The Immortals of Myrdwyer

by Brian Kittrell

  Valyrie shook her head. “Is that such a good idea? If you give magic to everyone, the world would become quite a dangerous place. Besides, what if the same thing that happened to Zyvdred happens everywhere? Forests and mountains devoid of life, and men killing others for their essence? You’ll need soulstones in vast supply if you intend to give the world these magical trinkets, Lae.”

  “Not the whole world.” Laedron rubbed his chin. “Such a plan would take further thought, but of what they have to offer, I’m convinced that the spell alone is worth the trouble.”

  The door creaked open, and Tavin said, “The Far’rah has agreed.”

  Laedron glanced at Marac, then walked past him into the abbey. “Then it is done?”

  “It is,” Harridan said. “I will teach you how to imbue your weapons, and in exchange, you will take Tavin to retrieve The Bloodmyr Tome.”

  “Far’rah, I… you would send me?” Tavin asked. “Have I not served you well?”

  “Indeed, you have, but one of our people must go with them as a guide. Would you rather I go, Tavingras?”

  “No, of course not, but—”

  “Who else has the knowledge of the ruins? You’re the only one who has ventured to the surface in months.”

  Reluctantly, Tavin replied, “Yes, Far’rah. I will go.”

  “Good.” Harridan turned to Laedron. “Do you need rest?”

  Laedron looked at his friends, and their worn expressions told him the answer without them speaking a word. “Yes. We’ve had little sleep.”

  “Then, you’ll go late in the morning. The Trappers are less active during the daylight. Isn’t that right, Tavin?”

  “Yes, Far’rah.”

  “Take them to your chamber, then, and I shall teach this sorcerer the spell he desires. Return to me before you leave, and I shall give you my blessing.”

  Tavin led Marac, Brice, and Valyrie out, and Laedron remained with Harridan until he could, with confidence, reproduce the spell and enchant items with magical effects.

  Finally, Harridan said, “There is one thing I should relay before you go.”

  “And that is?”

  “The essence, no matter the source, seems to last considerably longer in items in comparison to a living being. Whereas our bodies need the energy constantly, imbued items only expend energy when they’re used. Thus, the sword you enchanted with the sonic charm could last many lifetimes even with moderate use.”

  “Thank you.”

  Harridan nodded, and Laedron exited into the hall, then joined his friends in Tavin’s quarters.

  * * *

  Having settled down and eaten their evening meals, Laedron and his companions gathered in the corner where Tavin had told them they could sleep for the night. Stone floors. Laedron shuffled in his bedroll in an attempt to find comfort where none existed. Marac seemed to have little trouble falling asleep because he was snoring only a few minutes after they had lain down. In fact, Laedron soon found himself the only one awake, except for Tavin, who sat at his table reading an old, dusty tome.

  Laedron stood and crept across the floor, being careful not to disturb the others. Once he reached Tavin’s desk, he asked, “Did any of them check on our horses?”

  “Yes, the little boy did.”

  “Little boy?”

  “That one.” Tavin pointed at Brice.

  “He’s not much younger than us, really. If memory serves, we’re less than a year apart in age.”

  “I see.” Keeping his place with his finger, Tavin closed his book, then gazed at Laedron’s bedroll. “You don’t have to lie there all night.”

  “No?”

  “Read a book or study a map if you like. To stare at the ceiling for hours would be a waste of time if you can’t sleep.”

  “Oh, my sleep has thankfully returned. It took days, but it came back.”

  “I’ve never seen someone regain their sleep. Then again, we always completed the font rituals, and we used essences far stronger than those you would have absorbed from Zyvdredi gems.”

  Laedron nodded, then examined the nondescript leather cover of the book in Tavin’s hands. “What sort of book is that?”

  “Azura’s journal,” Tavin said, as if it were normal reading material. “When we went to Kareth’s lair, he had created Trappers and Netheren. Before we go back, I want to see if these pages hold any secrets on how to defeat them—the undead, that is.”

  Laedron’s jaw dropped. Azura’s journal? Her personal writings, straight from her hand to the pages? “How can that be? Anything written by Azura must be centuries old, far older than any book could survive.”

  “It was my job as Caretaker of the Tomes to keep the old works from falling into disrepair, to ensure that they lasted for future generations.” Looking at Laedron over the top of the book, Tavin smiled. “In these times, we’re willing to do anything to feel as we did when our empire was strong. Far’rah Harridan meditates in private and offers prayers to the Creator. I read and maintain my collection of books and scrolls.”

  Laedron leaned across the table to steal a glance at the writing. “Did you ever meet her?”

  “No. By the time we heard of her great deeds, she had already disappeared into the wilderness, and no one ever saw her again. A shame.”

  “Ismerelda, my teacher, told me about her. She said that when Tristan turned his back on her, Azura left Uxidia and hid herself and her broken heart. Is that true?”

  “More or less, yes. Azura spoke of Tristan at length in her journal, and of her pain when he chastised her. She unknowingly prevented the total collapse of what remained of the empire in her time. Or I should say, she slowed down that eventuality.”

  “The empire wasn’t going to last?” Laedron asked, sitting on the other chair.

  “What we had in the old empire was doomed to fail. We’d grown too large, too decadent. We had too many different ideas of what we should do and how we should govern. When the nobles fractured, so did our nation, and it has never been the same since.”

  “So, Kareth didn’t cause Myrdwyer to crumble?”

  “No, that happened much longer ago. Myrdwyer was a loyalist city—to the empire—and had been since its founding. When Lasoron became an independent state, Myrdwyer had extreme difficulty in gaining any assistance from the empire, for the imperials, weakened by the schism, were unwilling to make an enemy out of the Lasoronians. With no military protection and being unable to maintain the city, our people fled, our buildings collapsed, and eventually, we became what you see now: a broken group of survivors hiding beneath a fallen city.

  “As time went along, the immortals who used to live in Lasoron, the ones outside Myrdwyer, started to die off, and the people lived as mortals. The knowledge of magic passed to fewer and fewer descendants of the original nobles of House Lasoron, and now, you’d be hard pressed to find a sorcerer within these borders.”

  “How do you know these things if you stay here in the forest?”

  “We haven’t always been so reclusive. There was a time when we ventured out into the world, but the world has little use for us. The adventurers, the ones like you and your friends, brought some news with them, as well.”

  “Can you tell me why Kareth killed an Elder Priest and stole The Bloodmyr Tome?”

  “The Elder Priest had two apprentices, Harridan and Kareth. When the time came to declare an heir, she selected Harridan, and Kareth was filled with rage.”

  “A revenge killing?”

  “Yes.”

  Feeling tired, Laedron extended his arms and stretched his back. “Could I ask one more question?”

  “If it suits you.”

  “If The Bloodmyr Tome is the only thing which can be used for the renewal spell, how do the other Uxidin around the world maintain their immortality? Do they come here seeking renewal?”

  “Yes. At least, they have in the past.”

  “They were unwilling to help?”

  “We haven’t had a chance to ask. We perform
ed a number of renewals prior to Kareth’s theft, but we have only had one other Uxidin pass through since then. Our people are few in the wide world, and they have had no need for us in the thousand years or so between their rejuvenation rituals.”

  “Why not send word to them and seek their help?”

  Tavin shook his head. “We’ve tried, my young friend. Don’t assume that we haven’t done everything we could imagine to get the tome back.”

  “Well, what did they say to your message?”

  “Some of the messengers didn’t return. Those who did all had the same answer: it’s Myrdwyer’s problem. Myrdwyer had the tome, and Myrdwyer should get it back.”

  “If we get it for you, will you help them in the future?”

  Tavin nodded. “Likely so, but that is the decision of the Far’rah. I have no part in it.”

  “Why would you, though? If they take such a position against you and refuse to help, why help them when they need it?”

  “The Far’rah receives tribute in exchange for his services, and we will need that tribute to have any hope of rebuilding what we’ve lost. It could take hundreds of years, if not thousands, but we’re confident that our city will stand once again.”

  Suddenly, Laedron felt small and inconsequential, the same way he had felt when he first thought of the war between the Uxidin and the Zyvdredi. We are but pawns in the dealings of the immortals. Laedron’s presence, their conversation, and perhaps all of their deeds tomorrow would become nothing more than a blink of the eye to these people. Ismerelda told me that her memory remained accurate for only the past fifty years or so, except for major, life-changing events. A century from now, will these people remember anything about what we’ve done? He closed his eyes. A century from now, will I? Will I forget about Ma and Laren? Marac and Brice? My Valyrie? Am I doomed to lose my memories as Ismerelda did? Creator… in time, I must find a way to reverse this.

  « Table of Contents

  ← Chapter Eleven | Chapter Thirteen →

  The Catacombs of Myrdwyer

  Laedron woke to Tavin shaking his shoulder. “Is it time already?”

  “Indeed.” Tavin moved to the door. “We’ll receive the Far’rah’s blessings, and we’ll be off. Prepare yourselves.”

  Blinking rapidly, Laedron stared at Tavin, for he looked nothing as he had the night prior. Instead of robes, Tavin wore tight-fitting leathers, a set of armor decorated with a floral design. The cloak flowing down his back had no flaws that Laedron noticed, and the man had weapons and wands fixed to his waist by a thick belt. “Equipped like that, you seem more like a warrior than a librarian.”

  “I assumed ownership of these effects when our last attack failed. Some were mine before, and the rest belonged to one of our soldiers.” Tavin tugged and pulled at the tunic. “Not a perfect fit, but it’s close enough.”

  “Seems good enough to me,” Laedron said, then turned to his friends. “Before we go, I should prepare our weapons. I’ve already enchanted this sword.”

  Brice took the blade when Laedron offered it. “If we’re to fight huge, hulking monsters, I’ll need something longer than my dagger.”

  “Be careful with that. Striking anything with it will summon a blast of sound capable of cracking stone, and bones and flesh are softer than rock. Marac, what would you prefer for your blade?”

  After considering the question, Marac gazed at Tavin. “Any suggestions?”

  “He can imbue the weapon with any spell he knows.”

  “Of course, but what sort of challenges will we face?”

  “Within Kareth’s lair, there will be Trappers and Netheren. We could face wild animals, but they’re the least of our concerns.”

  “Netheren?” Brice asked, glancing at the sword Laedron had given him. “Will this work on those?”

  “The undead? It’s not so much the tool as it is the method.”

  Seeing a puzzled look on Brice’s face, Laedron said, “He means, cut off the head. Anything with an edge can do that.”

  “Oh, right.”

  Marac shrugged. “I’ll think about it. Come back to me, would you?”

  “Very well. Val, what would you want for your bow?”

  “I won’t be able to cut off the head of anything with it, and I’ve never heard of a bow that can break stone. Whatever you think would be best.”

  Lightning? No, that would be of little use against either enemy. Flames? She could burn the undead, but cannot set crystal ablaze. A bit dangerous, too, if an arrow went astray. Ice? It might not work.

  “We used to enchant our bows with force spells,” Tavin offered.

  Laedron was surprised. “Force spells? How does that work?”

  “You put an enchantment on the arrows so that, upon impact, they release an incredible force in every direction. If the force is strong enough and applied at the right location, it could separate limbs from the body or even crack the crystal structures of the Trappers.”

  “Excellent suggestion,” Laedron said, taking the quiver from Valyrie. He imbued the arrows with the strongest force spell he could recall. Once he had finished, Laedron turned to Marac again. “Have you decided?”

  “What about making it indestructible?”

  “I don’t think anything can be made indestructible and still be useful. I could make the blade ethereal, but it would do you no good.”

  “How about the sharpness, then? Make the blade so fine that it can slice through anything with little effort.”

  Laedron stared at the ceiling, deep in contemplation, then said, “I don’t know about slicing through everything, but I’ll give it a shot.”

  Marac handed over his sword, and Laedron cast a spell. When he finished, Laedron pulled the remaining soulstones from the sack. “Two left.”

  “Let us hope they won’t be needed,” Tavin said, opening the door. “Ready now?”

  Laedron gave him a nod, then walked with his companions behind Tavin through the corridor. Laedron stopped Tavin just outside the door to the Far’rah’s abbey. “You mentioned an attack that your people made against Kareth. Have you seen where he hides? Do you know the layout?”

  “I only know of the entrance. When we attacked the temple, we barely reached the front door before we were driven back. His foul creations chased us all the way here, and we had to collapse the tunnel to keep them from getting in.”

  “So, you have no idea how to get around his sanctum?” Marac asked.

  “No, as I said, I know the entrance. From there, we’ll have to find the way,” Tavin said, opening the door and leading them into the abbey.

  Tavin bowed before the altar. “We are ready, my Far’rah.”

  Laedron fell to his knees, and his companions did the same.

  “Then, let you be blessed in your struggle this day.” Harridan approached with his staff in hand. “We would go forward only by the will of the Creator, and we hope that we please him in all things, for he is the beginning, the journey, and the end.”

  Far’rah Harridan raised his staff over their heads and repeated an incantation. A rain of gold sparkles floated onto them from the giant sapphire imbedded in the staff’s head. “May you be unmatched in the fight to come, and may the Creator see you safe to your home.”

  Tavin rose, but Harridan held up his hand. “Tavingras, wait. I would see you for a moment before you leave. Sorcerer, will you and your companions wait outside?”

  Laedron nodded, then took Marac, Brice, and Valyrie into the hall, closing the door behind them. Trying to ignore the Uxidin watching them from the next chamber, he stared at the ground. I don’t think I’ve felt this awkward in all my life. Must they stare in such a way? It’s unnerving how they never speak. It’s like being a beggar at a royal banquet… or is that a royal in the slums? No matter. Hurry up, Tavin. How long could some parting words take?

  Having taken far too long for Laedron’s liking, Tavin finally emerged from the room and gave them a vacant stare. What did Harridan tell him? He seems so preo
ccupied. Tavin signaled Laedron with a nod, then led the way through the corridor and across the rope bridge over the bottomless pit. Once clear of the bridge, Tavin picked up speed, racing through the earthen tunnel and up the stone stairs.

  Tavin glanced at the horses resting on the floor when he reached the top. “You’ll have no need of your horses. They should be safe here.” Touching the wall, he uttered a few words, and what had been the wood of the tree transformed into a window of swirling energy. “One at a time. It may feel strange to you, but keep walking.”

  Walking through to the forest he could see on the other side, Laedron felt a prickling sensation on his skin until he was no longer touching the portal. Laedron, his scepter at the ready, scanned the forest until the others joined him, watching for any threats.

  Tavin emerged from the opening, took a quick left, and jogged along the path to the north, and Laedron and his friends struggled to keep up. When he passed a bluff, Laedron could see the view which had been obscured by the terrain, and he beheld the spectacle that had once been the temple. Its huge walls were broken and strewn, as if they had been struck by a mighty hammer. In the center of what used to be a complex of buildings, a stone staircase led to a platform about thirty feet above the ground, and what remained of the altar and chapel sat atop it.

  “I don’t see how anyone could live there,” Laedron said, gawking at the ruins.

  Tavin crouched behind a boulder. “He doesn’t; he resides deep beneath the surface.”

  Valyrie crept up to Laedron’s side. “What’s under there?”

  “The catacombs.”

  “What would immortals need with catacombs?”

  “We are immortal, but we are not impervious to harm, young lady. Immortals meet their ends sometimes, too, and the bodies must be housed when the soul departs. It has always been our way.”

  Laedron gulped. “Could Kareth… reanimate those long-dead bodies?”