Iron Under the Fire

Episode 7 - The World Stone

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Tasol stood silently in the cave, the Seeker’s short sword in his hand. It was exquisite, a craftsmanship one would never find in the remote forest town of Bannion. It came from the forges of the great cities, a rich man’s weapon. He moved to the pantry, pulling out food for traveling. Dried fruit, jerky, nuts that he’d collected in the forest and stale bread. He quickly wrapped them in oiled skins, binding them with twine as Myra joined, helping him.

“I’ll pack this and fill the water skins. Where’s the artifact?” she asked.

Tasol let her take over packing supplies. “It’s well hidden,” he answered, a dark look clouding his face. Their father, Artus, had always warned them that someday people would come looking for them, for the artifact, and once that happened they were to trust no one except Belidor. They were to seek him at Ward’s End, one of Waterfell’s five major “pool cities” that rested at the end of ancient canals called “spines” that extended outward from the Great City of Fount. Before the Desiccation, an ancient spring known by all simply as the Source was located at the Tower in Fount and supplied all of Waterfell with ample water. But as magic was stripped from the land, so too was the water from the Source, leaving all the great cities left to fend for themselves. Ward’s End had fared better than most, harvesting fallen snow from the Silvermoon Mountains, but at its heart it was a mining town, supplying Waterfell with stocks of gold, silver, gemstones, stone, minerals, and other things only found deep underground. It lay miles to the south of Bannion in a grand valley deep within the mountains. It was only accessible by the Kings’s Road that skirted the ancient canal, and even then, it was a long way from here–at least a few days journey even in the best of conditions.

Tasol moved across the room, pushing aside the remaining embers from the fire with his boot. Bending over, he brushed the floor clean and Myra joined him. Cut into the floor were three small finger-shaped indentions. Tasol grabbed a cup of tea from the table, pouring it into the holes as steam rose, extinguishing the small cinders that filled them, and then he dug them out with a stick from the wood pile. He placed his fingers in the holes and spun it clockwise as a part of the floor of the cave started to unscrew from the floor and raise. After a few rotations, he lifted the capstone, revealing a dark chamber holding a small iron box that sat snugly inside. He pulled the box out and turned, placing it on the table. Reaching inside his shirt, he removed a round metal disk that hung from a braided leather cord around his neck. It was adorned with different shapes, holes, and indentions that were intimately familiar to them both. It had been their father’s, and he always wore it. Before his passing, he’d given it to Tasol, explaining to them both what to do in the event this day ever came. Myra nudged Tasol, anxious to see what lay inside. He ignored her, placing the disk into a round indention on the top of the iron box, snapping it into place, and then he spun it to the left. The disc ground against the stone, and after a half rotation it clicked, no longer turning.

Tasol eyed Myra, and she moved in close, hovering over his shoulder. Neither of them had ever been allowed to even hold this box until their father’s passing, and then only with strict admonitions to keep it well hidden–their father swearing the box had been warded to hide it from the world. It all sounded crazy, especially as Tasol got older. He had thought of opening it on a few occasions, but his father’s voice always echoed in his mind, telling him to leave it be until people came looking for it. That day had now arrived, but Tasol knew not what to expect other than his father said it contained something of great importance, something their family had kept hidden all these years. He still wasn’t sure what it all meant, or if it was even real.

Lifting off the lid, he tipped it over on the table and the contents spilled out–a note written in their father’s hand on a smooth sheet of vellum, another piece of vellum sealed with their father’s mark, the name Belidor written on the outside, two rings, and a small pebble the size of a mushroom top which he assumed was the artifact. It struck him that they really knew nothing of the artifact or its purpose apart from the cryptic words of their parents. They only knew that their parents had dedicated their lives to keep this thing, whatever it was, hidden from the world.

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