Quest SMASH

by Joseph Lallo

  “Who is Lady Sarah?” Rhamalli’s deep voice cut in.

  “You should know her,” Breslin scolded. “She’s the human woman from another world that healed all you dragons that were hurt by those mechanical monsters.

  Rhamalli nodded. “Of course. I should have known.”

  “She, along with her husband, Sir Steve, make up the Nohrin, protectors of the young human prince. Her jhorun is teleportation. She could teleport large groups of people clear across the kingdom if she wanted to.”

  “What don’t you like about teleporting?” the dragon asked.

  “It’s a terrible jolt to the system. It’s the same problem I have with flying: queasiness.”

  “So you probably wouldn’t like it if I did this?”

  Rhamalli suddenly lurched to the left and then quickly to the right before righting himself and leveling off.

  Athos, Breslin, and Tristofer all slapped hands over their mouths. Lukas stared intently at his uncle and then Breslin.

  “You look as though you’re about to be sick,” Lukas pointed out. “Don’t worry. We’re making great progress. Do you see how fast the trees are moving by underneath us? From up here it looks as though the forest is alive. Look! It’s like the treetops have become rippling waves! Up, down, up, down, and now left to right.”

  Breslin leapt to his feet and was barely able to get his head over the side of the basket before he sent his lunch down to the forest floor.

  Tristofer clapped a hand over his mouth and looked away.

  “What?” Breslin demanded, as he wiped his mouth with the back of a sleeve. “Haven’t you ever seen someone get sick before?”

  Tristofer hastily nodded. He had closed his eyes and was humming loudly to himself.

  Venk smiled.

  “Fighting the urge to taste your lunch for a second time?”

  Tristofer nodded again.

  “Get your mind off of it,” Venk told him. “Think about something else.”

  “Like what?” Tristofer whispered between huge gasps of air.

  “Like what the plan is once we reach Bykram. This is your home city. How are you going to handle it?”

  “As discreetly as possible,” Tristofer answered, still breathing heavily. “A former teacher of mine is our best bet. We didn’t always see eye to eye but at least we respected one another.”

  “I assume he’s still alive?” Athos asked, looking rather pale himself.

  Tristofer shrugged. “I hope so.”

  The basket shook violently for a few seconds as Rhamalli was buffeted by several strong air currents. Ten seconds later they were peacefully gliding south once more.

  “When’s the last time you were home?” Breslin asked, desperate to keep his mind off of what the dragon was doing and the fact that he knew just how far off the ground they presently were.

  Tristofer twirled the tip of his beard around his finger. “Let’s see. I’d say it’s been at least a hundred years.”

  “Since you’ve returned to your home city??”

  Tristofer shook his head. “No, since I left the city.”

  “And you haven’t returned home since? Why?”

  “We didn’t always see eye to eye.”

  “Who’s the ‘we’ you’re talking about?” Venk inquired.

  Tristofer shrugged. “The Council.”

  “What didn’t they see eye to eye with you about?” Breslin asked.

  “Oh, it’s nothing, really.”

  “More like it’s nothing you’d like to talk about, is that it?”

  Tristofer shrugged again. “It wasn’t important. I left and haven’t regretted my decision.”

  “Except for now,” Venk reminded him.

  The scholar ignored him.

  Several hours later Rhamalli informed them that they were approaching a small valley in which several dwarves had previously been seen in. Breslin, Venk, and Athos actually observed two dwarves dive into several nearby bushes as Rhamalli deposited the basket near the northern edge of the valley. The dragon verified the basket and its cargo were unharmed before retreating back into the sky. The great red dragon turned to look back at the small group of dwarves as he strove to put as much distance between himself and the ground as possible.

  “I trust you’ll signal if you need my assistance.”

  Breslin gave the dragon a look of disgust before Rhamalli disappeared into the clouds. He shook his head as he glanced angrily at the two brothers.

  “What was that supposed to mean? That we can’t look out for ourselves? We don’t need a wyverian protector, thank you very much.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Tristofer argued. “I’m actually glad he’s looking out for us. He’s gotten us out of several predicaments already.”

  Breslin sighed and gave the valley a quick, cursory glance. “Where now, Tristofer? This is your home city. Where’s the door? Better yet, where’d those two we saw disappear to?”

  Tristofer pointed to the right. “See that large broken stump there to the west? That’s the main entrance.”

  Athos looked at the huge jagged stump and strode towards it, motioning for the others to follow.

  “You’d think they would try and conceal their door a bit better than that.”

  Tristofer looked up at him with a blank expression on his face.

  “Why do you say that? What’s wrong with the door?”

  “Look at the size of the trunk. There are no other trees around here even close to that size. The fact that the trunk hides a door is blatantly obvious.”

  Tristofer crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, it’s not like we were... watch out!!”

  Athos had pulled an orix free from his chest bandolier and hurled it off. It zipped perilously close to the scholar, which had caused him to react with alarm. The green weapon spun away from them on its elliptical orbit, disappearing into the dense foliage southeast of the broken stump. They all heard a distinct metallic clang followed shortly thereafter by a cry of pain.

  “It’s considered rude to eavesdrop on someone,” Athos called loudly to the bushes. “Even more so when you’re spying on guests.”

  Two dwarves emerged from the thicket, one holding a metal helmet with a fresh dent in it. He was rubbing his ears as though he was still hearing the clang of the orix colliding with the helmet. Both dwarves were dressed in black tunics and khaki trousers. Neither was armed, but they could see several tools hanging on their belts, including a large hammer swinging on their hips.

  “We weren’t spying,” the first dwarf said crossly as he inspected his damaged helmet. He pulled his hammer from his belt, flipped the helmet over, and gave it several whacks from his hammer. Satisfied that the dent had been removed, the hammer was returned to his belt and the helmet was placed back on his head.

  “Sneaking around while avoiding detection is generally considered spying,” Breslin told them while Athos retrieved his orix.

  “You arrived with a dragon!” the closest dwarf exclaimed. “How were we supposed to know you were friendly?”

  “You automatically assume all dragons are evil?” Venk snapped.

  Breslin stepped in front of Venk and held up his hands in a sign of peace.

  “You’ll have to forgive us. We generally do not hitch rides with dragons. The wyverians are allies and as such, we do not take kindly to anyone disrespecting them.”

  The second dwarf finally spoke.

  “Allies? With dragons?? Where are you from, friend?”

  “I am Breslin, son of Maelnar, son of Kasnar, of the Kla Guur. We come in peace.”

  “I am Timeki and this is Plukren, of the Kla Rehn.”

  After everyone had introduced themselves Timeki looked hard at Tristofer.

  “Don’t I know you?”

  Tristofer paled. “I doubt it. I would have remembered you.”

  Timeki’s brow furrowed. He grunted. He looked first at Breslin and then looked suspiciousl
y over at Tristofer, who avoided eye contact. “What is your business here?”

  Breslin turned to Tristofer and slapped him on the back, startling the scholar into taking several steps forward. Tristofer nervously cleared his throat.

  “I was hoping to speak with Master Rohath.”

  Timeki and Plukren exchanged glances.

  “Sure. Right this way.”

  Timeki turned on his heel and led them towards the jagged stump. He pressed several knots on the stump’s surface while Plukren did the same on the other side. The western face of the stump, the side facing away from the valley, swung outward revealing a steep staircase leading down.

  The two members of the Kla Rehn descended down into dark staircase without waiting to see if they were being followed. Shrugging, Breslin entered next, followed closely by Venk and Lukas. Athos pushed a reluctant Tristofer through the doorway while pulling the false facade of the fake stump closed behind him as he was the last to enter.

  Fifteen minutes later they were standing in a well illuminated cavern facing an intricately carved archway. Dwarven runes had been carved into every square inch of the arch, starting at floor level and extending all the way up and over the arch until it touched the floor on the other side. A massive wooden door, replete with runes and symbols, was securely closed. As Timeki approached the large door, it noiselessly swung open as if it rested on well oiled hinges. Another staircase was visible, leading down. Lit torches blazed merrily every ten feet.

  “That’s a neat trick,” Athos admitted.

  Plukren turned to look back at Athos.

  “The entrance will only permit those from the city. The only way to visit Bykram is to be accompanied by one of its denizens.”

  “Then I’m glad we found you,” Breslin commented.

  Timeki absentmindedly rubbed the welt on his forehead. “Right, I’m sure you are.”

  Half an hour later they were met by a contingent of armed guards as they emerged into the great cavern Bykram called home.

  “State your business,” one guard gruffly asked them.

  Timeki stepped forward. “They seek Master Rohath.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s not encouraging,” Athos mumbled softly.

  “Master Rohath,” Timeki repeated. “I believe he was the former Master of Paleography.”

  “The former master of what?” Venk whispered to Tristan.

  “Ancient writing,” Tristofer whispered back.

  The lead guard thought for a moment and turned to point off towards a row of domed buildings.

  “Take them to the great hall. The Council will decide what should be done with them.”

  “Pardon me,” Tristofer meekly interrupted, “but we really don’t need to speak with the Council. If you could just inform Master Rohath that one of his former pupils would like a word I’m sure he would grant us an audience.”

  The guard shook his head no and again pointed towards the distant buildings.

  Breslin cursed softly. “That’s just splendid. Remember, everyone, we cannot disclose the true nature of our quest. Therefore I suggest you all let me do the talking.”

  Lukas fidgeted uncomfortably as he and his father, along with his uncle and the scholar, listened to Breslin talk with the ten adults seated in front of them. All of them had their arms crossed over their chests and every single one of them was frowning. The peculiar thing, Lukas noted, was that they were frowning at only one person: Tristofer.

  They had all been told that the Council was already engaged in its weekly session and that they would be seen almost immediately. The underling had heard Breslin curse quietly to himself as he had informed the other adults that he hadn’t a chance to prepare himself for this upcoming confrontation. Yet again Lukas wished he had never been cursed with the large mark on his back. All this trouble just to figure out what it meant and now they come to find out that they were just being led on an extravagant scavenger hunt to find some old hammer. He had silently hoped that maybe they would find the fabled city of Nar, but no, it looks like they were only going to find a tool. Even now it seemed unlikely since the Council had become very tight-lipped and was only giving one word responses to Breslin’s friendly questions.

  One member of the council, more heavily decorated with robes, necklaces, and ceremonial pins than the others, leaned forward to pick up his goblet of ale and, after draining the contents in a single swallow, thumped the metal chalice back onto the table. The loud noise startled everyone into silence.

  The elder who had been addressing Breslin turned to look back at his companion and noting the grim resolve which had appeared on the silent dwarf’s face, inclined his head and spoke no more.

  “I’ve heard enough, Master Breslin,” the decorated dwarf began, rising to his feet as he did so.

  Breslin bowed towards the speaker.

  “We all know that you’re here looking for Nar.”

  Surprise registered on the newcomers’ faces. Breslin recovered first, plastering a neutral expression on his face in only a few seconds.

  “Nar, Master Prixus?” Breslin repeated. “I do not know what you’re referring to.”

  “The reason I know you’re lying, Master Breslin,” Prixus continued, “is because of him.” With this, Prixus raised an arm and pointed at Tristofer. “It’s Tristofer, isn’t it? What nonsense have you concocted this time, Tristofer, to dupe our brothers from the north into coming here?” Prixus turned to Breslin. “He must have been persuasive if your clan enlisted the help of dragons. I’m sorry to say you’ve come all this way for naught. You will not find Nar here.”

  Breslin turned to stare at Tristofer. “You’ve led expeditions to locate Nar from here, too?”

  Prixus let out a short bark of laughter. “Didn’t he tell you? That’s why he was banished.”

  Athos, Venk, and Breslin turned incredulously to Tristofer. Athos burst out laughing.

  “No wonder you didn’t want to come here! You’re banished? You left that little part out, didn’t you?”

  Breslin smiled as inspiration struck. He jammed his elbow into Athos’ gut, cutting him off in mid guffaw. Returning his attention to Prixus, Breslin nodded.

  Enjoying himself, Prixus returned to his seat. “So what does he have you searching for now? A rock? Perchance you’re looking for a rare beetle? Trust me, you won’t find anything.”

  Tristofer’s cheeks were flaming red. “As a matter of fact, we have! We have –”

  Breslin stomped on the scholar’s foot. Hard.

  Prixus leaned forward and rested both elbows on the granite table.

  “Eh? Found what?”

  “That he’s a certifiable lunatic,” Breslin answered, giving a resounding sigh. He scowled at Tristofer before he faced the table full of elders. He was pleased to see that all had lost their frowns and now had condescending smiles on their faces. “You’re right. We were looking for something. But no longer. Do you know what he’s had us looking for so far?”

  Prixus smiled jovially. “Indulge me.”

  “Flowers, trinkets, rocks, books. Do you know he led us to the wrong location? I even caught him holding a map upside down!’”

  “If ever there was someone who could sympathize, friend Breslin, it’d be us. Only one wrong location? The last expedition Tristofer led us on he took us to four wrong locales before finally giving up.”

  “Why was he banished?” Breslin inquired.

  “For reasons I just explained. He had become a public nuisance. He wouldn’t let the notion of finding the lost city rest, so it was decided he should be banished. I’m truly sorry he ended up with the Kla Guur. If you don’t mind me asking, what were you looking for here?”

  Breslin shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. We’re tired. We’ve traversed so many leagues that we called in favors to our wyverian friends to arrange transport.”

  Prixus’ eyebrows shot up. “You rode a dragon?”

  B
reslin laughed and shook his head. “While that would have been easier, no. We were forced to construct a container to be carried in.”

  Prixus nodded. “That explains the reports I heard of a large basket. So you consented to be carted around like a basket of berries?”

  Breslin rolled his eyes. “That was the final indignity. I was ready to call off the expedition right then and there, but Tristofer assured me that which we sought was nearby. It wasn’t.”

  “What did he tell you was nearby?”

  “A tree. A blasted tree! See any trees around here? Of course you do! Trees everywhere. Tristofer said this one looked as though two individual cedar trees had merged together and were thriving as a single tree.”

  Breslin stopped his narrative and held up all ten fingers. “We’ve found ten thus far, and none of them were the right one. He pleaded with me...”

  “I did no such thing,” Tristofer murmured softly.

  “He pleaded with me,” Breslin continued, growing angry, “to not give up. That this is his life’s work. Whatever. I’m done. We’re all done. We have inconvenienced our honorable brothers of the Kla Rehn long enough. By your leave, we’ll return home.”

  Prixus sat back in his chair and tapped his fingers on his armrest.

  “Two cedars growing together as one? Aye. I believe I have seen a tree such as the one you describe.”

  Breslin irritably waved off the comment.

  “You’re more than welcome to investigate,” Prixus continued. “I’ll have a map drawn up for you. The terrain isn’t favorable as the tree I’m thinking of lies halfway up a mountain in the heart of the Selekais. There are no paths and no roads, only leagues and leagues of wilderness and forest. Obviously the existence of two trees growing together isn’t as much of an anomaly as I had thought, since there are so many, but I thought I should mention it.”

  “How is it you remember this one?” Breslin asked, genuinely curious.

  “In my youth I used to watch the dragons hunt the great serpent out at sea. When someone makes the same trip over the same land over and over, the traveler’s mind tends to wander, and when it wanders it has a tendency to notice anything out of the ordinary. I must have passed that tree several dozen times.”