The Immortals of Myrdwyer

by Brian Kittrell

  “What do you think?”

  “The longevity, or perhaps the complexity of the essence, seems to be the most important. For example, one can garner little essence from a sapling, but from an ancient pine, one requires special implements and specific spells to extract the power, and great that power is. If a man would give, say, the equivalent of fifty years of essence, the ancient trees could give off a thousand years or more.” Tavin glanced at the glimmering jewel in the scepter. “Oh, I nearly forgot. We must seal in the energy, for it will lose its charge rapidly if we do not. Gemstones cannot retain essence as readily as flesh unless they are especially crafted for the purpose. Those black onyxes that you carry are prime examples of well-made soulstones.”

  Laedron grasped the leather pouch and felt his stomach churn. Only the best for the Drakkars.

  Tavin snapped his fingers. “No daydreaming. Repeat these words, and the jewel shall retain the essence.”

  Laedron listened closely and did as he was told. Though the light from the ruby dulled somewhat, the stone still glowed. “It reminds me of the ring Andolis wore.”

  “Andolis?”

  “One of the Zyvdredi masters in Azura. He caused the death of the Grand Vicar, then stole his essence and fused it within a ring of black onyx. We retrieved the ring when we killed him, and now, you’ve told me that there’s no way to free him, no way to bring him back to life.”

  “And you said his name was Andolis?”

  “Yes, do you know of him?”

  “No, but it doesn’t sound like a Zyvdredi name. Could it have been an alias, perhaps?”

  Looking at the ceiling, Laedron tried to recall the events in Azura. Finally, he said, “Yes, it was. He assumed the identity of a priest named Andolis Drakkar, whom he probably murdered somewhere in eastern Lasoron. The only name we found was Kivesh, a name tattooed on the neck of his—”

  “Kivesh?” Tavin’s eyes widened with apparent shock. “Are you certain about that?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Does anyone else know that you killed him?”

  “It’s practically common knowledge throughout the eastern world. Why?”

  “That’s a serious problem for you.” Tavin patted Laedron on the shoulder. “The Kiveshes are well-regarded members of the Zyvdredi royal family. They may come looking for you if they have the resources to spare.”

  Wonderful. Now, I shall have Zyvdredi assassins chasing me to the ends of the earth. “How likely are they to come looking?”

  “Truly difficult to say, and they may never come. If this Andolis was that far outside of Zyvdredi territory, and trying to live in mortal society, no less, he could have been exiled. On the same note, he could have been part of a much larger plan.”

  “If I had to guess, I would say he was part of a bigger plot. He wasn’t acting alone. In fact, he seemed to have an army of sorcerers under his charge.”

  “Were they all defeated?”

  “Most, if not all.”

  “It could take them quite some time to recover from such a blow. Still, I would keep a close eye on my back if I were you.”

  “At least I know now.”

  “Indeed. Shall we return to your companions? Or did you have any other mistakes to divulge?”

  He had to add salt to the wound, didn’t he? “No, we should go back. When do I meet the Far’rah?”

  “Tonight, most likely. I will arrange it.” Tavin gestured at the hallway.

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  ← Chapter Ten | Chapter Twelve →

  Far’rah Harridan

  Laedron walked in behind Tavin, and Marac and Brice appeared to be taking stock of their supplies.

  Marac stood, then said, “We thought you’d never get back.”

  Tavin seemed to be averting his gaze from the supplies when he crossed the room, and he nearly tripped over his own belongings.

  Laedron asked, “Are you well?”

  “Forgive me. It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen anything close to real food. I should leave you—”

  “No.” Laedron crouched next to his pack and removed the bags of salted meat and jerky. “Here, take it.”

  “I couldn’t. Thank you for the offer, but I cannot eat this while the rest of my people starve. We’ll make due.”

  Pouring the contents of his pack on the floor, Laedron took the tins in his arms. “Take all of it. This should be plenty to give your people a decent meal.”

  “What will you do, Sorcerer, when you grow hungry?” Tavin asked, taking the tins when Laedron forced them into his hands.

  “We each left the city with enough in our packs to feed us for a few weeks. Don’t worry about us. We have plenty left in our other bags.”

  Tavin opened the door. “Your generosity is uncommon, especially in these lands and certainly in these times. We thank you.”

  Laedron gave him a nod, waited for the door to close, then turned to Marac. “You seem anxious. Is something on your mind?”

  “We’ve been talking, and I think we need to discuss this.”

  “Yes?”

  Marac took a deep breath. “We have concerns about helping these people. What they ask, we think, isn’t reasonable, Lae.”

  “Really? Why do you think that?”

  “They’re asking us to retrieve an ancient artifact so that they can continue living forever? It’s unnatural. If they were meant to have the gift of eternal life, I think that they would’ve been born with it.”

  “Can you not see the suffering in their eyes? We can’t just leave them, Marac.”

  “And why not? What stake have we in this?”

  Laedron rubbed the back of his neck. “You? Little to none. For me, it’s a bit more complicated.”

  “Explain it to us. Make us understand.” Marac sat on the edge of the paltry table, its supports creaking with the added weight. “Right now, I don’t think any of our hearts are in it.”

  “Even you?” Laedron asked Valyrie.

  “He’s right, Lae. We have to have a reason, some acceptable purpose, if we’re expected to risk our lives for them. We have to know that what we’re doing is right.”

  Have they turned her against me? Or is this a result of our earlier arguments? And Marac, how could he question me when we’re so close to the answers? “The Uxidin have kept magic alive for thousands of years. Without them, it might have been lost along with the rest of history’s secrets. To think, they shared the blessings of magic with mortal men, and now, mortal men have a chance to repay that debt—through us.”

  “The weight of the world isn’t on our shoulders, and the debt isn’t ours alone to pay,” Marac said. “The odds are clearly against us, and what would we gain from it? The warm feeling of knowing that a few mages living deep in some ruins somewhere have benefited from our generosity?”

  “Not everything comes with monetary rewards, but I’m sure the Far’rah could arrange that, if it suits you,” Laedron said, the disdain dripping from his words.

  “You needn’t take that tone with me, Laedron Telpist. After all we’ve been through, I would’ve thought I could speak my mind without disrespect.”

  What has happened to me? Relax. Breathe. Calm yourself. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Marac.” Laedron rubbed his temples. “I’ve just been given some bad news.”

  “Lae, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you at a time like this,” Marac said, rushing to his side. “The spell is fading? We’ll find a way, my friend. We won’t let—”

  “No, no. Nothing like that. Tavin seems confident that I will live despite what’s happened of late, but he told me of the Kiveshes; we may be hunted since we were responsible for Andolis’s death.”

  “Kiveshes?”

  “When we found the body of the guard in the alley back in Azura, the tattoo on his neck was written in Zyv—” Laedron stopped to correct himself. “Nyreth.”

  “Ah, yes, the assassin in black.” Marac pointed at himself. “It’s my burden alone. I dealt the killi
ng blow.”

  “I don’t think they’ll care who actually killed him. We all had a part in it. Except Valyrie, her involvement was mostly kept secret.”

  “They’ll have trouble finding us out here. For now, we have other things to consider,” Brice said. “At this moment, we have to decide if we’ll help the Uxidin by getting this book of theirs.”

  “Through an army of those Trapper things?” Marac asked. “Deep in some old abandoned temple against some powerful mage? I respect you, Lae, and I understand how you feel, but I have to say no. We beat Andolis, but we were nearly killed in the process.”

  Marac is against me. Does he not trust me? Is he afraid? “What about the rest of you? Val?”

  “No, Lae. We have no business getting in the middle of things that don’t involve us. It’s too risky.”

  Staring at the floor, Laedron pursed his lips. Can I trust her after this? Can I depend on her to be at my side if she would choose to run at the thought of danger? At the inference of difficulty? “And you, Brice?” Need I even ask? He trembles at any suspicious sound.

  Brice glanced at Marac and Valyrie, then stood and joined Laedron on the other side of the room. “I’m with you, Lae.”

  “You?” Marac asked, standing with his arms folded. “The one afraid of his own shadow? The one scared of noises in the dark?”

  Brice tilted his head. “What of it?”

  “I’m just shocked at the sudden change of heart, Thimble. Now, you’re the brave one?”

  “No, not brave. Nothing like that. Not even close.”

  “What, then?”

  “We said that we’d help Lae. I’m standing beside him until the end. He’s brought us this far, and he saved my life.”

  Smiling, Laedron put his arm around Brice’s shoulders. “Thank you. We’ll do it together.” He slapped Brice on the back, then gazed at Marac. “You asked me once if I was sure. You said that was all you needed to know. Well, I’m sure, Marac Reven. We must see this to its finish.”

  Marac thought for a while, sighed, then turned to Valyrie. “We can’t split up, can we?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Then, we’re with you, Lae.”

  “I’m not going to force you two.”

  “No.” Marac walked over to him. “Whether it’s home or the depths of some old temple, we go together or not at all. We won’t abandon you.”

  “If we’re to go forward, you must give up your fears and doubts. You must know that we’ll succeed; merely believing in it won’t be enough this time.” Laedron put his hands on Marac’s shoulders and stared into his eyes. “You have to know, the way you know that the sun rises in the morning, the way you know your own name. All of you.”

  “Do you believe that, Lae?” Brice asked, a hopeful look in his eyes.

  “I know it as a fact. With my friends at my side, I can’t see it any other way.”

  “Let us speak with this… what did you call him? Far’rah?” Marac asked, picking up his belongings.

  Laedron grabbed his pack, opened the door, and found Tavin in the next chamber. “We’ve come to an agreement.”

  “And that is?”

  “We will speak to Far’rah Harridan and see about retrieving the tome from Kareth.” Everyone in the room paused from eating, as if the name carried with it a fear strong enough to still a beating heart.

  “We don’t speak of him. It makes it easier on us if we don’t speak of the one responsible for all this misery,” Tavin said. “I will take you to the Far’rah.”

  Tavin led them through a door Laedron hadn’t noticed before, into a narrow corridor, then to a circular chamber with a man clothed in dirty purple cloth kneeling in front of a shrine of some sort.

  “Far’rah? These visitors would like to see you,” Tavin said.

  In the center of the room, a circular stone altar had been built, and light shone straight down upon it from a bright, luminescent gem. Simple pine furniture—a bed, a desk, and a chair—sat in the far corner.

  Without looking up, the man said, “There was a time when I would see guests, Tavingras. That time has passed.”

  “This time, it’s different, Far’rah. They have come to retrieve The Bloodmyr Tome for us, to wrest it from Kareth’s grasp.”

  “How is this time any different from any of the others? Those who came before have failed. Has it been so long that you’ve forgotten the empty promises of all the would-be rescuers?” He stood and turned to them. His pale skin glowed in the dim light, his flowing silver hair an unlikely match compared to his youthful countenance. “What makes you believe these mortal children would stand a chance against Kareth and his Trappers?”

  “This one’s a sorcerer, Far’rah.” Tavin kept his head tilted downward, his eyes averted. “Rare that a sorcerer comes—”

  “Is it enough to make a difference? Sorcerers have come with their lackeys before.”

  Marac grumbled at the man’s words. “We are not lackeys.”

  After a brief pause, Tavin said, “They’ve had a long journey here, Far’rah. Forgive their disrespect.”

  “I have had the misfortune of dealing with outlanders a handful of times while aiding the previous Far’rah. I do not intend to make the same mistakes she did. I will not put my faith in any reckless mortal and waste effort believing in a miracle.”

  “Should we depart, then?” Marac asked. “Lae? If we’re unwanted here, should we return home?”

  “We don’t need permission,” Laedron said, eying the Far’rah and pointing over his shoulder. “All of those people out there are suffering.”

  “Oh, but you will need my help, won’t you?” The Far’rah approached Laedron and his companions. “Isn’t that right, Tavingras? They don’t stand a chance without our aid.”

  “Yes, Far’rah.”

  “Yes, Far’ah…” Turning away from them, Harridan clasped his hands behind his back and slowly walked to the other side of the room. “You see, my young friends, we have been working on a plan to retake the tome. Since we haven’t had any new volunteers, Tavingras and I were preparing ourselves for one last attempt to retrieve it.”

  Laedron took a few steps forward. “How, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “This is one of the tools we would use.” Harridan pulled a sword from beneath the nearby altar and twirled it above his head.

  “I have one of those,” Marac said, grasping the hilt of his blade. “I don’t see how it would be much use against the—”

  Harridan slammed the blade against a stone block. A crack of thundered blasted in Laedron’s eardrums, and he couldn’t hear anything over the ringing that followed. When the dust cleared, Harridan stood before the remains of a brick split in two, the majority of it falling to the ground in the form of a fine powder.

  Digging in his ears, Laedron asked, “How is that possible? Have you used the sword as a casting implement?”

  With a broad grin, Harridan returned the weapon to its place under the altar. “You must not be much of a sorcerer if you’re asking me that question. How else?”

  “Magic fused into a blade?” Laedron’s mind drifted at the possibilities. “You’ve found a way to bind magic to a sword?”

  “Is it such a far stretch?” Tavin pointed at Laedron’s scepter. “If we can charge rods and wands with essence, can we not do the same for anything? The problem, which we have overcome, was how to do it with a specific effect, so that the weapon would produce the same event when it struck its target.”

  “’Twas a simple thing when all was said and done, really,” Harridan said. “It was only a matter of keeping the spell from being cast constantly, to ensure that it only occurred under certain conditions. In the case of a sword, the condition would be when connecting with a target.”

  “If you have weapons such as these, why couldn’t you defeat Kareth? What makes you think we would stand a better chance than you?” Marac asked.

  “Desperate times call for desperate measures, Swordsman.” Sitting
on the edge of the stone altar, Harridan cleared his throat, probably because he inhaled a fair amount of dust. “We thought we had the advantage the first time we attacked. When many of our people were killed, we had to come up with a new plan of action. Well, after we found a way to hide from the Trappers and keep our people safe, that is. The adventurers, young people like you, kept coming, and each time they failed to retrieve the tome for us. Nearly a decade has passed since the last group, and now, you’re here.”

  Tavin, his palms up, spread his arms and approached Harridan. “They could be our best chance, Far’rah. And they have soulstones to enchant more of our weapons.”

  “Not so fast,” Laedron said. “If we’re to help you, we’ll use our own weapons, and you’ll show me how to imbue them.”

  Harridan shook his head. “You think that I would share this secret with the likes of you? One of the greatest, most profound breakthroughs in magic since immortality itself? I think not.”

  “What will you do, then?” Laedron thought about something Ismerelda had told him once, about how the Uxidin wouldn’t help Azura defend the humans in the Great War. “You would risk your eternal lives doing battle with Kareth? One slip, one mistake, and you’ll die like everyone else.”

  Groping his neck as if it had been pierced, Harridan sighed. “A small price to pay, perhaps. Before I agree, I would speak to Tavingras in private.”

  Nodding, Laedron led his companions back into the corridor and closed the door behind them. “That seems to have gone well.”

  “Did it? Why would you trade a simple spell for the tome?” Marac asked. “For something as risky as this, we should be well compensated. They must have something worthy of our efforts down here.”

  “Can you not see how useful such a spell could be?” Laedron pointed at the glowing gems illuminating the hall. “Permanent magic, Marac. We could produce everlasting lamps.”

  “Lanterns? This is about lanterns?” Brice asked. “Why would I risk my life for some bloody lanterns when we have cheap candles and torches to see by?”

  “Lanterns, yes, amongst other things. If you could make magic permanent, you would have a distinct advantage over your enemies. Common people could use things made by mages, things imbued with powerful spells.”