hit. Thus far Athos was true to his word. His skill with the orix was not to be taken lightly.

  “I will say that I have not seen anyone with a better cast,” Breslin finally admitted after spending a quarter of an hour watching Athos hit various targets. Athos had even been able to shave a few inches of growth off a clump of grass fifty feet away. That was impressive! “What’s the range?”

  Athos raised his right arm and watched the orix spin in its elliptical orbit until it expertly returned to his hand.

  “Accuracy drops the farther out you cast it,” Athos explained. “The farthest I’ve been able to cast with any amount of accuracy is about one hundred and fifty feet.”

  “Accuracy notwithstanding, what’s the farthest you have ever thrown it?” Breslin inquired, curious. Athos’ skill had impressed him greatly and he was considering whether or not he should approach the Council and suggest the guards take up the ancient weapon once more.

  “Depending upon the design, and how it’s thrown, I’ve been able to hurl an orix close to three hundred feet.”

  Breslin nodded his head. He was convinced. He was definitely going to reintroduce the archaic throwing weapon at the next Council meeting.

  “I still prefer my crossbow,” Venk called out to them. “Better range.”

  “You mean easier to use?” his brother teased him.

  “Bite me.”

  “At least I won’t run out of ammunition.”

  Venk patted a pouch on his belt. “I have enough bolts, never you fear.”

  “Uncle!”

  Athos glanced over at his nephew.

  “Think fast!”

  Lukas pulled up a small clump of grass, grasped it by the tips of the long blades, and swung it around his head. Gaining speed, he finally released the grass after the fourth swing. Lukas waited. His uncle had yet to miss a target, and provided everyone was out of harm’s way, Athos would be unable to resist a chance to show his skill.

  Athos was waiting. As soon as the clump had hit the apex of its upward climb, he flung the orix at the falling grass. The clump was instantly transformed into a cloud of falling blades. The orix, encountering barely any resistance from the grass, kept traveling ahead and disappeared around the next grassy knoll.

  “I’ll get it, uncle.”

  Lukas rose to his feet and started to climb the hill when Athos told him to stop.

  “It’ll come back. This valley is perfect for throwing orixes; there are no trees. This hill isn’t big enough to hide any obstructions, so it couldn’t have hit anything. Just wait a moment. It’ll be back.”

  Ten seconds passed. No orix. Everyone turned to look at Athos.

  “It’ll be back, I assure you.”

  “It wasn’t thrown that hard,” Venk pointed out. “It should have returned by now. You must have hit something.”

  “I’ll look,” Lukas told them again. The boy climbed thirty feet to the top of the grassy knoll and looked down at the other side of the hill.

  “Father! Uncle! You might want to see this!”

  Hurrying up the hill as fast as he could run, Venk arrived at his son’s side, his crossbow cocked and loaded. He looked down and gaped at what he saw. Athos and Breslin arrived moments later, holding their axes. Wheezing and gasping for air, Tristofer arrived a few moments later.

  “You really do need to get out more,” Breslin told the scholar.

  Sitting at the base of the hill they were all standing on, no more than fifty feet away, were two dragons. Two massive reptilian heads jerked in their direction as the dwarves appeared. Both dragons tracked the dwarves as they cautiously descended the hill. While a truce was in effect between wyverian and dwarf, neither truly trusted the other.

  The closest dragon was a deep blood red color, with a tinge of purple near the tips of its wings and tail. The red dragon sported two large slightly curved horns that were jutting straight out of its skull and at the moment, were trained on the group of dwarves. A row of spikes sprouted from the base of the dragon’s skull and extended down the neck. Halfway down its back the spikes became plates which continued to run the length of its spine, giving it an appearance of being heavily armored. Giant leathery wings remained extended, ready to propel the dragon to safety if it thought the situation called for it.

  The second dragon, ivory white in appearance, also watched the dwarves. It was larger and older than the first and clearly believed it had nothing to fear from the dwarves as its wings were folded and remained that way. As the second dragon shifted the bulk of its weight onto its rear legs, its scales shimmered and the white coloring became a rich copper. Enjoying the show it knew it was putting on, the now copper dragon shifted position again and regained its white coloring.

  “Impressive,” Breslin commented, as he approached the pair of dragons. “I am Breslin of the Kla Guur, son of Maelnar.”

  The red dragon bowed its head. “Greetings, Breslin of the Kla Guur. I am Rhamalli. This is Samara.”

  The white dragon nodded. It suddenly cocked its head, opened its jaws, and spit something small and green onto the ground before them.

  “I give up. This is the toughest kyte I have ever tried to eat. I fear I may have cracked a fang.”

  It was Athos’ orix, dripping with dragon drool.

  “You tried to eat my orix?”

  Twin pale eyes studied the dwarf. “What is an orix?”

  “It’s an ancient throwing weapon.”

  “Your ancient throwing weapon was going to hit me.”

  “So you ate it instead?”

  Samara’s nose lifted. “I thought it was a kyte.”

  “A kyte is a small flying creature that loves to roost in trees,” Tristofer helpfully informed Lukas.

  “Everyone knows that,” Lukas replied in an exasperated tone. “It’s a feathered avian that comes in a variety of colors and can reside just about anywhere. Don’t treat me like a child.”

  Tristofer closed his mouth and shoved his hands into his pockets.

  Ignoring his nephew’s outburst, Athos shook his head and looked up at the white dragon. “There are no kytes around here. If you want kytes, find some trees. You didn’t break it, did you?”

  Samara grunted with annoyance. “No. I should have known no kyte, or any other creature, would willingly fly into my open jaws. I tried to chew it. Got it lodged in my fangs. It came loose just now.”

  Athos looked down at his prized orix, covered in saliva, and grimaced. He gingerly retrieved it and tried to clean it on the grass, which only succeeded in getting both drool and grass stuck to his weapon.

  Tristofer tossed over a small piece of cloth. “And people say I cram useless objects into my pockets. Hmph. You never know when you need to polish a weapon.”

  Athos rolled his eyes and dried off his orix. The pressure of the dragon’s enormous jaws must have caused the extendable arms to collapse.
He flicked open the arms and locked them back into place. He glanced up at Samara, who had been watching with rapt fascination.

  “See? No kytes here, just my orix. I use it as a means of self defense.”

  “Defense?” Samara’s long neck snaked about as he inspected the local environment. “Against whom? Or what?”

  “It was for practice.”

  “Ah. Why wouldn’t it break?”

  “It’s made from an alloy I made myself. Lighter than wood but much stronger than iron.”

  “I’ll bet I could crunch it,” Samara declared, as if challenging himself to do just that at a future date. He watched the dwarf fold the weapon back into its inert form and slide it into the sheath on his chest. “I could...”

  Rhamalli thumped his tail irritably onto the ground. “Another time, perhaps.” He turned his attention back to the dwarves. “Where are you off to?”

  “Why do you want to know?” Breslin inquired.

  “Five dwarves marching under the open sky? You are up to something. Rinbok Intherer wants to know what.”

  “You can tell the Dragon Lord that it is our business,” Breslin replied calmly. “Tell him that we heading south and that’s all he needs to know.”

  “How far south?” the red dragon asked.

  “A fair distance.”

  Engrossed in the conversation between Breslin and the dragon, Venk didn’t notice Lukas edging closer and closer to the large ivory dragon. For a creature so large, it could certainly move fast when it wanted to. Samara’s huge horned skull was suddenly inches from Lukas’ outstretched hand.

  “Is there something I can help you with, young dwarf?”

  Lukas leapt backward in alarm, tripping over his own feet and plopping down on his rear. Venk was at his side in a flash.

  “Keep your distance, dragon.”

  “He approached me, dwarf.”

  “What’s going on?” Breslin demanded, stepping between the dragon and the boy.

  “That dragon just scared Lukas,” Venk accused.

  “He did not!” Lukas insisted, leaping to Samara’s defense.

  “I did not,” Samara said, at the same time.

  “What happened then? What were you...” Venk trailed off as he noticed several scales that were in the process of peeling off of Samara’s body. “Really? Was one dragon scale not enough for you? Why do you need another?”

  “Another what?” Samara asked. His own eyes traveled down the front of his chest until it fell on his front left foreleg. Several scales left over from his last sloughing had yet to fall off. “The boy wants a scale?”

  Lukas emphatically nodded his head yes while his father rubbed his temples.

  Samara scratched his left leg with his right and kept at it until the remaining scales finally fell to the ground. All together, seven scales, each the size of a large stone, fell to the ground.

  Lukas beamed his appreciation up at the ivory dragon and knelt down onto the soft grass to select his prize. He then approached his father and spun him around until he had access to the pack of belongings his father carried for the two of them. Lukas slipped the scale into one of the pockets. Venk pointed at another of the iridescent scales and told Lukas to pick it up as well.

  “Think I can return home without one for Madisonia as well?”

  After both scales were secured in the pack, the dwarves returned their attention to the dragons.

  “As I was saying,” Breslin started again, “what we do is our business. The Dragon Lord does not need to poke his nose into that which doesn’t concern him.”

  Rhamalli shook his head. “The reason I ask, dwarf, is the time of the Hunt is now. We could exchange favors.”

  Breslin risked a glance with the brothers. “A hunt? Favors? Explain.”

  “Every two years a group of dragons are chosen to hunt the serpent,” Rhamalli explained. “It and its offspring live in the waters humans call the Sea of Koralis.”

  “I know absolutely nothing of this,” Breslin confessed. “I didn’t know dragons participated in any type of hunt.”

  “Well, we do. Samara and I were two of the chosen. The others are on their way.”

  “What does that have to do with us?” Athos asked.

  “If you are heading in that direction, we can take you along.”

  Lukas’ face lit up again.

  “Really? Riding on the back of a dragon?”

  Both dragons growled and shook their heads.

  “We could carry you,” Rhamalli clarified, “but not on our backs. No one rides a dragon.”

  “Sir Steve rode Pryllan,” Venk pointed out.

  Rhamalli approximated a shrug. “With permission only. Be that as it may, no one rides on our backs. We can carry you, but only if we know if your destination lies east.”

  “Lake Alpin supposedly lies mostly south, I’m afraid,” Tristofer helpfully supplied.

  Breslin, Venk, and Athos groaned aloud. Athos cuffed the scholar on the back of his head.

  “Do you not know the definition of discreet?”

  “Lake Alpin?” Rhamalli shook his head. “I know not where that is.”

  “Nor do I,” Samara admitted.

  “What do you expect to find there?” Rhamalli wanted to know.

  Athos went tight-lipped. “It is our own business, dragon.”

  Rhamalli was silent as he studied the dwarves for several moments.

  Tristofer, mistaking the dragons’ silence as a willingness to let the matter drop, smiled with relief. “See? You have nothing to worry about. They don’t know where the lake is. Our secret is safe.”

  “So they don’t know where it is. Who’s to say they couldn’t find out?”

  “Why would we find out?” Samara asked, confused. “The affairs of the dwarves interests us not.”

  Rhamalli closed his eyes and went still.

  “What’s he doing?” Breslin asked as he suspiciously eyed the motionless dragon.

  Samara sighed. “He’s poking his nose into the affairs of the dwarves. I believe he’s asking where Lake Alpin can be found.

  “Blast it! We don’t want anyone to know where we’re going!” Breslin cried out in frustration. “Why don’t we just send out a broadcast of what we’re doing instead?”

  Rhamalli’s eyes snapped open and he visibly straightened.

  “Lake Alpin is a small freshwater lake located southeast of the point where a river the humans call Zylan splits in twain.”

  “So now you know where it is?” Breslin demanded. “Why did you not say so before?”

  “I just asked. I was given an answer. Still your tongue, dwarf, and I’ll explain.”

  Breslin’s eyebrows shot up. Had he just been told off by a dragon?

  “I consulted with Rinbok Intherer. He knew where to find your lake.”

  “How far away is it?”

  “Five hours, as the dragon flies,” Rhamalli answered. “Three months as the dwarf walks.”

  “Three months??”

  The huge ivory dragon chuckled loudly. Breslin turned to Samara and glowered up at the mammoth creature.

  “He’s mocking me, isn’t he?”

  “Of course.”

  “How long will it truthfully take us to get there?”

  Rhamalli shook his head. “Unknown. I know not how fast you travel.”

  “How far is the lake from Donlari?” Lukas asked.

  Rhamalli’s gaze shifted to the boy’s.

  “That’s the first intelligent question I’ve heard, young dwarf. The answer is less than a day.”

  “So what was going to take nearly four days will now take less than one. I think that’s a good trade, father.”

  Venk snapped his fingers. “That reminds me. Thanks, son. What favor do you require for transporting us to Donlari?”

  “Rinbok Intherer has a large amethyst that he would like split into four gems of equal weight. Can you do this?”
>
  Breslin suddenly smiled. “My father can and I’m sure he’d love to do that for the Dragon Lord.”

  Rhamalli nodded. “Excellent. The others have been summoned. They will be here in ten minutes. Once we arrive at the human village then we will have fulfilled our obligation. Do we have an accord?”

  Breslin drew Mythryd from his back and clanged it gently on the talons of Rhamalli’s open claw.

  “We have an accord.”