The Immortals of Myrdwyer

by Brian Kittrell

  * * *

  “Good morning,” Marac said. “Sleep well?”

  Laedron shifted in the chair, his back strained from the position in which he’d slept. “Surprisingly I did.”

  “Maybe it’s a good thing.”

  “I hope so.” He scooted to the edge of the chair and put on his shirt. “If it’s not, it’s a very bad thing.”

  “No need to worry about it until we know otherwise.” Marac strapped his belt about his waist.

  Brice came through the door, a towel wrapped around him. “They’ve got hot water for the bath here. Down the hall, opposite the stairs.”

  Laedron nodded, put his feet on the floor, then staggered through the hall, ending up at the tub. Leaning against the lip, he struggled to keep his balance; it was as if all of the energy had been leeched from his body. Looks like the sleeplessness has finally caught up with me. Oh, I can’t get atop a horse and go slogging across the countryside in this condition. Perhaps I can convince them to stay here one more night. No, I’ll have to get through it. Maybe the bath will help.

  Slipping into the water, he rested his neck against the cool edge of the tub, and after a while of soaking, his muscles felt reinvigorated by the heat.

  He couldn’t tell—and he didn’t really care—how long he had spent in the soothing water. But when it began to cool, he stepped out of the tub, dried himself, and dressed.

  Meeting Valyrie on the way downstairs, Laedron caught the familiar scent of the inn’s breakfast foods, but he desired nothing to eat. Though he had recovered somewhat from his morning fatigue, he didn’t want to weigh himself down with a heavy meal. A handful of nuts and some fruit should suffice.

  Marac and Brice, having already started their meals, greeted Lae with a nod when he reached the bottom. Valyrie apparently didn’t want to slow them down because she, like Laedron, took a few things from the fruit bowls and headed toward the door, and Laedron returned the keys to the innkeeper. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  “Take care on the road,” the innkeeper said, waving as Laedron exited.

  Laedron turned to Marac once they all had joined him outside. “Where’s the stable?”

  “Up along this road.” Marac pointed to the right. “It’s on the north end of the city.”

  “Lead the way.”

  * * *

  Across from the stable, a rather strange, fenced compound had been built, and the area was unlike anything Laedron had ever seen. A great pile of stones sat at one end of the lot, and two mounds, one of white powder and another of blackened sand, were on the other. In the center of the heaps stood a wooden structure with unfamiliar machinery, and he could see workers mixing the ingredients and pouring the substance into carts bound for the boulevard.

  “What do you make of that, Marac? Anything like a mill?”

  Marac glanced at the place. “I asked the stable master about it yesterday. He said they make something called concrete there.”

  “Concrete?” Laedron asked, the foreign word twisting his tongue.

  “Yeah. It’s what they use instead of stone since the country hasn’t any good quarries.” Marac gestured at the nearby structures. “All of these buildings are made of the stuff. The streets, too. Everything not made of wood, anyway.”

  “And it holds up?”

  Brice nodded. “He said that it has to dry first, but yes. Once it’s set, it stays.”

  “Marvelous.” Valyrie stared up at one of the tallest towers in the skyline, but she shied away from Laedron when she smiled, as if unwilling to share her happiness, no matter how brief.

  Approaching the stable, Marac exchanged a few words with the stable hand, then the boy left and returned several times until he’d brought out four horses.

  “Just a minute,” Laedron said, watching Marac mount his gelding. “I want to get some of that stuff.”

  “The concrete? But why?”

  “Might be useful back home if we ever get there.”

  Brice stopped him. “But Sorbia’s rich with stone, Lae.”

  “Stone that can be formed into any shape so easily? I think not.” Laedron walked briskly across the avenue and approached one of the men. “Could I buy some of that?”

  “What?” the man asked, apparently befuddled at Laedron’s question.

  “A handful of each pile. How much would it cost?”

  “I don’t know.” The man arched his eyebrows and rubbed his chin. “A gold piece, I suppose.”

  “For the lot?”

  “Surely.”

  Laedron fished out a sovereign and tossed it to the man. “Does that include a sack to carry them?”

  The man nodded, collected a handful from each pile, and put the samples into separate burlap bags. “Here you are, young fellow.”

  “Thanks.” Laedron returned to his friends, slipped the sacks into his saddlebag, and climbed atop his horse. “Laslo, then?”

  “Yes, but do you know the way?” Marac asked.

  “North, I suppose.”

  “Best get a map.” Marac turned his horse so he could see the stable master. “Know where we can acquire a map, my good man? Nothing fancy, but enough to get around this country.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Myr—”

  “North,” Laedron said, stopping Marac. “For a while, at least. Then, west of Laslo.”

  “The Ore and Timber Guild. That way. Ask for a surveyor’s sketch.”

  “I’ll get it, and I’ll see what extra food I can pick up. Just meet me at the north gate,” Marac said, taking off down the boulevard.

  * * *

  Once Marac arrived at the gate, Laedron nodded to the others, then led them down the road. Looks like they waste few resources on the roads outside of town, he mused, observing the dirt and gravel mix beneath the horses’ hooves. Not long into the journey, he could no longer ignore the sun beating down upon his neck and his clothes moist with sweat. In the city, a constant breeze seemed to flow from the sea, between the buildings and onto the people in the streets, but such luxury was not to be had the farther inland he went.

  Marac took a deep breath, then exhaled even louder. “This is what I love. The countryside, the fresh, free air. Nothing like it.”

  “I know what you mean.” Brice came up alongside Marac. “The flowers and the birds chirping. Can’t be replaced.”

  “Keep sharp,” Laedron said, studying the distant tree line. “We’re turning westward, toward the forest. If we’re to find brigands, we’ll likely find them there.”

  Marac reached out and patted Laedron on the shoulder. “Fret not, my friend. We’re behind you every step.”

  Even though Marac’s words had been spoken playfully, they gave Laedron some comfort; he couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather have at his side. Then, he glanced at Valyrie and felt as if he’d made a mistake by bringing her and leading her on a dangerous path into the wilderness. She’s grown, Lae, he thought, remembering Marac’s advice. She’s grown enough to make up her own mind. But am I grown enough to make her happy? To win her back when this is over?

  “Let me see the map,” he said, opening his hand to Marac. Trying to steady himself in the saddle, he brought the parchment sketch near his eyes to see the finer details. “Myrdwyer isn’t listed here.”

  “I asked the surveyor about that. He told me to stop dreaming of lost civilizations and buried treasure.” Marac took a stout pull on his canteen. “I hope we won’t end up chasing ghosts amidst the tall Lasoronian pines.”

  “It’s there. Callista said it would be there, and we’ll find it.”

  Marac narrowed his eyes. “What makes you trust the old woman?”

  “The things she says and the way she says them. Somehow, I know her words to be true.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “We should keep our voices down for now,” Laedron said. “No way of knowing who might be listening.”

  Nearing the tree line, Laedron took in the colors and shapes
of the trees, and like all the others in Lasoron, the pines made him feel foreign to the land. They were nothing like the familiar oaks, birches, hickories, and dogwoods of his native Sorbia, and the evergreens were covered in needles of green or brown, a stark contrast to the forests of his home, which had leaves of every shade of rich green, brown, and red.

  Though dark, gloomy, and daunting, the forest’s interior gave some shade from the summer sun, but it had a way of keeping in the humidity. The occasional bird fluttering through the woods put Laedron on edge, but he relaxed little by little the deeper they went, becoming accustomed to the ambient noises. Farther into the wood, the road worsened into a patchwork of holes, dirt, and loose gravel, causing the horses to stumble in places. The tree limbs grew closer to the ground as they traveled, and honeysuckles—their sweet smell penetrating his nostrils—reminded Laedron of Reven’s Landing, of home.

  “We’ll have to slow up a bit,” Marac said, running his fingers through his horse’s mane. “Can’t risk an injury, to ourselves or to our horses.”

  “We’ve been riding for a while now. May need to walk them for a while.” Brice gripped the reins and slowed to a halt. “Besides, we could pick up the pace a little if it weren’t for all these branches hitting me in the face.”

  Laedron nodded, climbing down from the saddle, and the others did the same. He led them for another hour or two until the trees thinned enough—and the horses seemed rested enough—for them to mount up and ride again. Before climbing onto his gelding, he studied the ground. It’s nothing more than a lightly treaded trail at this point. Will we be able to find an ancient highway when the time comes? He decided to keep his thoughts to himself, for he saw no need or benefit in sowing doubt in his companions.

  The trees and shrubs of the wood had a way of easing the passage of time, for Laedron found them far more interesting to observe than the open plains and cloudless sky. Much to Laedron’s dismay, the wind that had kept the humidity somewhat at bay had ceased. He picked the burs off of his clothes, but for each one he discarded, another one seemed to appear. A mixture of sap and sweat dripped slowly down his cheeks and neck, and annoyingly, his skin itched everywhere the stuff had accumulated.

  Each step became accompanied by ever-taller grass, which he knew to be a sign that the path had seen few travelers in the recent months. After turning at a sharp bend in the road, he stopped at the beginning of an old stone bridge spanning a gentle brook.

  “I wonder how long this has been here,” he said, then cleared his throat. He hadn’t said a word for over an hour, and his voice crackled from dryness and breathing the pollen from the pines.

  Brice climbed down from his saddle and walked over to the bridge. Crouching, he said, “Old, but strong. It’s seen little upkeep, but it’s seen little traffic, too.”

  “What about the other side?” Laedron stood in his stirrups, trying to get a better vantage point to see across the creek.

  Marac, being a bit taller than everyone else, scanned the tree line beyond the stream. “It’s thick over there. There’s an opening near the bridge, but the trees have grown in tight.”

  “Can we not rest here a while?” Valyrie asked. “I’m unaccustomed to riding such distances. I could use a break.”

  Laedron nodded. “I wouldn’t normally want to stop, but we could benefit from fresh water near camp.”

  “I think we should keep going for a while.” Marac turned to Laedron. “We’d be safer inside the woods. Better concealment and more cover. Out here, we’re in the open. Sitting ducks.”

  “What if we make camp just behind us?” Laedron pointed at a rise above the water. “Less cover than the thickets, but faster access to the river if we need water.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Marac studied the ridge. “Right. The height advantage will make up for the cover if we’re ambushed. Easier to defend the high ground.”

  “Good.” Laedron pulled on his reins, steering his horse toward the bluff. “I hope the air runs cooler up there, too.”

  * * *

  Leaning against a pine, Laedron peered into the distance and watched the sun set behind the trees. He heard the rustling of leaves over the chirping of crickets and glanced over his shoulder to see Valyrie coming up behind him.

  “I never thought you’d be one for sunsets,” she said, folding her arms.

  It’s good to hear her voice again in a kind way, a tone I thought was lost to me. “No?”

  She shook her head.

  “Even sorcerers should appreciate the true beauty of the world. Spellcraft is only one facet of life, and to spend your entire life pursuing it—and nothing else—would be a waste.”

  “Sounds as if you have made your choice.”

  “Choice?”

  She came alongside him. “To which world you will belong. Between the magical and the plain, it seems you would rather be part of the magical.”

  “I have little choice now.” He turned to her. “I must complete the journey I began with Ismerelda.”

  “Must you?”

  He nodded. “If I don’t, I’m merely a curiosity, a strange and out-of-place vagabond. No, I cannot turn back now. Neither can you.”

  Her brow wrinkled, but she said nothing.

  “You’ve started along the path, also. Opened a door not easily closed.” He glanced at the wand sheathed at her hip. “Once you’ve felt the touch of magic, you’ll never be quite the same.” His heart filled with desire, hungry for her embrace.

  She took a step back and gestured toward the camp. “They sent me to fetch you.” And withdrawn, once more, out of reach again. Damn my fool mouth. I should never have said anything.

  Returning to the camp, Laedron grinned. Marac and Brice had staked the tents in a circle around a proper campfire, and they had unpacked the horses. Incredibly efficient, Laedron thought. He’d only been gone for an hour at most. “Where’d you learn to prepare a camp?”

  Marac pulled taut the strap on his pack, then buckled it. “Do you think Meklan Draive would have cut us loose without a handle on survival?”

  “No, probably not, but I never expected anything like this.”

  “The knights taught us much of combat, but we picked up a few other things.” Marac dragged a fallen log near the fire and sat on it. “How do you take your salted beef?”

  Laedron’s stomach rumbled. “How salted?”

  “I was assured that they smoked it first, so they would have gone lighter with the salt.”

  “Pink, then.”

  “You?” Marac asked Valyrie.

  “The same.”

  Brice poked the fire with a stick. “Should be hot enough now.”

  “May want to add to the pile.” Laedron reached for a thick limb.

  “No, we have to keep it low.” Marac waved his hand. “The bigger the fire, the more likely we are to be noticed up here.”

  “Are we not alone?” Laedron asked.

  “I’d rather not find out. We’d be best to take every precaution.” Marac retrieved some metal rods from his pack and poked a few forked sticks into the ground at the fire’s perimeter. Then, he carefully placed the rods across the open flame, creating a makeshift grate.

  Laedron said, “Never seen anything like that before.”

  “I thought about it on the ship from Azura.” He grinned. “Better than trying to cook on the end of a stick.”

  Brice laughed. “I bet you’ll get less of a wood flavor, too.”

  “I can’t wait,” Marac said, plopping the beefsteaks over the fire, then he gleefully rubbed his hands together. “It’ll be a welcome change from a handful of nuts here and there.”

  Laedron leaned over and inspected the glowing embers. “How long do you think it will take?”

  Marac stretched out his legs, crossed them, and leaned back on his log. “Hard to say. When it’s done, it’s done.”

  “I should have time to visit the creek, yes?” Laedron asked, the itching inside his shirt insatiable.

  Marac shoo
k his head. “No one should go off alone.”

  “I thought you weren’t worried. ‘Fret not,’ didn’t you say?”

  “That was before we got into the forest proper.” Marac tossed a twig into the fire pit. “Now’s the time to be careful.”

  “I’ll go with him,” Brice said. “I’d like to get a drink.”

  After searching through a nearby backpack, Marac tossed him a metal canteen. “Drink from that one. When you’re done, fill it up and bring it back. It’ll need to be boiled.”

  Laedron led the way down the hill. At the stream’s edge, he could barely see a random flicker from the campfire, and he felt safer knowing that a bandit would have to come close to their shelters to suspect their presence. He removed his shirt and used handfuls of water to wash away the sweat and dirt from his skin.

  Brice dipped his towel into the water, then carefully balled it up. Noticing Laedron watching him, he said, “For the morning. I prefer to bathe before the day begins.”

  “Good idea.” He dunked his shirt in the water, saving it for later.

  The smell of sizzling steak hit him like a wall when he reached the top of the hill, a kind replacement for the musty scent of pine needles and earth. Coming between two of the tents, he heard a metal scraping sound. “It’s just us,” he warned.

  Marac took his hand off the hilt of his sword. “Sorry. Just a bit on edge.” He sat on the log.

  Laedron joined him at the fire. “I hope you won’t be too high strung to sleep.”

  “I thought you might like the honor.” Marac nudged Laedron with his elbow, glancing back and forth between Laedron and Valyrie. “You’ve had nothing to keep you up all night of late.”

  Letting out a deep sigh, Valyrie shot up from her seat and headed toward one of the tents. “Despicable.”

  “I wish you hadn’t said that.” Laedron tossed a pebble into the fire.

  Marac exchanged a concerned look with Brice, then gazed at Laedron again. “Why not? I was just having a bit of harmless fun, Lae.”