The Immortals of Myrdwyer

by Brian Kittrell

  “How long has it been since you’ve been to the Myrdwyer ruins?”

  “Oh, I would say ten years or more, but it was still enough to keep me stirring some nights.”

  “Thank you for allowing us to stay here,” Laedron said. “We should make arrangements with… Brenner, you said?”

  “Indeed. You can tie your horses to the post outside.” Paldren stopped him before he could walk away. “Tell me, did you run into any bandits on your way here?”

  “Yes, about a day’s travel south.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  Laedron thought about his response, wondering if the knight had any prejudice against sorcerers. “We lost them in the woods. After that, we followed the valley. Why do you ask?”

  Paldren glanced back at a long covered wagon. “We’ll have a lumber shipment leaving in a few days for Nessadene, and the men from Kingsport are overdue. We’d hoped to send an escort with the wood, but I was wondering if we could do without.”

  “I would recommend that you not send that cart unguarded. We didn’t encounter any other brigands, but that’s not to say that there are not more on the roads.”

  “I appreciate it. The wood can wait, then. Carry on.” Paldren walked toward the wall.

  Laedron called out to him before he got out of earshot. “Sir Paldren, can you tell me how far the Myrdwyer ruins are from here?”

  “A little over a day. Maybe two.”

  Laedron turned to his friends. “Let’s see about lodgings for the night.”

  “Did you hear him, Lae?” Marac asked. “He’s been to Myrdwyer and found nothing.”

  “And he also said he hasn’t been there for a number of years. Are you suggesting that we turn around now? After we’ve come so far?”

  “Of course not. I only wonder what you think is to be gained from this.”

  “Something’s out there.” Laedron stared into the western sky. “Someone must be left. Callista seemed so sure of it.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t put much faith into the words of a woman you’ve only just met. What if she lied?”

  “Why would she?”

  “Amusement? The crone’s probably sitting on a stack of books, laughing at us right now.” Marac folded his arms, a sour glare twisting his features. “What reason do we have to believe her?”

  “I do, Marac. Everything she’s told me rings true. Well, except for the last bit.”

  “What last bit?”

  “She said that she told me everything she knew.” Laedron shook his head. “She told me little and withheld anything important.”

  “So, instead of sending us on a fool’s errand, she’s more than likely leading us into a trap?” Marac asked. “More the reason to pull up stakes and go home, lest we lose our lives traipsing about the wild lands.”

  Laedron nodded. “If you don’t want to come with me, wait here for the soldiers from Kingsport and hitch a ride with Sir Paldren. I must finish this journey, though. I must.”

  “I only needed to be sure that you’re sure, Lae,” Marac said, extending his hand. “I’ll follow you to the ends of Bloodmyr if you’re certain it’ll be worth it.”

  Laedron took Marac’s hand in a firm embrace.

  “Me, too!” Brice said, and Laedron and Marac laughed.

  I can always count on Brice to break the tension . “Good. At least we’ll have comfortable beds to sleep in tonight.” Gesturing for his friends to follow, Laedron led his horse along the row of buildings to the end, tied the reins to the hitching post, then entered the inn. Everything in the inn had some measure of dust coating its surface, and Laedron could tell at a glance which things saw more use because they were cleaner. The windows barely let in any sunlight, as the panes obviously hadn’t been cleaned since installed. On the left, a line of cots had been placed along the wall, and a portly man stood behind a counter on the right. Laedron caught the scent of something awful, then spotted the probable source: a pot had been hung in the fireplace, its contents bubbling. “This is your place?”

  The man cleared his throat and looked up from his ledgers. “Last time I checked. Need something?”

  Not the usual greeting from an innkeeper. “Yes, some beds for the night.”

  “The four of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Two silver.”

  For this? Laedron gazed at the cots with a skeptical eye. Some of them looked as though they had never been cleaned. “Two silvers?”

  The man spit into the receptacle at his feet, and the impact resounded with a ding. “Too pricey for you? I’d suggest the next inn if your purse strings are too tight.”

  “Very well. Where’s the next inn?”

  “Go out my door and take a left. Out of the gate and about a week later, you’ll hit Paladum, if you’re lucky.”

  “Fine,” Laedron said, plopping two silvers onto the counter.

  “Now, was that so hard?” The man grinned, revealing jagged yellow teeth. “Welcome to the Brenner’s Board House.”

  Laedron wanted to say, “And what a fine board house indeed, Mr. Brenner,” but he resisted. In the grand scheme of things, losing a pair of silver coins to a swindler represented the least of his concerns. Money didn’t seem quite as important as it once had. Is this the way true adventurers regard coin? As merely a means to an end? Pavers along a road leading to a much greater reward? Perhaps it depends upon the adventurer.

  Brenner gestured at the foul-smelling cauldron. “The cot comes with a bowl of my finest pottage. Help yourselves.”

  Avoiding the stew, Laedron took a handful of jerky from his pack. His friends didn’t seem interested in sampling the local fare either because they kept their distance from the filthy stuff. The man’s probably immune to rotten meat and spoiled vegetables by now. Disgusting.

  Marac sat on his cot and pulled his sword from its scabbard.

  Brenner threw up his hands. “And what do you plan to do with that?”

  “I need to sharpen it.”

  Laedron shook his head at the innkeeper. “We mean you no harm. We’ve a long way to go yet, and we have preparations to make.”

  Brenner wiped his mouth with a stained rag. “Just don’t get any wise ideas.”

  Marac glared at Brenner, then reached into his pack and produced a whetstone. The rhythmic scraping of the stone against the sword’s edge made Laedron feel more at ease, as if they were sitting in the Shimmering Dawn chapterhouse, and for a moment, he expected Piers or Caleb to come through the door with news of more plots.

  After examining the arrow holes in his shield, Brice laid his sword and dagger on his cot, then stared at Marac. “Mine needs it more. Mind if I get started?”

  Nodding, Marac tossed the stone to Brice. “What about you, Miss Pembry?”

  Valyrie looked at Marac, and Laedron could tell by her expression that she didn’t understand what Marac had meant by the question.

  “It may be a good time to arm yourself,” Marac said. “We may not always escape our fights. Do you know how to use a weapon?”

  She replied, “I can use a bow.”

  “You think we can get a length of pine here?” Marac asked, turning to Brenner. “Can the mill supply one?”

  Before the innkeeper could answer, Valyrie said, “Bows aren’t made from pine.”

  “We’ll be hard-pressed to find a staff of oak around here, I’d wager.”

  “Not that kind of bow.” She laughed. “The kind that shoots arrows. A shortbow, preferably.”

  Laedron raised an eyebrow. “You know how to shoot a bow?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Are you any good?”

  “You doubt me?”

  Crossing his arms, Laedron examined her. “I only speak to the point that we have no evidence to the contrary. Where did you learn?”

  “The university.”

  “Archery is a part of their curriculum?” Marac asked.

  “They train the militia archers there. There’s more to shooting than r
eleasing a string and praying that you hit the target.”

  “All right,” Laedron said, waving at Marac. “It would be best to see her in action before we draw any conclusions. We could use an archer.”

  Marac reached out and took the whetstone from Brice. “Could’ve used one a while back. Why didn’t you say anything until now?”

  “For one, you never asked.”

  Marac pointed at her. “In the future, I would appreciate your volunteering useful information. Keeping secrets puts us in danger, and no one is going to travel with us and put us at risk.”

  “Enough,” Laedron said, his neck and ears growing warm. “I won’t have you speak to her that way.” As soon as he said it, he wanted to take it back, and he saw the irony in the statement. I thought I was the one who said we should take a break from our emotions.

  “You would take her side? If she’d had a bow, you wouldn’t have had to use m—” Marac cut off before he finished the word, shooting a look over at Brenner. “You wouldn’t have had to do what you did in the forest. If you two didn’t have something going on, you might be able to see—”

  “Stop this. She’s a part of our group, just as you are.” Laedron stepped closer to Marac. “Our relationship has nothing to do with this.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  “He’s right, Lae,” Brice said, fidgeting with something in his hands. “We’ve been talking about it.”

  “So, you and Marac have it figured out, have you? What business is it of yours?” Laedron huffed, his skin boiling.

  “It’s our business when our lives are on the line.” Marac furrowed his brow. “When your attachment is so strong as to be blind, you’ll put all of us in danger.”

  “My attachment?” With little regard for volume, Laedron said, “Do you not see?”

  Marac and Brice sat in silence like dogs scolded by their master.

  “Meklan Draive put us together. And do you know why? Because men with close bonds fight better. They are more successful. Am I close to Valyrie? Yes, but I am just as close to you, Marac Reven. Through all of this, I’ve grown closer to Brice.” Laedron walked away. Now I see the truth of what she was trying to tell me, but is it too late to salvage what we had? “We’re not cold, calculating killers. We’re friends—nay, brothers. Brothers in arms.”

  “I only meant—”

  “I know what you meant, Marac, but if ignoring my heart is the only way forward, I cannot proceed. We would become nothing better than the Zyvdredi—cold men with no love.” Laedron stared at Marac through a long pause. “If I deny my love for her, I must deny my love for you. I won’t… can’t.” Glancing at Valyrie, Laedron saw her stern expression and folded arms, and he felt no warmth from her. Perhaps it is too late for us. Creator, why have I allowed things to get so far? I will make this right. I must.

  Marac nodded. “What did they used to say about you in Reven’s Landing? ‘Don’t argue with a Telpist. You’ll be fighting an uphill battle to win,’ I believe it was.”

  “Aye.” Laedron took a deep breath. “That’s what they say.”

  “You’re right, Lae.” Marac extended his open hand. “Being high in the clouds, it’s hard to see where you came from.”

  “We’ve all been under insurmountable stress of late, and I can’t fault you for your words.” Laedron took Marac’s hand. “As we’ve always done, we’ll have to forge ahead despite ourselves. I dream of the day when all of this is behind us.”

  “Ouch!” Brice dropped something that thunked against the planks of floor.

  Bending down, Laedron picked up an ornate lock, being careful not to stick himself with the barb on the bottom of it. “What’s this?”

  “Something Caleb gave me in Azura. Damn!” Holding up his hand, Brice displayed a wound on his finger with blood dripping from it.

  Laedron stared at the needle protruding from the lock. The end was soaked with Brice’s blood, and he wondered how Brice had come to be injured by it. “Were you being careless?”

  “I almost had it open, and that point shot out of the bottom.” Brice shook his head. “I guess that was the surprise he was talking about.”

  “He gave you a trapped lock?” Valyrie asked.

  Brice nodded.

  Marac chuckled. “What a bastard.”

  Valyrie laughed. “My thinking exactly. Will you be all right?”

  “It’s just a scratch.” Wrapping his fingertip in a piece of linen, Brice sighed. “It’ll teach me to look closer at something before playing with it.”

  Laedron remembered when Ismerelda had shown him the mending spell and how she hadn’t stuck him with the dagger. “A good lesson to learn, but there are other ways of teaching it.” Pulling the blankets back, Laedron sat on his cot, then pulled up his legs. “The hour’s late, and we have a long road ahead. Goodnight.”

  « Table of Contents

  ← Chapter Six | Chapter Eight →

  An Ancient Highway

  Early the next morning, Laedron awoke before the others. He sat up in his cot, the sun still not above the horizon, and watched Marac sleep. What have these travels done to him? To all of us? The rage he’d observed in Marac’s eyes the previous night disturbed him. Is it fear? The not knowing? We must hold it together. We must.

  Removing the tattered sheet from his body, Laedron stood, being careful not to rouse the others, then ambled to the window. Through the dirty glass, he saw Sir Paldren emerge from what Laedron assumed to be the man’s home. Paldren walked to the wall where they had first met him. I wonder who watches over the place while he sleeps. Or maybe he doesn’t sleep. Maybe he can’t.

  Hearing a hideous snort from his right, Laedron scanned the area behind the counter, then sighed with relief. It’s just Brenner. The innkeeper rolled onto his side, and a handful of dust fell to the floor at the man’s shifting. Laedron’s chest tightened. I don’t think I’ve ever met a man so nasty in all my life. I think I kept myself cleaner than that whilst sleeping amongst the refuse in the alleys of Morcaine.

  “No!” Marac shouted. He sprang from his bed, then grabbed his chest and tried to catch his breath.

  “What’s the matter?” Laedron asked.

  “Sorry. Nothing,” Marac said, sweat pouring off his face.

  Brice sat up on his cot. “Didn’t sound like nothing.”

  Marac wiped his forehead. “Just a bad dream. We were on the tower again.”

  Laedron sat across from him. “The tower?”

  “In Azura, the Grand Vicar’s Palace. I dreamed that Andolis killed us all, one by one. He saved me for last.”

  Laedron smiled and patted Marac on the shoulder. “Thanks to you, he won’t be murdering anyone else.”

  “Thanks to me? No. We all had a hand in that.” Balling the damp sheet, Marac dropped it on the floor. “I can go the rest of my days without meeting another Zyvdredi master, though.”

  “I know how you feel. I even feel the same way,” Laedron said, “but we’ve done a favor for countless innocent people. We stopped Andolis before he could fulfill his plans.”

  “Is that our job?”

  “The Shimmering Dawn sent us after Gustav, and we couldn’t leave Andolis to fulfill his plan.”

  “That’s not what I mean, Lae.” Marac averted his gaze from Laedron and stared at his bare feet. “In a deeper sense. Are we the guardsmen of the world? Is it our place to save people who will not save themselves?”

  “It has always been the way of Circle mages to help those who cannot help themselves.”

  “Yes, yes. I understand that; help the helpless. But those who won’t lift a finger? It’s our place to solve their problems, too?”

  “Andolis was a powerful sorcerer, Marac, as powerful as they come. Even if they’d tried, they would have failed.”

  “I seem to remember piercing his back with my blade. He wasn’t invincible.”

  “Yes, you killed him, but not before Brice slashed him and certainly not before I dueled him with magic. You must also take
into account the number of militia lost on the steps of the palace, how hard we fought to make it inside in the first place.” Laedron bobbed his head. “Had he not been Zyvdredi, the Heraldans might’ve had a chance, but tales are told of the difficulties that Circle mages have had taking on a Zyvdredi master.”

  “But they didn’t try.”

  “And why would they try to usurp him? With his silver tongue, he told them what they needed to hear. Old stories of empire and glory drove them to go along with his plans. He used their own pride as a tool to control them, and if anyone had stood against him, they would’ve been cast out as traitors.”

  “Precisely, Lae. That’s what I’m saying. We stopped him, the three of us, and if people don’t want our help because they’d rather go along with it, why should we be bothered to step in?”

  “In this case, to help our own people, to end the war, and we had luck on our side. Under other circumstances? You can’t save the whole world from itself. At some point, people must make their own decisions, live their own lives, and deal with the consequences.”

  Marac chuckled. “Funny thing, that. I think this is the first time we’ve agreed on something.”

  “It could be.” Laedron smiled. “The teachings passed down to us never speak of fixing every problem, but when directly challenged, Circle mages must do whatever it takes to preserve themselves and the traditions.”

  “You learned much in a short period of time,” Valyrie said. “Ismerelda would have been proud of you, I’m sure.”

  “Ismerelda didn’t teach me of the Circle.” He turned to her. “My mother did.”

  “Your mother is a sorceress?”

  “Indeed, and a powerful one at that,” Marac said before Laedron could answer. “A good woman, though. Kind and generous to our whole village back home.”