“And his name is Harridan?”
“Yes.”
“How do the Trappers fit into all this?”
Tavin stared at his feet. “What would you like to know?”
“Anything you can tell us. Everything you know.”
“As I said before, the Trappers were loosed upon the forest by Kareth, bound to seek the living and steal souls. We first encountered them during our attack on the old temple, and they drove us back. We hid in the woods for quite some time, all of us stricken with fear at the slightest rumble in the ground, until the Far’rah decided to move us to this place.
“We call it Auskemyr, the Land of the Hidden, and we use our secret home to avoid the Trappers, for they aren’t smart enough to figure out how to enter our sanctuary. Kareth’s vile creations have nearly cleared the forest of all living beings—the wolves, birds, deer, nearly everything except insects—but we are fortunate that our people haven’t been killed by one for nearly a decade.”
“You have a way to kill them?”
“Being composed entirely of crystal, the monsters can be destroyed by a competent mage. The most effective method we’ve found is by the use of vibrations, summoning tremors so strong that they can crack the Trappers’ rigid bodies. But you must bring a powerful quake; mistakes and hesitation could result in dire consequences.”
“Good. If we have a way to fight them, we stand a much better chance.” But what if I cannot conjure a spell strong enough? Fearing that Ismerelda’s ruby scepter had broken, Laedron pulled it from his side. “Can you tell me anything about this rod?”
Tavin’s eye twitched, but he took the scepter in his hands. “Where did you get this?”
“My teacher.”
“He would give away an instrument of this caliber? He must’ve been a great sorcerer indeed to have something like this as a spare.”
“Sorceress. My teacher was killed in the streets of Morcaine months ago, murdered by a Zyvdredi master posing as a Heraldan priest.”
“What was her name?”
“Ismerelda.”
“A name I may have heard in passing, but it doesn’t easily come to mind. Was she from Myrdwyer?” Tavin handed the scepter back.
“No,” Laedron said. “She was originally of Uxidia, and she moved to Westmarch when her family left to live in Evdurein.”
“It is a rare thing for an Uxidin to live amongst mortals in a city. It’s dangerous for us to be in contact with the wider world, but in your case, we must make an exception. For the survival of our people.”
“I’m surprised that you haven’t heard of her. She stood with Azura in the battle against Vrolosh.”
“Many names escape me, especially those of minor players, my young friend.” Tavin tapped his temple. “Little but the most important details remain when you go on for as long as I have. Besides, she could have been exaggerating her own importance.”
“Exaggerating her importance? I think not.” Laedron clenched his fists at his sides.
“Forgive me. You must have had a close attachment to her.”
He probably meant nothing by it. Even Ismerelda seemed a bit uncouth when speaking of some subjects. Laedron sighed. “If the scepter seems in good condition to you, then perhaps it is just me.”
“Just you? Has something happened that you haven’t revealed?”
“When I cast a spell the other day, it seemed as if it suddenly became harder before I could finish my casting, like something that had been helping me stopped without warning.”
“And you were using that rod at the time?”
Laedron bobbed his head.
“Easy. The power’s been depleted.”
Hanging his head, Laedron asked, “Depleted?”
“Yes, exhausted. Spent—”
“I know what the word means. How has the thing been depleted, exactly?”
“Just as we rejuvenate ourselves, we can create wands, staffs, and scepters fueled with essence, and this makes spells cast with that instrument easier to perform and more potent.”
“Then it is as I’ve feared.” Laedron stuck the scepter in his belt, intent to carry it for sentimental purposes instead of utilitarian reasons.
“Why are you sad? You merely need to recharge it.”
“And how does one do that?”
“Those soulstones would do the trick, and if each one contains the essence of a man, you could use a few of them, and the charge would last another hundred years or so. Would you like me to teach you the spell?”
A hundred years? Fascinating how these people think and plan in terms of centuries or millennia where most people think about only today or tomorrow. “Yes.”
“Would your companions prefer for us to go elsewhere? It could take some time.”
“Marac?” Laedron asked.
“It’s a bit tight in here. It’d probably be best if you did.”
“What about you, Brice?”
“He’s right. Wouldn’t want someone accidentally turned into a toad, after all.”
Laedron chuckled. “No, that would be terrible indeed. Val?”
“Yes, but I’d like to come with you.”
“You would?”
“I might learn something. You said you’d teach me.”
“Yes, but I don’t think it would benefit you. This sort of magic is beyond my expertise, and being there could be detrimental to your learning.”
“I suppose you would know best.” She sat at the table, but Laedron could tell she wasn’t happy.
“When we get to that point, I’ll teach you. I promise.”
Looking over her shoulder, she smiled. “All right.”
Laedron nodded, slipped off his pack, and turned to Tavin. “Did you have a place in mind?”
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Meaningless Morals
Through the adjacent hallway and by glimmer of dim light, Tavin led Laedron to the huge pit they had passed on the way to the shelter. Laedron imagined that Tavin had a rather pitiful existence because the few places they could visit consisted of a dreary room full of refugees, an office with basic wood furniture, and an unending hole in the ground.
“Would you care for something to drink, or should we get straight to it?” Tavin asked, holding a cup to the rocky wall near the start of the bridge. The water coming through the cracks slowly filled it.
His mouth dry from traveling, Laedron said, “Yes, a drink would be quite welcome. Thank you.”
Tavin passed Laedron the full cup. “Though it may taste strange to you, the water, I assure you, is safe.”
Sipping, Laedron detected a distinct flavor, the taste of metal and minerals, and the fluid seemed a bit thicker than what he used to drinking. In fact, he couldn’t recall any other time where his taste buds had been so offended by a simple swig of water, and he couldn’t help but wonder if that deplorable water would be the last thing he ever tasted. It could be, for I have no way of knowing when the magic will wear off.
“Why do you look saddened? Is it not to your liking?”
“I have no idea what I am anymore.”
“No? A sorcerer, are you not?”
Laedron handed the cup back to Tavin. “In Azura, I was nearly killed by the Zyvdredi. I would’ve died if not for a spell… well, priests call them miracles, and it was a priest who performed it.”
“The healing arts are common amongst all practitioners of magic.”
“This time, it was different. The priest in question used a soulstone to increase the power of his miracle, and after that, I couldn’t sleep and didn’t feel the need to eat for several days. I even healed at an astonishing rate.”
“Ah, yes. When one uses an essence for a spell, the magic can stay longer without need of further concentration or commitment. He could’ve made the spell extend longer had he known how.”
“So, it’s temporary?”
“Indeed. The spell fades away as the essence does. If you fail to
seal in the essence, it will dissipate considerably faster than otherwise, but ‘considerably faster’ has a different meaning to me than it might for you, yes? It’s relative to one’s point of view.”
Laedron swallowed deeply. “Am I going to die?”
“Yes, but not on account of that.” Tavin smiled. “The spell has probably given you a wellspring of longevity, though, so do not be surprised if you should go on for the next few centuries or so.”
A few centuries? His eyes widened, and he considered the possibility of living past all of his friends and family, watching all of them pass away before he would be given the gift of death. “Centuries? As in, hundreds of years? You’re sure?”
“The amount of essence held within Zyvdredi soulstones can vary, for a single stone can contain the life force of several men. The essence of three men is roughly equivalent to two hundred years, and a full stone could contain… twelve, maybe.”
“Is there any way to drain off the excess?”
“No, I’m afraid. If someone tried to take away some of the essence, they could take too little or too much. It’s not very precise, and we have no way of knowing how much essence you’ve been given.”
“Then I will eventually pass?”
“Yes, and I’m stricken by your relief at that fact; most do not want to meet their ends. All living things die, my friend. Unless, of course, you’re inducted.”
“Inducted?”
“What’s the difference between the Uxidin and the race of men?” Tavin asked.
“Uxidin are an ancient race of immortal mages,” Laedron said. He wants me to explain that which he already knows? “Men… are just men.”
“Uxidin are men, young mage… at least, we were. We have merely taken our knowledge of magic to another level, a level beyond normal understanding. We’ve made ourselves immortal, into masters of the elements. Do you not see? We have created our own race, and in doing so, we’ve forged a new existence, a new destiny.”
Laedron had long suspected something other than the common myths. “It makes sense.”
“Of course it does. Often the simplest explanation is the correct one. Your wand, please.” Tavin extended his open hand. “And the soulstones.”
“I know you said that only the essence remains, but I still have reservations.”
“What reservations?”
Laedron stared at the rod. “My teacher taught me many things of magic, and she said that Necromancy was quite real. You say that it is not. Who should I believe?”
“You cling to a vestigial belief that magic is nicely split into schools, as if designed that way. You fail to realize that your teacher taught in the Azuran way, the same manner that all the other mortals were instructed. And the reason for that? To control new mages, to keep them from experimenting with spells for which they weren’t prepared.”
“Why would she, or Azura, for that matter, do that? The only way to mastery is through the truth.”
“Indeed, but you must put things into perspective for the new ones. If you took ten men and trained them with spells, careless of morality and implications, most of them would become nothing better than a Zyvdredi soul-dealer. The aspects… do they still use that term?”
“Yes.”
“Aspects are merely a way of categorizing magic so that neonates can understand it, and it’s far easier to teach spellcraft when the chaos seems orderly. In fact, magic is just as chaotic as any other force in nature, and the only thing that orders it is our command of it. When you can think of magic as something to bend to your will, you can unlock its full potential.”
“You speak of wizardry.”
“Indeed.” Tavin smiled. “You seem to have a wonderful talent for magic, a gift that could have been left to waste away in some stuffy academy. It was fortunate that you learned from an Uxidin, and had you completed your training under her, you might have learned a great deal more about these things.”
“What sort of things?”
“I shouldn’t reveal anything else. You’ll speak to the Far’rah in due time, and until then, I should tell you no more of this. For now, I’ll show you the spell needed to recharge your scepter.”
“I still don’t know—”
“Doubt is the true mage killer, and even an Azuran teacher would have told you that. Give up your meaningless morals, for they do not apply here. Have you heard nothing that I’ve said? You blind yourself with a lie perpetrated to control you. Set yourself free.”
“It doesn’t seem right using their life forces for my benefit. These are men’s souls we’re dealing with.”
“You’re trying to apply a lifetime of societal norms you’ve been taught to something of which you have absolutely no experience or knowledge. That path leads to a place you would not like to delve, a place filled with speculation, judgment, and fanaticism. Leave those things to the Heraldan church, for their duty is to spread fear, hypocrisy, and ignorance of the things they do not understand.”
“But—”
“Did you imprison the essences of these men? Did you take them in the first place?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean that I should use—”
“Incorrect. As a matter of fact, it’s even more justification to put these resources to their best use, to serve you in doing good. Given the option between serving a Zyvdredi master or a sorcerer with a good heart and intentions, what do you think these men would have chosen?”
“I cannot say. They very well could have chosen a third option, to serve neither.”
Tavin sighed. “If that is what you want, I can release the energy, but I think you should open your mind and take a look at things without relying on the simplicities of good and evil, white and black. When you can do that, you’ll find that most everything in life lies between the two, in a saturation of gray, and decisions should be based on more than some scale invented to cull the herd and to keep their Circle of sorcerers in line and easily managed.”
When Tavin raised his wand, Laedron stopped him. “Wait. Let me consider things for a moment.”
Tavin leaned against the ropes of the bridge with his arms folded and a glare of impatience.
What would my mother do? What about Ismerelda? Would either of them pass up this opportunity? He wondered how much his mother really knew, how much knowledge she had kept from him over the years, teaching him about aspects, the good and evil magic and the meaning of spellcraft. Perhaps she adhered to what she was taught. Maybe Ismerelda never revealed any of this to her. Ismerelda. He didn’t know what to think of his teacher. Being Uxidin, she must have known everything that Tavin said. She was inducted like all the others. Immortal. Learned in the secrets of magic, the truth behind the veil.
He eyed Tavin, then looked away. Is he telling the truth? He seems sincere, and he maintains the tone and expression of someone who believes what he’s saying. No one could create lies at such speed and on a whim. Does he have my best interests at heart? Why would he? Or is he merely trying to educate me, to help me achieve the next level of enlightenment? Creator, forgive me if I’m wrong. “I’ve made my decision.”
“And that is?”
“Recharge it.”
With a nod, Tavin approached. “Do you have a spare?”
“A spare? A spare what?”
“Wand. Or other instrument. Unless you can conjure spells without one.”
“Can it be done?”
“A wizard can do many things normal sorcerers cannot, for they possess a higher mastery of magic.”
“Can you?”
Tavin shook his head. “It’s not from lack of trying, I assure you, but alas, no. Something seems to be missing, something in the puzzle that I cannot decipher.”
From his boot, Laedron drew his beginner wand.
Tavin nodded. “The motions are like any other prolonged spell, a rhythmic wave to and fro, but the words differ widely from anything you’ve likely heard. Hold the soulstone in your palm and your wand in the same hand, then repeat the inc
antation.” Tavin recited the words of power, then gestured for Laedron to begin.
Laedron swayed his wand over the scepter, and soon, swirls of violet and red energy appeared, then passed between his palm and the ruby at the scepter’s tip. For every moment Laedron maintained the spell, the scepter’s gem seemed to pulse brighter and brighter, as if the stone itself was coming to life once more, while the swirling light in the black onyx soulstone faded to black.
When Laedron finished the first casting of the spell, Tavin pointed at the leather pouch containing the other stones. “One more and your rod should carry a charge more than sufficient for the remainder of your days.”
After taking another stone in hand, Laedron cast the spell and maintained it until the onyx had been depleted and the ruby shone bright and vibrant. “It’s never looked like that.”
“No?”
“Since I first saw it, the stone seemed lackluster. Pretty, but dull.”
“Your teacher had likely gone quite some time since recharging it.”
“Would she have?”
“Ah, perhaps I spoke too soon. You said that she lived within a mortal city?”
Laedron nodded, replacing the scepter at his hip.
“One can draw the essence from just about any living thing. Perhaps she pulled from the vegetation nearby—saplings, bushes, and other plants, or maybe even some small animals.”
Laedron thought back to the first time he’d seen Ismerelda’s house in Westmarch. The grass had grown like islands in a sea of mud, and a few dead bushes fronted the place. There had been holes where trees had obviously once stood. “How do you judge the amount of essence something has? Is there any way of knowing with certainty?”
“Difficult to say, and many have theories. Some say that the number of days left in a life determine how powerful the essence is. Whereas a newborn would possess a powerful essence, an old man would have the least. I have my doubts, for how could you ever prove it? It’s not as if the number of days remaining in one’s life is clearly stamped upon the forehead.”
The Immortals of Myrdwyer Page 11
