The Treasure

She had first heard about it from a drunk man. This was not the best source of information, so understandingly, she took it with a grain of salt. Later, she’d regret not having prompted further, but all in all, how could she blame herself for dismissing the ramblings of the dirty bearded wretch who made a spectacle of himself behind the tavern. He was sufficiently oblivious to the oddness of seeing a young woman in a fine gown sneaking under the back windows, and took her presence to be as circumstantial as the paga barrell, now empty, that served to collect the spurts of vomit that occasionally fell like an avalanche from his lips. Amid that, there were words. Slurred mostly, but they got the point across well enough. If only he could find that treasure, the great treasure of Ar, the great, secret, lost treasure of Ar. Then they would know who he was, then they would know his name. He was an adventurer once, a great warrior, a hero, really, almost a god. If only they had known who he was, that damn tavernkeep wouldn’t throw him out so easily, so fearlessly, as if he were just another lousy drunk.

“Yeah, yeah, old man,” she had said, taking herself airs given that, in his state, her rudeness would be at best ignored and at worst retaliated in the most inept of ways. “The great treasure of the great warrior of Ar. I say, what’ll they think of next?”

“It is true!” he insisted, slobbering on the dirty brown vest that hanged haphazardly over his shoulders and chest. “It is the treasure of all treasures. Ubars crave it. The Priest Kings send agents to deny it. It is the treasure of all kings. The answer to all questions. The beacon of power in its purest.” She had to give him that–the old man was strangely articulate, even with his ramblings. She walked away from the conversation amused. “The mountains!” he had shouted in her tracks, “the secret mountains!”

She should have continued to ignore the encounter, but as these things tend to go, after the opportunity to satiate her curiosity had passed, what remained was a gnawing thirst to know more–to discount that silly story. And then it grew to suspicion, to wonder, and then greed and obsession. Soon, she found herself all twisted up. Ar was her next destination.

She scoured the great library, consulted scribes, spent weeks and then months burying herself in scrolls until her eyes were strained and her mind was lulled with exhaustion. She was on the verge of giving up one morning, as she sipped tea in a small outdoor veranda, until an odd tune whistled by a peasant boy caught her attention.

Wings rustle in the sky

The day is warm and sunny

Yet the world will nevermore

be filled with bread and honey.

The dark men swooped and took

the only thing worth taking

and so this gloomy summer

shall be our last unmaking.

She rushed toward the boy. “What is that tune? What a dreary song for children to sing.”

“It’s just a rhyme,” he told her, frightened of the older (in his eyes, at least) woman’s interest. “All the boys sing it. Don’t mean nothing to me.” He shrugged and ran off into an alley.

The gloomy summer, she pondered. Folk songs usually were based in reality. A gloomy summer when something was taken from Ar. She rushed again to the library; again the search was not fruitful. And then, it came upon her. A war, a siege. Centuries ago, Ar had been sacked by flying tarnsmen. It was a massacre, a tragedy, but this stain on the city’s history was solely spoken of by new generations. It was as if the scribes had purposefully concealed a vital dark spot in Ar’s history. But why? Was there perhaps more to it than denial of tragedy and humiliation?

And who were these dark men? And the secret mountains? And perhaps, just perhaps, could it have been possible that the old man behind the tavern was telling the truth? That perhaps, just perhaps, a great treasure was indeed taken from Ar hundreds of years ago and hidden somewhere no one knew of–somewhere obfuscated by myth and darkness? And was it possible that perhaps, just perhaps, she could put her skills to use to search for this treasure? Her stomach flipped with delirious excitement. She was seduced by the promise of power, of the possibility, for the first time in her life, to be utterly and completely secure–to be the equal, no, the superior of a man–to be the ruler of the entire world? Gor at her feet!

But if the treasure was real, then it would be foolish to assume that no one else was searching for it either. She had to act fast. She had to get to the secret mountains, to the wings that rustled in the air. It was a place that was only rumored to exist, a place she had never been to in all her life, nor could easily enter unless hooded and collared. Treve. She had to get to Treve.