The Madness of Hallen by Russell Meek

Author:Russell Meek
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy, nordic, arabic fantasy, desert fantasy, russell meek
Publisher: Russell Meek

Na’ilah, having endured the false smiles and cordial exchanges of those she entertained at Ohrl’s birthday, now hoped to reap the rewards as she rummaged through the musty rooms of the private collectors. Many thought their collections were unique. Amid ancient books gathering dust on the shelves, each held snippets of ancient text, parchments believed to be part of the Scrolls of Hateeb, or even earlier examples of maps bearing the mark of al-Din himself. She seduced them all, their eagerness to secretly reveal what only they held made each collector feel connected to her cause. They, too, became enthralled in her search for the connection of east and west, drawing the same conclusion that knowledge of Harmonics had somehow been transferred, the location and reason for the Priest’s exile now on all of the Elite’s lips.

She was disgusted by the items she discovered. Treasures, stolen from the desert generations ago, were now held in darkness, serving no purpose but to boost each man’s ego. Yet nothing of any real use had been found, no clue as to what happened to Imad al-Din’s stone. There were still many more records to be searched, but she felt like she was wasting time, that no one this eager to share what they protected could ever house anything she truly desired.

“The scrolls you recovered from Ásgierr were a most intriguing find,” she heard the owner of the collection she was studying say. “One struggles to think how the Masters were convinced to part with them.”

She heard the insinuation of theft, but a retort was beneath her. She remained silent, letting the collector understanding she was not amused.

“From what I can gather, the craftsmen of Ásgierr are particularly proud of the creations,” he continued. “Firelights have improved our world no end, and the lives of all those beyond Hejveld.”

“To a point,” Na’ilah said. She turned to examine him. He was in his early forties, perhaps a man who had travelled a little, explored the upper reaches of Njall, maybe even sailed to sample the great markets of Sira’an, but by his ostentatious manner, she guessed he’d never delved deep into Njall’s underbelly, or sailed further east to A’asaris to sample the wares mined from Ta’alamin and beyond, into the heart of Ashqa’at.

“Ásgierr has given much to the world, but it is stagnating,” she said, turning to the scrolls once again. “What more can Hejveld offer that the Scholars haven’t already?”

The collector appeared beside her and unrolled another parchment on the table.

“What more, indeed? Ásgierr is not the only place that has interest in studying the nature of the stones.”

Na’ilah felt her intrigue rise. Before her was a drawing of a large, oblong structure. It was smooth, like a firelight, but beside it stood figures of men, drawn to scale, at least a dozen of which could fit inside.

“It is called the Skimming Stone,” the collector said proudly. “We have been constructing it for years. The principle is the same as a firelight, it will float in mid-air, yet it gives out no heat.

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