Immortal

by T Nisbet

Chp. 27

  When I woke up, Ivy was curled against me. Her slender hand was inside my robe resting on my stomach. She was still asleep, a satisfied smile on her angelic face. I looked at her hand and was suddenly aware of the muscles on my stomach. They somehow seemed larger and more defined. I had worked hard to get my six-pack. It was small, but there. Lying on the bed beside Ivy it seemed far more distinct. I carefully slid out of bed and got up, going to the bathroom without waking her. A piece of polished metal serving as a mirror was attached to the wall next to the sunken tub. I opened up my robe and looked in the mirror-like surface.

  I was shocked. No wonder they had commented back at the Gilded Horn! I hadn’t been doing crunches or any traditional stomach work and yet my stomach was ripped! My chest too! I let the robe drop to the ground. This was crazy! Everything about me was bigger and more defined. I turned. Even my back was more muscular. It looked like I’d gained thirty pounds! I hadn’t been eating very well either. This part of the weird, strange world I decided quickly, I liked.

  I pulled the robe back on and secured it the best I could. I went over to the sink and splashed some cold water in my face. I wondered what my bench would be now. At 6’2” 195 I had been able to bench three-hundred-and-fifteen pounds. Maybe I could get close to three-fifty, or four hundred. That would be a trip.

  I made my way quietly back into the bedroom. The light coming in the windows had faded a little. I guessed that I had slept most of the day away. My stomach growled loudly and nearly covered up the light knock at the door. I walked over and opened it a crack. A rotund, middle-aged woman stood in the hallway holding our freshly cleaned clothes. She smiled at me and winked.

  “Hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “No, we’re resting,” I said, realizing how bad it sounded as soon as I said it. I took the bundle of clothes from her flushing with embarrassment.

  She giggled and winked again.

  “We will be having a special Kri’Stin dish my husband learned from his father for supper tonight. It should be ready anytime. Your friends are already down in the main room. Shall I tell them you and your wife be joining them?”

  I nodded, thanking her, and closed the door.

  I got dressed quietly, then went over to the bed and gently rubbed Ivy’s shoulder. Her robe opened up slightly like a low cut top, showing a portion of her abundant cleavage. I couldn’t help but stare, Laura Waller had nothing on Ivy. I reached down and covered her up, when suddenly she stirred and stretched like a cat, her beautiful eyes looking up into mine. I stepped back.

  “I was covering you up Ivy, I swear!” I stammered afraid she might have the wrong idea.

  “I know silly boy. You’re a gentlemen Dear Heart,” she said smiling.

  “Umm… dinner’s about ready,” I said, hoping beyond hope she wasn’t reading my mind.

  “Then I better get dressed, hadn’t I,” Ivy laughed, winking.

  “Your, your clothes are on the edge of the bed,” I said, rattled.

  She grabbed her clothes and skipped into the bathroom closing the door behind her.

  One thing about Ivy, she never took more than 5 minutes to get ready and today was no exception. We walked down the hallway to the main area and over to join our friends. I avoided making eye contact with everyone as we sat down.

  “Pleasant rest?” Gill asked.

  “Quite. The bed was so comfy,” Ivy blushed.

  “I bet,” Toby said, coughing.

  “Big talker,” Carla said, sarcastically rolling her eyes. “He fell asleep in his clothes.”

  “You guys crashed too?” I said, feeling a bit more comfortable now that Carla had put Toby in his place.

  “At least I managed a shower first, if you could call it that. I turned a handle and water just poured out of a shelf like thing. It was amazing,” Carla said.

  “I know!” Ivy agreed. “It was so relaxing, I didn’t even make it out of my robe into the bed.”

  Carla started to agree, then a frown crossed her face.

  “I feel bad enjoying anything knowing Brianna is out there somewhere with Coach McNutty.”

  “We need to find her,” I agreed.

  “He has to get her to Memron’s Estate if he expects to be made a vampire by her father,” Toby added. “Jake and I can go get her, while you guys wait here for the others.”

  “Head’em off at the pass cowboy?” Carla said, rolling her eyes.

  Toby’s eyes flash with anger momentarily.

  “Something like that,” he said, patting the huge war hammer at his waist. We’d all seen what that could do.

  Carla realized she had hurt Toby’s feelings and grabbed his arm.

  “I’m sorry, babe. I’m just worried about Brianna.”

  Gill cleared his throat politely interrupting.

  “While you guys were resting, I went out and visited the guard station. I learned quite a bit about this Lord Memron character, including where his castle is located,” Gill said.

  “Castle?” Ivy asked.

  “Indeed. It lies just on the other side of the border, five leagues inside Mozgul,” Gill said. “The good news is that it’s on the other side of Brighton from the plains, so they either have to go through the city or around it. I alerted the guard about the kidnapping. The captain of the guard assured me that if they travel through the city, they would be detained.”

  “How close are we to the border Gill?” Toby asked his brow furrowed in concentration.

  “Perhaps two leagues. I’ve never been to the border of Mozgul,” Gill answered. “The last time I was here we were bound for Alissia.”

  “Seven leagues then to this Memron guy’s place. That is what… like twenty miles or so?”

  “Twenty one.” Carla offered.

  “Right, so twenty one miles from here to Memron’s, add to that, what, maybe another thirty five miles from where we lost her to here… so fifyty six miles or so altogether?” Toby said.

  Gill nodded

  “It’s a big city too. If they go around it that has to add at least another four miles to their trip to Memron’s,” Toby concluded sitting back a bit in his chair.

  “How many miles do you think they could cover on foot in a day?” I asked. “Twenty?”

  Gill frowned. “I would say five leagues or… fifteen of your miles. Lady Brianna isn’t used to hiking. Plus they might be trying to avoid the rebels if your Coach wasn’t responsible for the attack on the plain. If he were, then the rebels may have given them mounts. They could already be at the castle.”

  “He had to be responsible.” I insisted. Who else would it be? “Ivy said Brianna left with someone she knows. That excludes the rebels who attacked us, and she didn’t act like she had been to this land before. So that leaves Coach.”

  “You’re probably right,” Gill agreed.

  “So it would take them three-and-a-half days to get there on foot… if they were on foot,” Toby said.

  “He did it,” I growled, “which means he would have accounted for the fire the rebels set, so he was mounted. Brianna is probably at Memron’s castle by now.”

  Gill shook his head frowning. “If that is the case, then we have other problems my friends. Memron is under banishment for crimes against Ceneria.”

  “He was banished?” I choked, a feeling of dread coming over me. I had a sinking feeling that I knew why. “For what?”

  “For murder. He’s a vampire,” Gill said.

  “Holy crap!” Toby cursed.

  “But why would her father send her to another vampire? It doesn’t make sense. He said he was wanted to get her away from the vampire council,” I wondered aloud.

  “Oh no!” Carla nearly shouted. “Don’t you see? If Memron was banished from Ceneria for murder…”

  It hit me like a ton of bricks.

  “Then he’s not under the covenant,” I interrupted.

  “Damn,” Toby cursed again.

  “Her father sent her to the slaughter,” Carla sai
d putting her head in her hands and sobbing. “Memron will turn her. She’ll be evil.”

  “Either way, we have to stop it,” Toby said, slamming his fist down on the table.

  Gill looked pained. “It may be too late.”

  The jolly Innkeeper brought us dinner. Guilt reared its ugly head with every delicious bite that I took. I was too trusting. I should have been more aware. Coach had said that Memron’s estate was near the border to the kingdom of the Blood Elves. How did I not put the numbers together and come out with the right answer? I was so mired in my own fears and concerns that I had failed to question if Brianna should go to Memron’s. Because her father wanted it, I had just blindly assumed he knew what was best for his daughter. Had my failure cost me a friend? What else had I blindly accepted? And would it cost me Carla or Toby… or Ivy?

  I was in a dark mood after eating, and made an excuse to take a walk in the city. I needed to be alone to try and make sense of the whole stupid mess. No one was happy about it, but I insisted.

  The street before the Inn wasn’t overly crowded, but there were quite a few more people on the street now than there had been when we’d arrived in the morning. A man on tall stilts caught my attention as he carefully walked past me, then paused to light a street lamp. I turned and headed in no specific direction. I didn’t care. I walked for hours down the stone cobbled streets of Brighton, past all manner of shops.

  I soon found out that night time didn’t signal the closing of the business day in Brighton, if anything, I noticed more people out on the street as darkness descended. Wandering merchants called out in a variety of languages advertising everything from food and beverages to clothing and weapons. Minstrels played for the people that walked by their corners. The more talented musicians and singers drew crowds I had to squeeze my way through to pass. Men and women walked together in groups laughing or as couples. There even seemed to be more children on the streets. Seeing them made me think of curfews, which brought my thoughts around to my parents. Thinking about them did nothing but depress me, so I put those thoughts out of my mind and tried to concentrate on the problem at hand, Brianna. I walked slowly from street to street unable to focus on a clear solution other than to will myself to wake up from this bizarre dream.

  A blade mounted inside a stone display case within the glass window of a building caught my eye. I walked close to get a better look. The naked sword was cruelly fashioned like the blade I’d seen on Gill’s wall in his room back in Lockewood. It was scarred and dented and was displayed in such a way as to make it look more like a trophy than a weapon that was for sale. All around the case were displayed a variety of weapons, including a mace that had similar runes to the ones on Toby’s huge war hammer. I decided to go inside and have a look around, maybe ask about the runes since I wasn’t having any luck trying to solve my dilemma.

  As I entered I noticed there were several other customers in the shop, each of which was being helped by short, thick-bearded men. I wandered around the shop trying to get a better view of the salesmen. They were little taller than my waist, but powerfully built. Sudden recognition dawned on me… they were dwarves!

  I stood there staring at one of them in disbelief. Actual Dwarves! Tolkien had it right. His descriptions fit perfectly! It made me start wondering if he’d actually visited this world, when a gruff voice spoke from behind me.

  “Quail blade eh? What are you doing in here? I have nothing that will compare to that.”

  I turned around and regarded the speaker, pushing my cloak over the hilt of my blade. His hair was long and black, as were his braided beard and moustache. He regarded me sternly with eyes as dark as coal.

  I shrugged and swallowed deeply. “I wanted to ask about the runes on the mace in the window,” I stammered.

  “Did you now. What are they to you?”

  I shrugged, attempting a smile.

  “My friend has a weapon with the same type of runes. Thought I might tell him something about them.”

  “Does he now...” said the gruff dwarf crossing his massive arms in front of him. “Describe it.”

  “It’s a big silver sledge hammer. The head has a huge mallet on one side that’s littered with those runes, there’s a curved spike on the other. Wooden half, wrapped in leather, about three feet long with a braided loop on the end,” I said.

  “One of the copies probably,” the dwarf said, gruffly, scratching his chin beneath his long beard. “A lot were made after the ‘Battle for Deep Glade’. Would he consider selling it?”

  “I doubt it, but you never know with Toby. If it’s a copy like you say, is it worth anything?” I asked.

  “All that is crafted by the our hands is worth something young buck, and since they stopped trying to remake King Hammervil’s sledge several millennia ago, it’s probably worth quite a bit of gold as an antique alone, depending on the smith that crafted it.”

  “Remake it?” I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me.

  “Don’t they teach young one’s any history these days?” The dwarf grumbled looking up at me angrily.

  I shrugged yet again, not knowing what to say.

  He sighed loudly shaking his bearded head.

  “I cannot in good conscience let a bearer of a Quail Blade to walk around ignorant of the history and craft that helped to create his sword.”

  He turned away from me grumbling and shouted at one of the other dwarves. “Durnan! I’m taking this pup out for a lesson. Close up after the last customer.”

  The dwarf nodded frowning.

  “Follow me, youngin. Teaching causes thirst, and I’ll be needing a pint or two before I’m done with your lesson, I’ll warrant,” he said, then turned and headed for the door.

  I stood there for moment shocked, but curiosity got the better of me and I followed the burly Dwarf out of the shop.

  The gruff dwarf’s short legs didn’t slow him down like I assumed they would, in fact, I had to walk quickly to keep up with him. The crowd had grown in the few minutes I had been in the store, but they parted before him as he walked purposefully down the street. He didn’t say a word to me and hardly recognized my presence other than to check every once in a while to see if I still followed him.

  After ten minutes or so, he turned abruptly and entered a stone building through a low iron door. I had to bend at the waist to get through the doorway. The inside of the pub was filled with vitriolic smoke and crowded with dwarves. Metal shields and a variety of weapons adorned dark stone walls. The noise level inside was incredible. Two competing songs battled for supremacy amid the crash of tankards hitting tabletops, deep-throated cursing, and drunken laughter. I immediately got the impression that dwarves didn’t do anything quietly, and apparently drinking required a great deal of noise.

  “Bring me a tankard of ale Misty, and one for the boy!” the dwarf yelled loudly, pushing his way through the crowd of his fellows.

  Thankfully, the ceiling wasn’t as low as the doorway. I could walk upright at least. I forced myself to breathe, following my instructor to be through the rowdy crowd as he shoved his way through to the other side of the room. The looks I received were as murderous as they were curious. I did my best to ignore them, but I found my heart hammering as I tried to keep up with him.

  When we finally made our way to the far side of the room, my host opened another short door and went inside. I took a deep breath trying to steel my frayed nerves and followed him in.

  The small room was completely empty except for a table in the center surrounded by four short stools. Sitting around the table were a group of animated dwarves throwing ivory dice and jeering at each other. As we entered, they stopped their game and stared at my companion, then me.

  “Out, now!” the black-haired dwarf shouted.

  To my amazement the dwarves clamored to their feet, bowed, and gathering their things, left without a word or a second glance. When we were alone the dwarf shut the door and pointed at a stool.

  �
�Sit,” he ordered, taking a stool opposite the one he told me to sit in.

  I sat down warily.

  He pulled an ebony pipe from the pocket of his thick leather vest and began to stuff leaf inside of it. I became aware of the pipe in my pants for the first time since I’d left the Coaches farm outside of Brighton. Somehow, I knew it was important that I pull it out. I sighed inwardly wishing Thallium’s spirit could just talk to me instead of doing that. I reached into my pocket and pulled out Sir Nisbet’s ivory pipe setting it on the low oaken table in front of me. The dwarves thick, overgrown black eyebrows arched up in surprise and a crooked smile split his face.

  “I thought so,” he grinned. “That’s some pipe, boy. Come by that in the same place you came by your blade?”

  I took a deep breath. A sense of rightness battled with fear inside me.

  “Not exactly, but they were both owned by the same person,” I said, pushing the pipe across the table towards him.

  The dwarf sat back and laughed loudly slapping his leg in mirth. His laughter was contagious, but I fought the urge to join him. This was just another crazy example of fate. I tried not to throw up.

  “The old bastard finally went and did it. Good for him I say,” laughed the dwarf. “What’s your name boy?”

  “Jake Gunn,” I said, fighting my rising heart rate. All of this predestination crap was really starting to piss me off. Really piss me off!

  “Well Jake, I knew the owner of that pipe, and your quail blade,” he said, his laughter trailing off. His eyes softened as he looked more closely at the pipe. “I called him friend. He shoulda been born a dwarf. I told em so. He always said he was too good looking to be a dwarf. Of all the nerve! I’ll miss him I will.”

  The door to the room opened and a short, stout, dwarven women entered the room carrying a couple of large tankards sloshing over with foamy ale. She set the tankards on the table.

  “Put it on my tab wench,” he said absently, slapping her loudly on the fanny.

  To my surprise, she cuffed him soundly across the face.

  “Bronn, you may own this pub, but I’ll knock you out the next time you touch the goods,” she said with an offended, but loving smile on her face.

  “Off with you Misty!” Bronn said, coming to his senses and smiling back at her.

  When she had left and shut the door, he took a deep pull from his tankard and waved it in her direction, the ale’s foam stuck in his thick, black moustache.

  “Hard to get good help these days,” he laughed, wiping it away with his sleeve. “Where was I? Ahh, Sir James. I had barely turned one-hundred-and-fifty winters when my father died in a naval battle on the Borean Sea. Sir James brought him home and sung of my father’s deeds in Thunderhome, before King Hammervil and all of those gathered in Chamber of Glory. He did my family a great honor. I shall be forever indebted to him.”

  Bronn seemed to sink back into himself, eyes growing bright with tears.

  “Is there no place I can go to sing of your deeds, Sir James?” the dwarf suddenly shouted, looking up at the stone ceiling.

  I involuntarily flinched at his booming voice and took a sip from my tankard. The ale was incredibly bitter. With an effort, I swallowed the syrup-like liquid and nodded towards the pipe in front of him.

  “You deserve that more than me then. He probably would have wanted you to have it anyway.”

  The burly dwarf grinned again.

  “The rascal chose well I see.”

  He grimaced, reaching down and taking the pipe in his thick hands. He put his own pipe aside on the table and drew another wad of leaf from the pocket of his dense, leather vest. He packed the resin-covered leaves into Sir Nisbet’s pipe, struck a match against his leg and he drew on the pipe, sending a cloud of chocolate flavored smoke up into the rafters.

  “Thank you lad.”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice. Here I was sitting across the table from a burly dwarf, drinking a large wooden tankard of brew that burned my mouth and throat, talking about an immortal knight. How crazy was this? I could imagine Toby asking if he knew Bilbo or Frodo.

  Bronn puffed on the pipe, his keen eyes regarding me.

  “How long boy?”

  “Pardon me?” I stammered not knowing what he wanted.

  “When did the old coot give you your birthright?” Bronn said. “How long have ye been Immortal?”

  I swallowed and took a deep breath.

  “He called it a birthright too, why?” I said praying my voice wouldn’t crack.

  Bronn’s head tilted sideways.

  “Destiny lad. He oft said he was just holding it for another. Immortality didn’t sit well with him I’m afraid.”

  I nodded understanding.

  “Why me though?” I asked, hoping to finally get an answer.

  Bronn laughed again.

  “Does it matter lad? It just is. Why do human’s need to know why everything is as it is? It’s a failing if you ask me. Makes your race weak.”

  “It matters… it matters because it’s a pretty huge thing to put on somebody’s shoulders without their permission, thats why!” I retorted trying to stifle the anger rising inside of me. “He didn’t ask, didn’t really explain, just told me it was my birthright, and said I’d be lucky to live out the year.”

  That started Bronn howling with laughter. It was infuriating. When he finally stopped laughing he took a deep drink from his tankard then took another pull on Sir Nisbet’s pipe.

  “He really should ha been a dwarf,” Bronn said wiping his eyes. “No people skills at all. How long did you train with him before he gave you your birthright lad?”

  “I didn’t train with him,” I said shaking my head. “I walked into a room at a party, he shook my hand, told me I was Immortal and said that it was my job to fight evil. Then… he just disappeared.”

  “What? He din train you?” stammered the dwarf leaning forward over the table.

  “No.”

  “How long ago was this?” Bronn said intensely, his eyes boring through me.

  I concentrated on my breathing and started counting back the nights: Three nights in the saddle on the plain, one at the Inn near the waterfall, another in the woods, one in Lockewood, and one in Coach’s farmhouse. It seemed like an eternity, but it had only been seven nights and seven days. So much had happened, in such a short time.

  “A week, more or less,” I answered quietly.

  Again his overgrown, black eyebrows shot up in surprise.

  “That’s it?” Bronn sputtered, spittle running down into his braided beard. “And no training?