Fantasy | Adventure | Romance
The Treasure of Baran-Tar
Tales of the Second Realm
Rodric had been the captain of the Westmarch rangers for a number of years. As the bastard son of someone of significance it was a sufficiently remote place where he was out of the way, while also being in a position of some authority.
His men primarily comprised a rabble of twenty to thirty scurvy ne’er do wells, mostly archers, who preferred life on the edge of civilized society. They roamed the hills and woodlands of the Westmarch, the western edge of the Kingdom of Wolfston, visiting every inn in every isolated border village on their itinerary.
There were not many problems to deal with for the Westmarch Rangers. The wood-elves were never a problem as long as they did not stray into their land, in which case they could indeed turn very nasty. The only real work was the occasional band of rogue orcs or humans that needed dealing with, perhaps a band of goblins kidnapping a human girl, or sometimes a civil issue amongst the villagers.
When there was not a village or town to stay at the Rangers had camps that they visited on their tour. Usually a forward party went ahead to get the camp ready for the arrival of the main group. One summer day as Captain Rodric approached one of these camps a member of the forward party came running up to him. He looked very excited.
“There be a lady, Cap’n. Waiting at the camp!”
All the men called him “Cap’n” although it was “Captain Rodric, Sir” if they wanted something. When he was not around they called him “The Bastard” a term they applied with some pride. This was quite odd as many of them did not know who their father was, and certainly did not come from a wedlock blessed by a priestess or priest.
“A lady?” The captain gave the man a scathing glare, then looked at Sergeant Dobson, who shrugged.
There had never been a woman amongst the rangers, possibly because any potential woman who had met the existing rangers then decided to not get involved. The Light Cavalry was a better place to find a woman, in which the captain had served in his youth, and of which he had many fond memories. However his men knew the difference between a “woman” and a “lady.” This was something else, it seemed.
Eventually the captain arrived at the camp and met the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
“You are Captain Rodric?” asked the lady.
He could see now that she was an elf of some kind, as all the races of elves had pointed ears, but she looked unusual, with very long straight black hair and deep dark eyes. She stood with confidence, in her hand a staff with a purple crystal set into its head. The scant clothing she wore added to her beauty. Although imposing, her face had a serenity that left all of the men at peace.
“I am indeed,” replied the captain.
The captain, although showing signs of sleeping in woodlands for some days, was rather seen in a positive light in the company of his men. Many of the men had been in the service for decades, and were far beyond impressing women. Next to the graceful elf female, their dirty, hairy state was an unpleasant contrast.
“Careful, Cap’n,” said an especially old rogue called Watson. “She’s one o’ them Peaceful elves I reckon.” Watson had travelled the seas in his youth and had seen much.
“What? Like the Witch of Hagara?” said Sergeant Dobson.
All the men suddenly went wide-eyed and backed away from the woman. None of them were educated yet they had all heard of the Witch of Hagara, who had turned a thousand men to dust in the days of the Hightower Empire centuries before.
“My name is Namira, and indeed I did originally come from the Realm of Peace. I am seeking something in these mountains, a treasure beyond worth, and I think you will be able to help me.”
At her words, greed replaced fear as the chief emotion amongst the captain’s men.
“I would be happy to help you,” said the captain. The beautiful Namira rather struck him and he could probably be persuaded to do just about anything at that time.
“I believe you have found the location of the ruins of Baran-tar.”
The men were rather disturbed by her statement, and there was a great deal of muttering, swearing, and small rituals meant to distract the Evil Eye or dispel bad luck.
“That place is cursed,” the Sergeant, who was normally a sensible fellow, interjected.
“Yes, we have been there,” said the captain. “It is filled with undead. Nasty business.”
“Will you take me there?”
“Yes.”
It took three days travel along the normal patrol route. Each night Namira would sit primly on a log by the fire and listen to the captain read to the mostly illiterate men. However they could sing, and each would take a turn, singing beautiful laments, or songs about lost lovers.
Namira had travelled the world, and shared stories of all that she had seen, and listened attentively to the stories told by the captain and his men. At the end of the evening she would conjure some kind of tent, and retreat to it.
But at last they came to where they must head into the mountains. No treasure could encourage the men to venture into the vast underground chambers of Baran-tar to risk the displeasure of the undead, and the captain would not order them to do so.
“But I will guide you, to the best of my ability, and aid you in your quest,” said the captain. Namira’s eyes shone at the captain, and she smiled, then looked away.
A few of the men came within sight of Baran-Tar, but none would go in with them. Namira raised her staff, and a light shone from it, to light their way in the rock-hewn chambers. Then the two disappeared into the gloom.
Deeper and deeper the two walked side by side into the vaults of Baran-Tar until they came to a massive chamber.
“The throne room!” said Namira, for the big chair rather gave it away. But in the darkness sounds could be heard, shuffling and groaning.
The two adventurers stood alone, surrounded by enemies, as undead lurched toward them from every corner of the room.
“I didn’t think there would be so many,” said the captain as he readied his sword.
“We can take them, Captain Rodric, just remember to break their spines. It is where the life force flows, for the undead as much as the living,” she reminded him.
“Right. Absolutely. I just wish that I had brought something heavier! This sabre is better for cutting flesh than it is for hacking the necks of undead.”
The pale white light emitting from the undead’s fetid bones was brighter along their spine from the tail up into their heads, where it shone from their eyes.
“We’ll be fine,” she said, and the vitreous orb at the top of her staff started to glow with a purple luminescence, as did her amulet and ring.
He glanced at her then, quickly taking in her beauty and the slightly obsessive look in her dark eyes.
“I’m sure,” he was unconvinced.
Suddenly a blast of light burst from the orb on her staff, seemingly directed by the hand with the ring. The beam struck one of the undead, who fell to the floor as dust. The captain was impressed, but this made the remaining undead lurch forward a little faster.
Immediately the captain was amongst them, thankful that the undead moved slowly, and he was a skilled warrior. The sabre flashed, and mouldering skulls fell. But soon he was pushing them away with one hand, while hacking with the other. They weakly tried to grapple him, for luckily few of the undead had weapons. Whatever happened, the primary concern was to ensure these rotting odious corpses did not get to Namira. Slowly, but steadily, she worked through the putrid throng, her magical gestures causing each reanimated corpse to fall as dust to the ground.
The captain became fatigued from the onslaught. The smell alone was overpowering. He began to think that there were too many, that they should try to escape, but then he noticed the tide of agitated corpses ebbed. Soon it was just stragglers, who had come from the furthest parts of the chambers.
The two adventurers progressed to the back of the cave. The final undead lurched forward with outstretched arms only to fall to the ground as dust, or as two parts of a person who was now completely dead, and not mostly dead.
A stone door was in the darkest recesses at the back of the cave. It was sealed by some unseen lock, or perhaps a magic spell. The captain tried to shove against it, but it was like pushing a mountain.
“Perhaps I can try?”
“My Lady Namira, after you.”
He stepped aside and again the orb glowed, then she reached out her hand. The door started to vibrate, so much so that chips of rock fell from the ceiling and the captain could feel the vibrations through his boots. Slowly, small shards began to fall from the stone door, at first granules, then larger fragments, until at last the whole door collapsed into a pile of sand.
She stepped forward into the room, her staff illuminated the entire chamber.
“The Library of Baran-tar!” Namira said triumphantly, lifting the staff high to look upon the treasures, for indeed stone shelves lined the walls which were covered with books and scrolls.
“A library,” exclaimed the captain with a laugh. “Your treasure is a book?”
“Why yes. Did I not mention that I am a librarian?”
Namira took another vitreous orb from her bag, and set it on a table at the centre of the room. After speaking a command the orb radiated a clear white light that illuminated the entire space. She then set about looking at the shelves and their contents, reading aloud the titles on their tags, labels, and spines.
“Dubar’s Book of Secrets, Abelard of Taurnos’ Treatise on the Dimensions. White-eagle’s Wisdom of the Realms. Oh dear, Bartholomew’s Planes of Existence. We may need to burn that one! But where is the history section?”
The captain was of little help as many of the books were written in languages, or even characters, that he did not know, but that did not stop him from trying.
“This one is ‘History of the Great War’ by someone with a weird name?”
“Ohh! Twyplyxzis?”
“Possibly…” he said. She hurried over.
“Yes, this is certainly the right section. Here. This is it.” She pulled out a larger book from a pile of others. “The Codex of Muranis. The lost histories of the Muranians suppressed by the Hightower Empire. I finally found it!”
Namira looked at Captain Rodric. His dark hair and short beard were still covered with the rotting brains of an undead librarian he had tried to head-butt. But she could not help herself, she had to kiss him…
The Lady Namira had found the treasure for which she had been seeking, but they had both found a priceless treasure for which they had not known to look.
I have created a Medium article that contains a map which covers all the locations in my Second Realm stories. It will be updated as new locations are added.
