The Immortals of Myrdwyer

by Brian Kittrell

  Slipping over the edge, he reached out and clawed at the little spaces between the pavers.

  Marac slid to the edge, then reached out and grabbed Laedron’s hand. “Brice! Valyrie! Get my legs!”

  Laedron stared into Marac’s eyes. Is this how it will end for me? Drenched in sweat, his hand was slowly slipping from Marac’s grip. Blinking rapidly, he looked down into the ravine, then he saw only darkness.

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  ← Chapter Seven | Chapter Nine →

  What Lurks in the Dark

  Dreams. So vivid. Flashing lights. If I can dream, I must still be alive.

  “How long was I out?” Laedron asked, opening his eyes. The camp had been set deep in the woods, and he had been placed on his sleeping bag near the fire.

  “Half a day.” Valyrie wiped his face with a wet cloth. Perhaps she doesn’t loathe me after all. Marac or Brice might have told her to do this, though. I cannot be sure if it’s by her want.

  “What happened?”

  “Marac did everything he could to hold on until we could lower the rope.”

  “Everything’s a blur.” Laedron rubbed his temples, then his eyelids. “Everyone made it? Marac and Brice are safe?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “The spell must’ve taken quite a bit out of you.”

  The spell. My rod . Through the pain, he reached down and searched his body. “Where’s the ruby scepter?”

  She twisted around and brought the scepter where he could see it. “Here.”

  Taking it and staring into the ruby at the tip, Laedron wondered if the sparkle he’d seen before he passed out had been real or merely a figment of his imagination. He thought back to the moment when he’d blacked out. The sudden strain. Like a pile of bricks falling on top of me. What happened?

  “What’s wrong, Lae?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. The spell seemed impossible to maintain, so I released it. When I hit the ground, I saw the ruby flicker.” Peering into the gem, his voice cracked. “Everything seemed easier with Ismerelda’s scepter. Until the last time, at least.”

  “But why? Is there something special about it?”

  “She never told me.”

  “Yes, but what do you think?”

  He pondered his experiences, searching his memory. “Something about it must cause magic to flow more easily, though I know not what.” He sighed. “More questions. Always more questions. You’d better let me have the wand back for now, in case the scepter doesn’t work.”

  She handed it to him. “Will you still teach me?”

  “Of course. I didn’t know if you still desired that.”

  “You’re up. Good,” Marac said before Valyrie could answer. He walked over and dropped a few broken limbs between Laedron and the fire. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I’ve been trampled by a stampede of horses. Achy, and my head hurts.”

  Marac handed him a canteen. “Drink that. We’ll have a meal before long.”

  “Thank you, Marac.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We have plenty of water.”

  “No, not that. For saving me.”

  “Ah, you don’t have to thank me for that.”

  “I don’t? Of course I—”

  “You saved me from Gustav and the executioner, so we’ll just call it even. Besides, what else could I do?”

  “Thanks anyway.” Laedron sipped some water, but his queasiness made him pause before he drank too much. He looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. “How far until we reach the ruins? Any way of knowing?”

  “The ruins? They’re all around us.” Marac gestured at the worn stones on the ground. “Seems like this is the outskirts of what used to be a great city. This, I think, is your lost city of Myrdwyer.”

  A blanket pulled tight about his shoulders, Laedron stood and crept toward a half wall of what must have been the remains of a house or some other small building. He stared into the distance where the stones became more numerous and the trees were few and far between. For a moment, he thought he heard the noises of a bustling metropolis. Probably the wind. It could be nothing else, for this city is long dead and deserted.

  “We had better get some food in our bellies and some sleep if we’re to go exploring the ruins tomorrow.” Marac fished through the packs, then pulled out his metal rods and started arranging them over the fire. “I’ll take watch first, and Brice will cover the other half.”

  Brice rolled over on his sleeping bag. “I’ll eat later, then take—”

  “I’ll take the second half,” Laedron said. “I’m hardly tired.”

  As Laedron approached, Marac said, “You’ve been through a lot. Brice can—”

  “I said I’ll do it, Marac. I’m sore, but I’ll manage.”

  “If you say so, Lae.” Extending his hand, Marac offered a metal rod. “Would you mind helping me with the cooking?”

  Without a word, Laedron helped Marac build a grate over the pit, then plopped down on his bedding and rubbed his shoulders. Sorer than I thought at first. Better not make it obvious. He helped Marac season the cuts of beef after a light rinse to remove the salt, and over the next hour, they ate supper.

  “Whippoorwill, most likely,” Laedron said, trying to put them at ease when the others searched the air for the source of a mysterious flapping. “I saw a few on the way here.”

  “You were awake?” Marac nearly spit out his last bite of meat. “Made us haul you for miles, and you were awake the whole time?”

  “No, no.” Laedron waved his hands. “I mean, before the spell, before I passed out.”

  Brice shook his head, searching the night for whatever had made the sound. “Sounds like bats.”

  “Could be, but no need to worry. Neither will harm us.” No sooner had he finished speaking than Laedron heard the distinct sound of wolves howling in the distance. “No need to worry about that, either.”

  “That’s wolves, isn’t it?” Standing, Brice scanned the trees. “They sound hungry.”

  “I’ll protect you, Thimble.” Marac puffed out his chest and chuckled. “I won’t let them get you.”

  “I’m serious!” Brice said. “They’ll sneak in under the cover of night and attack. Maul us to pieces, they will.”

  Glancing at Valyrie, Laedron detected fear in her eyes, too. “Get a hold of yourself, Brice. We’ve dealt with far worse than a few wolves. Do you think I’d let them get us?”

  “What if there are twenty? Thirty? You’re in no condition to cast spells, and the rest of us can’t fight so many.”

  Marac shook his head. “A thousand? Ten thousand? Wolves don’t hunt in packs that big. At most, we might see five or six, and that’s assuming it’s a big pack and they come this way.”

  “You can fight six wolves at once, Lae? As weak as you are?” Brice asked.

  “Surely. I’m Laedron Telpist.” He elbowed Marac. “Master of the elements… and wolves to boot.”

  A smile crossing his lips, Brice seemed to calm. “All right. I’m going to get some sleep.”

  “You’d better, too,” Marac told Laedron. “I’ll come to wake you in a few hours.”

  * * *

  The crackling of the fire stirred Laedron from his sleep, and he rolled onto his side to watch the flames dance above the coal bed. Opposite him, Valyrie seemed undisturbed. Brice displayed an innocent smile as he slept. He’s probably dreaming of cakes and cider, of perfect looming and amazing stitches. How could Marac hold such contempt for him? I’ve never met a kinder person, Laedron thought. Speaking of Marac, where is he? No matter how hard he strained to peer into the darkness, he couldn’t see his friend.

  Sitting up, Laedron straightened his clothes and picked up his scepter. He looked again, but Marac was nowhere to be found.

  “Marac,” he whispered. “Marac!” He stood, stuck the scepter into his belt, and called out again, but the only response was Valyrie’s shifting. Not wanting to wake her or Brice, he made his way to the edge of the firelight and p
eered through the trees. The sudden howling of wolves, seemingly closer than they had been, startled him, but he remained silent. Where has he gone? Damn! He should know better than to go wandering the wilderness without telling anyone. Laedron rolled his eyes at the irony of his thoughts, for he was intent on searching for Marac without alarming the others. Just a quick look around won’t hurt. If I can find him, there’ll be no cause for worry.

  Careful to be as quiet as he could, he walked into the brush surrounding the camp, squinting at the strange shapes made by the shadows. He repeated the pattern of going a few steps, then searching for any sign of Marac several times before he came to a pile of rotten logs—more like a decaying wall of timber—at the base of what seemed to be a massive pine. That tree must be a hundred feet through the center. And there’s another one! Growing at varying distances from one another amidst the ruins, the trees must have been ancient, and he imagined that the forest had existed for a long time before the city had been built. He had no way of telling, though, and he could only assume facts about the place based upon his own paltry knowledge of history. Shaking his head, he decided that his amazement with the flora would have to wait. Marac was still out there somewhere, and Laedron was determined to find his friend.

  He found footing in the pile of old trunks and climbed to get a better vantage point so he could survey the area. Nearing the top, he hugged the tree and sat perfectly still. The howling of wolves was closer than he’d heard thus far. He peeked through the limbs and saw four gray wolves pouncing upon each other while a larger one sat atop a boulder and howled at the full moon. They’re at play and must not have noticed my approach.

  Though the howling and the proximity of the wolves made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, he mustered the courage to ignore his fear and take in the important details of what he was observing. Five in all. No blood on their mouths, no shredded clothes or bodies nearby. Unlikely that they’ve killed Marac. No evidence.

  He felt a vibration in the log he perched on, and he froze, his mind first, then every muscle in his body. The wolves stopped their frolicking and paced back and forth in the clearing, as if preparing for a fight. It wasn’t just me. What’s causing that? With a thumping rhythm, the vibration resounded throughout the wood. Then, the noise intensified to pounding, growing louder as it pattered out a beat.

  It sounds like… but it can’t be footsteps. Too heavy. Too large. His eyes widened when the brush just past the wolves parted, and he was unable to move or make a sound. First, he saw the head of the creature, which appeared similar to a huge, brilliant-cut emerald. The body emerged next as it sprung twenty feet through the air, landing in the middle of the wolves. Snarling, the biggest wolf charged the crystalline beast. What had been a green light swirling inside the creature’s emerald structure flashed to a red glow. A living thing comprised entirely of jewels? Is that what got Marac? Am I dreaming? What in the hells is that thing?

  He watched in horror as the crystal monster grabbed the first wolf and tossed it like a used plaything. The snapping of the animal’s spine when it struck the tree was audible to Laedron even from his vantage point a hundred yards away. The beast raised its emerald arms, the glow inside it intensifying. A stream of red and violet light shot from the wolf’s body, and the monster seemed to be taking the energy into its own body. Is that…? It can’t be. Impossible. It looked just like the spell Andolis cast on me, the one by which he promised to take my soul. The remaining wolves bit at the creature’s crystalline legs, but Laedron figured they would be more likely to break their teeth than anything else.

  Glowing ever brighter, the creature turned toward the other wolves, silent except for the crinkling of leaves and twigs beneath its bulky limbs. The quiet sent Laedron’s pulse racing faster, for the creature’s silence spoke volumes of its nature, its propensity to kill without apparent malice, its ability to rip flesh in its grisly fingers without screaming out in anger or victory. A cold, calculating mechanism of death. If Marac encountered this thing, he’s surely dead.

  The wolves must have felt intimidated because they inched backward, and when the creature lunged, they fled. Like a dart, the crystal abomination pursued, its bloodlust or appetite apparently not sated. It carved a path of destruction through the forest, breaking through the smaller trees and fallen logs as though they were little more than twigs and leaves in its path.

  Creator! Who would make such a thing and loose it upon the forest? Laedron thought, unwilling to accept the possibility that the crystalline beast was a natural occurrence. It must be the work of mages. Nowhere else in the natural world do gems take on a life of their own. And where evidence of sorcery is found, a sorcerer must be near. The Uxidin? Why would they make something like that? Zyvdredi? I dare not think it. Dammit, where did Marac go?

  He climbed down the log pile and, hiding in the shadows, stalked from tree to tree, keeping an eye out for the monster in case it reappeared. He made his way back to the campsite. The fire had thankfully burned out, cloaking his friends in darkness.

  “Val,” he whispered, shaking her shoulder. “Wake up, Val.”

  Swatting at his hand, she rolled over. “Is it morning?”

  “Keep your voice down. Marac’s gone.”

  “I am?” Marac asked.

  Turning around, Laedron said, “Where were you?”

  “Scouting the perimeter of the campsite. What else would I do?”

  “What side?”

  Marac pointed over his shoulder in the opposite direction Laedron had gone. “I found some tracks that way, followed them for a bit, then came back. They look like footprints, but I couldn’t tell for sure.”

  “Did you see it?” Laedron tried to hide his fear, but he didn’t think he did a very good job of it.

  “See what?”

  “The monster.”

  “Oh, I knew it. I just knew it.” Brice, seated on his bedroll, rocked forward with his arms wrapped around his knees, and his voice took on a higher pitch. “What are we going to do? Creatures of the night!”

  “Keep your damned voice low if you want to survive this.”

  “What did you see, Lae? What exactly?” Valyrie asked.

  “A creature made of crystal, like huge emeralds fused together.” He turned to Brice. “It killed that pack of wolves you were worried about. Well, it murdered one and chased the rest into the forest.”

  Brice quivered with fear. “We’ve got to get out of these woods. I knew we were wrong to come here.”

  “Not until we find the answers we seek.” Laedron sighed. “We’ve come too far to turn back now.”

  “And risk our lives? We should cut our losses and go, if you ask me.”

  “Well, nobody did!” Laedron, afraid that raising his voice had drawn the attention of someone… or something, ducked and scanned the trees. “It didn’t see me while I watched it. We should be fine as long as we keep quiet and hidden. We keep low, move under cover of shadow, and speak no louder than a whisper.”

  Clenching his eyes shut, Brice breathed and exhaled slowly. “Right. Yes.”

  Valyrie stood and took her bow in hand. She slung the quiver across her back and stared at Marac. “Did the tracks you found lead anywhere in particular?”

  “No. Unless they make a sudden turn, they go to the west of the ruins.”

  Brice peered into the darkness. “I’ll need to get a look of those tracks.”

  Laedron crossed his arms. “For what? What could you possibly do about them?”

  “To see what I can figure out and to see where they go.”

  “So you’re a tracker now? When did this happen?”

  Brice glared at Laedron. “The instructors in Westmarch thought we’d need to know a little more than sword fighting and how to wear armor. On top of that, Caleb taught me a number of things about being a sneakthief, Lae. A little about picking pockets, a bit of picking locks, and even a few things of traps and tracks. While you spent your time in the militia, I spent my time ho
ning my skills.”

  “Just do it,” Valyrie said, pressing her hand against Laedron’s shoulder. “Now’s not the time to argue. Maybe he can find something of use.”

  Nodding, Marac led them to the spot where he’d found the tracks.

  Brice crept along parallel to the marks. After studying the grass and brush for a while, he picked up something small. “A thread of string.”

  “Did you go this far, Marac?” Laedron asked, moving closer to see.

  “No, I stopped back there, near the horses.” Marac crouched next to Brice. “I doubt it’s one of ours.”

  “Impossible to tell, but it’s out of place here in the middle of a field.” Brice eyed the brush leading away from the camp. “We’d better pack up our belongings before going any farther. We can’t afford to get lost without our supplies or our horses.”

  They returned to the camp, bundled up their sleeping packs and possessions, then put their gear back on their horses. Afterward, Laedron followed Brice back to the suspicious patch of grass.

  “You see how the weeds lay like this?” Brice gestured with the palm of his hand, motioning toward the trees. “It tends to be pressed in the direction someone walks. Follow them in that direction, and you should be able to find more tracks.” Crouching, Brice waddled toward the tree line. “Like this one.”

  “You think that it was a someone and not a something?” Marac asked.

  “Difficult to tell by these. I’ll have to see a few more; these don’t have the best definition.”

  Laedron looked at the track, then turned to see the presumed path. “Down that way?”

  Brice nodded. “Should be easy to follow. Weeds and pine straw are easily displaced when you walk through them, so we can go for a while to see where this path leads. It looks like whoever made them didn’t care if he—or she, or it—disturbed the ground.”