Quest SMASH

by Joseph Lallo

  “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.

  ****

  “What’s this all about?” Athos demanded as soon as his brother opened the workshop door. “What’s gotten you worked up so?”

  “Maelnar has summoned me! He asked for me by name, dolt! Should that not be cause for concern?”

  “We fought side by side with his son,” Athos proudly reminded him. “Do you think it that improbable Breslin didn’t mention us to his father?”

  “He wants to see it.”

  “What? Your ax? Have you finished it?”

  Venk turned and hit his brother on the arm hard enough to push him back a step or two. “Why would he give a ruddy hell about my ax? He wants to see Lukas’ mark.”

  Athos cringed. He knew the mark on his nephew’s back was something Venk was desperately trying to keep hidden. “How would he even know about that?”

  “Peridal. The old fool must have told him. How or when he met Master Maelnar I cannot fathom.”

  Athos was silent as he considered the ramifications of his nephew’s deformity becoming known.

  “Do we know what was said?”

  “No.”

  “Then there is nothing you can do. If you have been summoned to Borahgg then you must go. I wish I could go, too.”

  “Then this is your lucky day.”

  “Eh? What’s that?”

  “We have been summoned, dear brother.”

  Turning away from Athos’ thunderstruck expression, Venk called for his son.

  ****

  “It’s a burn, nothing more,” Athos insisted. He was sitting with his brother and nephew in Maelnar’s study while they all waited for the healer to arrive.

  “If the boy did have a burn, do you not think it would have healed by now, lad?” Maelnar gently asked. “Did you ever wonder why the mark remained?”

  “Father, I was never burned,” Lukas insisted again. “I have been burned before and it hurts. Believe me, it hurts.
This did not.”

  “Lukas, you are not helping the situation.”

  “If you are worried about what is discovered here,” Maelnar told them, in a hushed tone, “then be assured nothing leaves this room.”

  A surprisingly young dwarf, for a healer, entered the room followed closely by two underlings.

  “What seems to be the pro-”

  “Master Kovabel,” Maelnar interrupted. “There will be no need for apprentices today.”

  Kovabel shrugged and dismissed his assistants.

  “You remember hearing about the boy with the mark on his back?” Maelnar asked the healer.

  Kovabel nodded. “The boy from Master Peridal’s story, I presume. Aye, I do remember.”

  “Here he is. I would like you to inspect his back and ascertain, if you can, the origin of the mark.”

  “Certainly.” Kovabel turned to Lukas and patted the stool in front of him. “Young master, please have a seat and remove your tunic.”

  Lukas hopped up on the stool and pulled his shirt over his head. Maelnar got out of his seat for a better look. Both he and Kovabel crowded close to Lukas’ back.

  “That’s no burn,” Maelnar observed, gently touching the pebble-sized hammer on the boy’s back. He pulled out Trindolyn’s storybook and flipped to the page with the close up of the king’s hammer. They were a match.

  Maelnar turned to Athos and pointed back at his desk.

  “I have a stack of blank parchment on my desk right over there. Could you hand me one? And the quill and ink next to it?”

  Once Athos had handed the items over, Maelnar knelt down next to Lukas and tried to sketch out what he saw. His hand refused to cooperate. Confused, Maelnar stared at his motionless hand and again tried to recreate what he was looking at on the boy’s back. Again his hand refused to move. Alarmed he had forgotten how to sketch, Maelnar thought back to the golden dragon sword his human friend Sir Steve possessed and tried to sketch the hilt. His hand instantly began to draw.

  Certain there was nothing wrong with his hand, he flipped the sheet over and tried again to sketch the shape and design of the large mark. Again his hand refused to comply. His eyes widened. This was no burn and this was certainly no tattoo.

  “The mark is Narian. I’m certain of it.”

  Holding the open storybook close to Lukas’ skin as he inspected the hammer, the book slipped out of his grasp and started to fall. Belying his age, Maelnar deftly caught the book before it could hit the ground, but not before it bounced off of Lukas’ back. As soon as the book came into contact with the boy’s skin, the outer edges of the mark suddenly sharpened, as if coming into focus. Once contact was broken, the mark lost focus and reverted back to its previous state.

  Maelnar gasped with shock. He stretched out his arm towards the boy and gently touched the book to Lukas’ back and held it in place. The outer edges focused again and became a braided decorative border. The elegant frame elongated as it approached the tiny upside-down hammer and flowed around it without breaking its pattern. Within moments the mark was contained within a delicate border that stretched completely around it. There, in the top center of the border, was a prominent sign that they were on the right track. A shield had also been incorporated into the woven border. It was the Narian crest: a larger upside-down hammer sitting on a field of purple velvet with silver scrollwork.

  Having witnessed the appearance of the border, Venk and Athos stared at each other in shock. Maelnar clapped a hand on Venk’s shoulder.

  “There’s no doubt about it, lad. The hammer is Narian and has been placed on your son’s back for a purpose!”

  Chapter 2 – More Than Meets the Eye

  Venk stared at Lukas’ back and motioned for Athos to join him. The two brothers stared a few moments at the newly revealed border encircling Lukas’ mark.

  “So what does it mean?” Venk demanded, turning to Maelnar as if he believed the famous blacksmith was withholding information.

  Maelnar held up a hand. “I hope to find out. A moment, if you please. Lukas, I need you to recall the day you received the mark.”

  “Burn,” Venk hastily corrected.

  “Mark,” Maelnar insisted, fixing Venk with a steely glare.

  Venk made several grumbling noises but otherwise didn’t say anything else.

  “It happened the day we attended the training seminar,” Lukas began.

  “When was that?”

  “About six or seven months ago.”

  Maelnar stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I hold seminars frequently, lad. I’m not sure that I –”

  “There were two squalling brats,” Venk reminded him.

  Maelnar nodded. “Ah, yes. The only seminar I gave where I decided to include underlings. I remember thinking then that I probably wouldn’t include underlings again seeing how of the three underlings that did attend, two got into a fight. So, young Master Lukas, can you tell me what happened the day you got that mark?”

  “I keep telling my father I wasn’t burned,” Lukas began. “I lost my balance and almost fell onto the forge. I was able to catch myself in time.”

  “Do you remember feeling anything?” Kovabel asked him. “Were you warm? Cold? Did you feel anything on your back?”

  Lukas was silent as he thought about that fateful day. Had he felt anything out of the ordinary?

  “Nothing unusual,” Lukas reported, shaking his head. “It was warm. I had wished I had brought lighter clothes.”

  “And your back?” Kovabel insisted. “Any prickling sensations, or pain, or perhaps just a sense that something was about to happen?”

  Lukas shook his head. “No, nothing like that.”

  “Did you witness anything that you found peculiar?” Maelnar prompted.

  Lukas hesitated. “Like what?”

  “Strange smells, or noises that sounded out of place, or... what is it, lad?”

  Lukas’ brow had furrowed. “I did hear something when I went to inspect the anvils, but I paid it no mind.”

  Maelnar, Kovabel, Athos, and Venk all crowded close.

  “I heard someone singing.”

  Venk appeared as though he wanted to say something derogatory, but a stern look from Kovabel quelled any thoughts of sarcasm.

  “Male or female?” Maelnar wanted to know.

  “Male. It wasn’t very loud. I remember thinking somebody must have really been bored if they were singing out loud.”

  Maelnar’s face broke out into a grin after he caught sight of Venk’s horrified expression. Lukas, however, had been staring straight at his father when he had spoken aloud. The boy’s eyes opened wide as he realized his folly.

  “No! That’s not what I mean! The seminar wasn’t boring! I thought it was very interesting!”

  “So interesting that I caught you sneaking off,” Venk reminded him.

  Lukas’ cheeks reddened.

  “What about the singing?” Maelnar gently asked, hoping to steer the conversation back on track. “Could you identify who the singer was?’

  Lukas shook his head. “The singing was soft enough that it had to be coming from right beside me, but when I turned to look, I was by myself.”

  “We must find out if anyone else heard this singing,” Maelnar told Kovabel. “If so, we’ll dismiss it. But if not, then it must be related.”

  An assistant was summoned and instructions were relayed.

  “As soon as you have anything, report back here at once.”

  His assistant, an underling barely older than Lukas, bowed. “I understand.”

  Venk raised a hand.

  Kovabel noticed instantly. “Aye, what is it?”

  “Excuse me,” Maelnar interrupted, scowling at the healer at the same time, “but in my study all questions are directed to me.”

  Kovabel bowed low. “My apologies. Your study is similar to mine and I momentarily forgot where I was. Do go on.”

  “I intend to. Master Ve
nk, do you have a question?”

  “Just for my own piece of mind, could I inspect your forge?”

  “Whatever for?”

  “I just want to see for myself whether or not there is a symbol of a hammer somewhere on the surface.”

  Maelnar shrugged. “I can save you the time and say there isn’t, but feel free to examine it in person. In fact, while we are waiting, let’s all head to my workshop. Master Venk, lead the way. It’s through that door on the left.”

  “If there will be nothing else,” Kovabel interjected, “I will be on my way. This is clearly no burn, and as such there isn’t anything I can do for the boy.”

  Maelnar bowed. “Agreed. Thanks for coming, my friend.”

  Thirty minutes later, after running his hands over every square inch of the unlit forge’s surface, Venk was convinced. He couldn’t find as much as a slight blemish anywhere on the furnace. The forge clearly hadn’t been responsible for placing the mark on his son’s back. So what had caused it? Who was responsible?

  A different underling poked his head into the room and caught Maelnar’s attention. After handing the keymaker a note, he departed just as quickly as he had arrived.

  “This is interesting,” Maelnar reported, after he had skimmed the contents of the paper. “No one heard any singing besides young Master Lukas. However, four trainees did report seeing a brief flash of light. All four believed it was what had set off the two brothers.”

  “I had been staring straight at the underlings,” Venk recalled. “I could tell from the way they were glaring at one another that a brawl was about to happen. However, I didn’t see any flash of light.”

  “Nor did I,” Maelnar added.

  “I think jhorun is at play here.”

  Everyone turned to stare at Athos.

  “There is no other explanation for it,” Athos insisted. “My nephew didn’t get burned but he has a mark on his back. Part of the mark revealed itself when it came into contact with that Narian book. This is clearly an enchantment of some sort. We must consult a wizard. Do we know any that would be willing to help out?”