Stirrings of a Legend

“You’re sure this is it, this is the real thing?”

“Yes, Captain. Your investment was well-spent. I took great lengths to ensure that this is indeed what we’ve been searching for.”

The man that had been called Captain paused for a moment, studying the worn scrap of parchment held between his firm calloused hands. He was a tall, imposing Human with dark hair that tumbled unkempt to his muscled shoulders. He and the man who had addressed him were vaguely aware of the faint but steady gurgling of the rolling Silver Snake farther up the wharf. The captain turned and spat, then looked back at his companion, speaking slowly in his low grizzled tone.

“Great indeed, Carmötic. You were gone nigh on half a year, and you return with barely a copper to show of the money I loaned you.” He paused again, longer this time, as he followed a jagged line scrawled on the parchment with a dirty finger. Then he added quietly, almost as an afterthought, “Visited the Elves, did you?”

A long, silent moment passed between the men before Carmötic replied cautiously, “I felt it was necessary, to ensure that this is indeed the artifact we sought.” Carmötic was smaller than the man he addressed and wore a black hood to cover his fair face. His voice was slightly softer and purer than that of his companion. An owl circled overhead, riding the breeze the swirled the mist of the night.

“And did you…?”

“No,” Carmötic firmly and abruptly cut off the larger man, anticipating the remainder of the question, and tipping the balance of power of the meeting for but a moment. His voice softened slightly as he continued, “I had to be very cautious among the Elven scholars on Isilignasi, and it seems everyone there is a scholar of some sort.” He sneered and averted his narrow eyes so they were blocked by the hood. “Had I searched for the Elf who fathered me, it would have more than likely hinted at my identity, which would have jeopardized both myself and the mission.”

Carmötic looked up, expecting the captain to have bristled at his moment of insubordination. Instead the larger man was smirking, although whether pleased with the boldness of the response or the reasoning behind it, Carmötic could not tell.

“Just as well,” the captain rasped through his grin. He turned his attention back to the parchment in his hand and grew stern once more. “What did you learn?”

“As I said, I had to be cautious. Before I arrived in Elven lands, I copied the characters you see on the perimeter onto an ordinary scrap of parchment. I hid the original and have not revealed it to anyone until now. The scholars at Rholorah, to my surprise, could no more read the strange script than I could. They compared the characters to those of Elvish, Dwarvish, Orcish, even those of the Khalian races and scraps of Demonic they had recovered from the Third Age. None provided a clue.”

The owl circling overhead dipped its wing and glided out over the river, riding the turbulent currents of misty air westward.

“Scholars dislike being baffled,” Carmötic continued, “so they began discussing more and more extravagant solutions to divine the meaning. Magical translations, invisible inks, and many more far-fetched solutions besides. One in particular caught my ear. Saltáni they called them, Sun Runes. However, the possibility was dismissed quickly; apparently sun runes are an ancient art that haven’t been used since the early second age, and the preparation to write them is ‘more than an average mage could muster.’ Insufferable academics.”

Carmötic paused to draw breath, and he and the captain glanced up the empty alleyway between the large warehouses on either side of them. Nothing stirred to the west toward the river, nor to the east back into the center of Kingfisher Crossing. The barge crews worked long days and tended to send themselves to bed with too much drink each night, allowing a predictable calm to fall over the busy river trading city in the late hours of the night.

“I asked them how one might read sun runes, purely out of curiosity at the time. The lead scholar of language study hesitated to even answer me, as though I was some child asking after forbidden knowledge. Eventually he relented, and explained that if properly prepared, sun runes were entirely invisible, undetectable by magic, and immune to alchemical meddling. If held directly overhead though, just as the sun reaches its apex in the sky, the runes appear in glimmering gold against the parchment.” Carmötic paused for another breath, gathering himself. He could stop a smirk from creeping into the corner of his mouth as he prepared to reap the reward of his months of work. “It is an impressive piece of magic, and even more so to behold.”

The words almost seemed to slip by the captain. Carmötic had time to look up to his face when the reaction finally came.

“To beho- you don’t mean…” the captain stammered as he began to understand.

The balance of power had shifted again, permanently this time, and Carmötic felt it.

“Aye Captain,” Carmötic’s lips parted into a wry smile for the first time since the men had begun their hushed meeting, “I have beheld them. I tried it on less than a whim at first. I had taken to eating alone during my time at the university. On a particularly bright day, I had found a secluded spot along the cliffs that ensconce Rholorah, and after finishing my meal I produced the map. I held it aloft to the blazing sun as the scholar had said, and upon it, in brilliant golden script, appeared a single Elvish word. Azcalan."

The captain silently mouthed the word in response.

Carmötic was enjoying the upper hand and continued, “I could feel my heart quicken as what I had journeyed so far to secure had finally appeared before my eyes. After my wonder subsided, I hurriedly hid the map back on my person and secured it magically as I had before. My hands shook as I did so, and it took some effort on my part to return calmly to the university and conclude my conversation with the scholars of language before I could courteously excuse myself. A sudden and unexplained departure would have aroused a great suspicion among the Elves.”

“This is truly it then,” the captain released a breath he had not realized he had been holding. “This map fragment will take us to the island from the Elven myth. Until now I was not even convinced that it existed.” Another pause. “You have performed well above my expectations, Carmötic.” The initial balance of power began to return.

“Thank you, Captain.”

Somewhere further up the foggy lane to the east, a door slammed. The men shared a tense moment of scanning for someone to present themselves as a threat. After a dozen rapid heartbeats, each released a breath and they again faced each other.

“One detail yet escapes me,” the captain continued with a note of suspicion in his voice, “if neither you, nor the Elven scholars could read the characters around the edges, how could you read the sun runes when those appeared?”

Carmötic’s face grew stern and a note of worry crept into his voice. “The Saltáni were in the common script of Sylaeria. Someone wanted this piece of the map to be found, and I imagine the other fragments as well. I doubt we will be alone in our pursuit of Azcalan.”

The excitement that had previously animated the captain’s dark face rushed out of it. He quickly folded the artifact he had waited so patiently for, hid it on inside a deep inner breast pocket, and with a conviction that Carmötic had not before seen from his captain, asserted, “We must begin preparations immediately then. We can be back at the cave where I have been gathering supplies by tomorrow evening if we leave now. We must not fall behind our unknown rivals.”