The Immortals of Myrdwyer

by Brian Kittrell

Bending down beside Brice, Marac squinted at the ground. “Any ideas yet as to what made them?”

  “I’m leaning toward a human.”

  “And you’re sure they’re human tracks? Animals couldn’t make tracks like these?”

  “They’re fresh, and we haven’t seen anything big enough to make prints this size pass through here. A man, on the other hand… plenty big enough.”

  “What about recent enough? We have no proof that anyone other than the four of us are out here.” The image of the crystal beast flashing through his mind, Laedron asked, “Could it be anything other than a man? Something bigger maybe?”

  “Possibly, but few tracks in nature could be mistaken for a human, especially when you have a print with this distinct shape.” Brice drew the outline of the track with his finger.

  “We have nothing else to go on, Lae.” Valyrie nocked an arrow. “We must, for now, assume that it’s a man and follow.”

  “Keep the horses back a ways so they don’t destroy any tracks we may yet need.” Laedron took his rod in hand and hoped that it would work if needed. “Lead the way, Brice. And keep an eye out for... well, anything.”

  * * *

  “We’ve been walking for nearly an hour,” Laedron whispered, stopping when Brice crouched again.

  “I never said it’d be a quick process,” Brice said, sorting through some pine straw. “Besides, what better things have you to do? At least we’re making progress. Here, he made a turn.” Looking up, Brice pointed. “Between those two… Creator! Those trees are huge.”

  “The forest has many of them, it would seem. Ancient trees shooting up into the heavens.” The haze of the dawn filtered through the pines. Laedron followed the tree’s trunk with his eyes, but the canopy above made it impossible to see the top. “They’ve been here since before the city was built, if I had to guess.”

  Brice jogged ahead, and every once in a while, he glanced at the ground. Reaching the two trees, he put his hand on one of them. “He—she, whoever—walked through here and stopped just past them.”

  “Just say ‘he’ for now, Thimble; your stuttering is getting on my nerves. We’ll know for sure if we ever find him,” Marac said.

  Stepping between the mighty trunks, both as thick as the one he’d seen near their camp, Laedron figured that the trees were significant because they stood at the entrance of what seemed to have been a huge structure. The ruins of a temple, perhaps? The High King’s palace? It was clearly a spectacle to behold, whatever it was. “Where from here, Brice?”

  Brice searched the ground. “Wait.” Squinting, he crouched and pointed at several disturbed patches of brush.

  “What is it?”

  “Two sets… and drag marks.” He gestured to their right. “Someone dragged something that way. These tracks are much bigger, though. A bear?”

  Laedron took a deep breath. “It could be that monster. Any blood?”

  “No. Wait. Yes, here.” Holding up some pine needles, Brice twisted them between his fingertips. “A few drops. Look.”

  When he turned to examine the pine straw, Laedron caught a glimpse of something beneath a shrub. He bent and pulled out a dense, heavy bone almost two feet long. “What do you make of this?”

  “It’s a bone,” Brice said.

  “I can see that, Thimble.” Laedron tugged at his collar, then tossed the bone over to Brice. “Sorry. Can you tell anything about it?”

  “I’ve never been a student of anatomy, I’m afraid.”

  Valyrie took the bone and examined it from every angle. “Looks like a femur, the big bone behind the thigh. Human.”

  He felt uneasy. Do they dissect corpses in the university? Pulling the shrub from side to side, Laedron said, “Here’s the rest of him. A skull and several other pieces, but no clothes, no weapons. Must’ve been here for quite some time.”

  “The blood didn’t come from this body. What is going on here?” Marac kicked a stone, sending it flying into one of the big pines. “What else do you see, Thimble?”

  “Just the drag marks leading off that way.”

  “Keep going, then. It didn’t end here.”

  Following Brice as if he were a bloodhound, Laedron tried to block the sinister thoughts racing through his mind, but he couldn’t. What had killed that man? And the blood in the straw? Whose blood is it? Who drew it? What lurks in this wood, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce?

  Every attempt to preclude his imagination met with another vibrant vision of their torture, their pain merely a means to an end, a small part in the machinations of some dark sorcerer hidden amongst the pines. And if we encounter an evil mage, will this scepter be of any use? Even with Ismerelda’s rod, he had been unable to defeat Andolis Drakkar in a duel of magic, and the fact that it had failed during his last spell worried him. How powerful could a Zyvdredi master become if allowed to sit and brood in this wilderness for centuries?

  Laedron nearly tripped over Brice, not noticing when his friend squatted to examine the earth. “Sorry.”

  Seemingly unfazed by the knee in his back, Brice stared at the ground, touching it with his palm several times. “It stops here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just what I said.” Standing, Brice dusted off his knees. “No more trail. No more tracks.”

  “Impossible.” Marac turned in a circle. “It can’t just stop here.”

  “Well, it does.”

  Laedron shook his head and threw up his hands. “Where are they, then? If they stopped here and went nowhere else, they would still be standing right here.”

  “I’m simply telling you what I see. The prints go no farther from this place, Lae.”

  Valyrie held her hair back and bent forward. “Any wheel tracks? Hoof prints? A cart or horses, perhaps?”

  “No, nothing.” Brice held up his hand, his index finger and thumb spread about an inch apart. “Wagons and carts leave deep marks when they move through dirt. Especially under these circumstances, I would have seen something.”

  Laedron spun and scanned the trees. “Keep looking. There must be something we’re missing. Spread out.”

  Brice and Marac tied the horses to some low limbs, then searched the ground for more tracks. Valyrie checked the brush and shrubs, and Laedron, without much to go on, followed the bases of the trees to see if anything had fallen around the exposed roots.

  Laedron pointed at the bark when he spotted something odd. “Look at this. Over here!”

  Valyrie got to him first. “Found something?”

  “Carvings.” Laedron ran his finger along the grooves cut into the tree. “Shapes of some kind.” His jaw dropped, and he leaned toward the cuts. “Writing. It’s writing!”

  “Writing? Not like any I’ve seen. Can you read it?” Brice asked.

  “I think so.” Concentrating, Laedron studied the writing, then shook his head violently. “It can’t be. No, it can’t—” He stepped back.

  “What is it?” Valyrie took him by the arm, halting his retreat. “What, Lae?”

  “Zyvdredi writing…” He turned away, rubbing his hands together. “Here? Zyvdredi… she said this was an Uxidin city. Did she lie? She seemed sincere. How can it be?”

  “Lae?”

  “To find Zyvdredi here? In the middle of Lasoron? They shouldn’t be here. They can’t be here—”

  “Lae?”

  “Could they be new markings? Something recent? Perhaps they’re not as old as this place. Wanderers who came upon this broken city—”

  “Lae!”

  He turned to her. “Sorry. You were saying?”

  Sighing, she asked, “What does it say?”

  “If those ruins are what’s left of a temple, the writing seems to discuss it. It’s some kind of blessing or a prayer.”

  “Written in Zyvdredi?” Brice inspected the symbols, but his grimace told of his confusion. “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” Laedron nibbled at his fingernails, searching the horizon for answers and not find
ing any. “We had better—”

  The movement of shadows in the nearby brush gave him pause. No shaking of the earth. That crystal thing? Here? No, we would’ve heard it. A thing that large can’t move with stealth. Could there be a Zyvdredi master watching us, waiting for the opportune moment to strike?

  Valyrie’s face contorted with worry. “Lae? Are you feeling all right?”

  “Yes. I thought I saw something there. I guess my mind’s playing tricks on me.”

  “Where to from here?” Marac asked. “Are there any directions written there? A set of instructions?”

  “No, nothing.” Laedron, though his hand trembled, traced the words with his finger. “It reminds me of something I saw in the city of Azura.”

  “How so?”

  “Remember how every building, every storefront, and every home in Azura had inscriptions of saints? Azuran stars? Inside most of the buildings and above the main entrance, they had carved verses from the Azuran scriptures. Prayers for protection, blessings on those who entered, and so on.”

  Brice crouched and poked at the bark. “Does the shape have any meaning?”

  “Shape? What shape?”

  “The words have been carved in a big arch,” Brice said, using a finger to follow the inscription to the base of the tree. “See here? It starts near the roots.”

  Laedron started at one end and followed the carvings all the way to the finish, but the text—even in its entirety—told him nothing more. Scratching his chin, he pondered the writing. This must be the key, but what does it mean? Why, of all the trees in the forest, would they put writing on this one? A marker of some kind? But what were they marking?

  “Perhaps it’s a dead end.” Leaning on his shoulder against the tree, Marac lowered his chin and sighed. “Maybe we don’t have enough to unlock its secret.”

  Unlock its secret. Laedron took a few steps back to observe the arch in its entirety. “It can’t be. Can it?”

  “Can’t be what?” Valyrie asked, obviously eager to hear any possible solutions.

  “A door? An entry of some kind?”

  Brice picked at the bark near the writing. “No seams. If it’s a door, I can see no way of opening it.”

  “If it was made by the Zyvdredi, it wouldn’t have a handle or locks in the same way with which we’re accustomed. Stand back.” Laedron produced his scepter.

  Marac put his hand on Laedron’s shoulder. “What are you going to do? Blast your way through?”

  “No, I intend to walk in.” Speaking his incantation and waving the rod, Laedron watched his body become transparent, starting with his hands and enveloping his whole body after a while. Then, he walked into the side of the tree.

  At first, he couldn’t see anything through the dense wood fibers, but once he had passed the bark and wood, he found himself in a hollow within the tree. The area was about fifty feet in diameter, and wooden steps, which seemed to have grown inside the tree that way, led down. He stepped backward, then released the spell when he was completely out.

  “There’s a space inside. And a staircase. Come close, and I’ll cast the spell on each of you so you can enter.” Noticing a tremor in the ground, Laedron gasped. “Quickly. That monster approaches!”

  “What about the horses?” Brice held onto the reins and petted the gelding, trying to calm its nerves.

  “They can fit, too. Come on!”

  « Table of Contents

  ← Chapter Eight | Chapter Ten →

  Refugees in Their Own Land

  Laedron held his index finger to his lips and made sure each of his friends saw the gesture. The vibration had grown stronger. He could feel the tree tremble beneath his feet, and the shaking caused loose sap to drip onto them. Suddenly, the quaking stopped, as if the beast had passed. A cloud of dust hung in the air, and he likened the smell to the fertile soil his mother used to plant her garden each year. The hollow was dark, but whoever had created the space must have put holes into the tree somewhere above because a faint ray of sunshine came through, allowing just enough light to see. What purpose do the holes serve? To brighten the place or to tell at a glance if it’s day or night?

  “This place gets stranger by the minute,” Marac said, trying to pick the sap from his hair. “Ruins of an ancient people, a beast made entirely of crystal, and now, we’re standing inside a living tree.”

  “All of those things are certainly true.” Holding out the scepter, Laedron conjured a light spell, then started down the stairs. “Keep on your toes. No way of knowing what lies in wait beneath the earth.”

  “And the horses?”

  “We’re forced to leave them here for now. Put out some food.”

  A few steps into the descent, Laedron heard the scraping of stone underfoot. He stepped down twice more, then crouched and held the scepter close to the stairs.

  “What are you doing, Lae?” Marac scooted backward and put his hand on the earthen wall to keep his balance.

  “Fascinating. The stairs seamlessly change from wood to stone here.” It reminded him of Pilgrim’s Rest, where the buildings had been carved into the faces of the cliffs, and the woodwork had been precisely fitted to the stone.

  “Shouldn’t we focus on the task at hand? I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to admire the architecture later.”

  “Powerful magic, Marac. A sign that we should not be careless here.”

  “Magic? I’m not easily convinced. A master craftsman could do the same without spells.”

  “We cannot assume such, for if we accept that this is the work of regular men, we would preclude the influence of the more dangerous possibility: mages. I would rather overestimate than underestimate what lies below.” He reached down and felt something wet on his fingertips. Bringing his hand up to his face, he squinted at the substance. “Blood. Small droplets.”

  “Blood?” Marac asked.

  “Like the drops we found earlier in the straw. Keep your eyes open.”

  * * *

  “How deep do you think we are?” Brice asked when they came to the bottom. “Fifty steps?”

  “Closer to a sixty, I should think. Three or four stories into the ground.” Noticing a glint of something on the wall, Laedron released his spell, and the area remained dimly lit. Approaching the wall, Laedron whispered, “Some kind of gem or crystal putting off light. And look, a fixture of some kind.”

  “Magical light?” Valyrie asked.

  Laedron nodded. “It must be.”

  “You’re not completely sure?”

  Eying the precious stone and the flickering energy within, Laedron considered the evidence at hand. “There’s no one controlling it. If this is magic, it must be some kind of permanent spell.”

  “There are more of them.” Brice pointed at the mouth of what appeared to be a cave. “Leading that way.”

  Laedron crept over to the tunnel. He waited for the others to reach him, then continued until he reached a cross point. To his right, a pile of stones completely obstructed the way, but to his left, the corridor extended further than he could see, despite the ambient glow provided by the gemstones. When he looked at the floor, he spotted more blood trailing off to the left.

  He took the left path, then froze in his tracks when he heard a crash behind him.

  “Damned thing!” Marac shouted from where he had fallen. “Help me up, would you?”

  “Quiet,” Laedron whispered. “We don’t know—”

  “More adventurers come to see what they can take from our corpses? Cunning, too, to find the way in here,” a man’s voice said from the darkness ahead. “You had better speak up.”

  “We… uh…” Laedron couldn’t think of anything to say. Zyvdredi? Bandits? Something else entirely?

  “Not quite the response I anticipated. And young is the voice that replies. Interesting.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Strange that you should ask me that before you tell me your name. Did I come by stealth into your home, then demand to know who yo
u are?”

  “Forgive me if I’m reluctant to answer.” Laedron searched the shadows for a target, his scepter extended.

  “Your hesitation gives me even more reason to rid the world of you, young man. One last time: what are you doing here and who are you?”

  “My name is Laedron Telpist.”

  “A good start. Now, what do you hope to find in this place? Piles of treasure? A hoard to sate your hunger for wealth?”

  “Blast him, Lae,” Marac said under his breath. “Give it to him.”

  He shook his head, unwilling to attack unprovoked. “We’re at a total disadvantage, and if I start throwing spells, the whole place could come down on us.”

  “I’m waiting.” The man sounded angry, but controlled.

  “We’ve come seeking answers.” His hand trembling, Laedron did his best to keep the rod pointed down the hall. “We were told that we might find them here.”

  “Told? What fool would tell you to come here?”

  “An old woman in Nessadene, a bookseller by the name of Callista.” Blinking rapidly, Laedron saw waves in the air that looked much like humidity fluttering above stone streets on a hot summer day. A few yards away, he saw fingertips pull down a cowl. Thick black locks appeared next, and finally, the invisibility spell faded away to reveal a man robed in dark gray.

  The strange man said an incantation, approached Laedron, then smiled. The words of power had apparently been said to the gems because they flashed bright, illuminating the hallway by several orders of magnitude. “By your expression, I should think that you’ve never seen anything like this place.”

  Laedron noticed the body of a wolf at the man’s feet, and the pattern on its coat was familiar. The wolf killed by the monster? This man has retrieved it, but for what purpose? “You assume correctly. How—”

  “It’s not a matter of how. I should say, it’s not as important as why.”

  “Very well. Why?”

  “An answer you shall have in due time. For now, you follow.”

  “Follow? I don’t even know your name. Care to give it?”

  “It’s not safe to linger in the passages. Follow or remain here, for I’m busy.” The man turned and walked away.