The Immortals of Myrdwyer amob-3

by Brian Kittrell

  Laedron didn’t answer, clasping his hands at his waist.

  “In that case, four gold is far too high a price. One sovereign each. Four in total.” The captain gestured toward the gangplank. “And we can be underway as soon as my men can finish unloading. We should make the Heraldan coast early in the morning after next. My crew will see about your horses, too.”

  “We appreciate your kindness,” Laedron said, handing over the coins before ascending the plank ahead of his friends. While waiting for the crew to bring the horses onboard, he stared into the distance, the spikes with strange writing jutting above the waves as far as the eye could see. He recalled the first time he’d seen them on his journey to Nessadene, a time that seemed so uncertain and unnerving. Glimpsing them again filled him with a longing to see his family and his native Sorbia.

  Soon, mother. Soon, sister. He closed his eyes. I count the hours until I may see your faces again.

  * * *

  Stepping onto the docks of Azura, Laedron held out his arms and stretched. The days aboard ship had instilled a dull ache in his back and muscles. “Glad that’s over.”

  “You don’t like boats?” Marac asked, following him down.

  “I was referring to Lasoron.”

  Valyrie joined them. “Where first, Lae?”

  “Jurgen, I suppose. Then, we can visit Piers and Caleb at the chapterhouse.”

  “I’ve got a few choice words for Caleb,” Brice said, balling his fist.

  Marac put his arm around Brice’s shoulder. “You’re still on about that trapped lock?”

  “Still on about it? It hurts! You wouldn’t be mad?”

  “Of course I would. It’s just that I’ve never seen this side of you.”

  Laedron gestured at the avenue leading into the city. “Shall we?”

  They each gave a nod, and Laedron led the way into the streets. The city seemed just as he’d left it, and he figured that little could have changed in the span of a couple of weeks. Still, the people he saw as he rode through the streets toward the Vicariate Palace appeared happier, more lively than they once had been, as if a burden had been lifted from their backs.

  The steps in front of the Vicariate Palace still bore the scars of the battle a week or so prior, a fight which had matched Andolis’s sorcerer-assassins against the Heraldan militia, Laedron, and his friends. They tied their horses at the hitching post, and ascending the steps. Laedron stared at the crater, the only thing that remained to show where he and Dalton Greathis had been struck by a Zyvdredi’s spell. Rest in peace, Master Greathis. I hope that our deeds have met with your approval, and I pray that your life was not spent in vain.

  He gave his friends a nervous glance before opening the door.

  Inside, a steward approached them. “Greetings. Can I help you?”

  “We’ve come to see Vicar Jurgen.” Laedron looked at the walls and floors of the entry foyer, noting the change of tapestries, rugs, and paint colors since his last visit.

  “Vicar Jurgen?”

  Laedron cleared his throat. “Grand Vicar Petrius III.”

  “His Holiness is quite busy with the work of the church. Perhaps we could arrange an appointment for you in the future?”

  “Our time is short, for we’ll be heading home soon. Could you pass him a message for us?”

  “Certainly,” the steward said, taking a quill and a scrap of parchment in hand.

  “Tell him, Laedron, Marac, Brice, and Valyrie said to be safe and go with Azura.”

  The steward nodded as he wrote, then paused halfway through, his eyes widening at what he’d written. “Did you say… Laedron?”

  “And Marac, Brice-”

  “Wait here.” The steward rushed down a nearby corridor and disappeared.

  When the page returned, he said, “He’ll see you now,” gestured for them to follow, and led them to a private chamber up a flight of stairs. “Your Holiness, I’ve retrieved them as you instructed.”

  Laedron beheld the spectacle of the room when he entered. He had never been in the chamber before, and he was stricken with its decadence. He wondered if the picture frames were made of real gold. Surely they are. They’ve spared no other expense. The curtains draped the entire length of the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the fine marble floors had been dressed with exquisite runners and rugs.

  Stepping out from behind a wooden divider, Jurgen smiled, his kind face shining bright. “My friends, welcome to the Vicariate Palace, and only by your many efforts does this hallowed place take you in, arms wide open.”

  Valyrie rushed across the room and embraced Jurgen, and the steward left.

  Laedron said, “We’re glad to see you again, Your Holi-”

  “Aldric or Jurgen. None of this ‘Your Holiness’ business.” Jurgen grinned. “You haven’t risked your lives for me to grovel at my feet. I won’t have it.”

  “Also glad to see everything’s coming along nicely,” Laedron said.

  “Yes, yes. With Andolis gone, we can return Azura to a place of honor and make the church into something respectable again.” Jurgen’s expression became stern. “Have you come to give me bad news?”

  “Some, I suppose, but nothing that should affect you.” Laedron and his friends took a seat when Jurgen offered with an open hand. “First, we need to return something to you.”

  “Yes?”

  Laedron motioned to Brice. “The ring, please.”

  After receiving it, Laedron handed it to Jurgen. “The Uxidin told us that by no spell or miracle could he be returned to life. His essence can only be released or kept in the ring.”

  “Then, we’ll place the ring in the church in a place of honor, as a reliquary.” Reaching behind him, Jurgen put the ring on a table. “You found them after all, did you? The Uxidin?”

  “Deep in the pine forests and amongst the ancient ruins of Myrdwyer, yes.”

  “Tell me, Laedron, what were they like?”

  He didn’t know what to say in response to the question. Should I tell him that they’re maniacal, thirsty for ultimate power, and that they despise mortals? Would my words matter one way or another, considering he’ll likely never meet one? “Strange.”

  “Strange? That’s it?”

  Marac scooted to the edge of his chair and cleared his throat. “I think what he means to say is that they’re rather odd. Different customs, a different perspective on the world… just different.”

  “Yes,” Laedron said. “We helped them with a minor task, and they helped me understand the changes that I experienced in the days following your spell.”

  “Indeed, but you can’t leave it at that. I must know more.” Jurgen waved at one of the servants. “Come, bring us some fruit and drink.”

  Brice stood and straightened his shirt. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take my leave.”

  Laedron pressed his hand against Marac’s chest, intercepting the snide remark that he was sure would follow. “Go ahead. Meet us here when you’re done.”

  * * *

  Once outside the palace, Brice hurried down the stairs, took a quick glance around to get his bearings, then headed toward House Steadfahl. No need for a horse. It’s not far. He seemed to find his way as if he had walked it a thousand times, and he came upon the wrought iron gate facing the manor, only then stopping to heave a sigh. I wonder if she’ll think I’m strange for visiting again. Then, he remembered her parting words to him. ‘If you should find yourself in Azura again, pay me a visit and tell me of your travels.’ Had she wanted to be rid of me forever, I would think she would’ve said so. Something to the effect of, ‘Drop dead, scum,’ would have gotten the message across. He pushed open the gate, followed the steps up to the door, and knocked.

  The same butler who had snubbed him the last time opened the door. Giving Brice a stern glare, the man turned and called out, “Milady, Sir Brice Warren of Raven’s Landing.” It’s Reven’s Landing-no matter. At least he didn’t slam the door in my face.

  “Come in, milord,” th
e butler said, giving Brice a slight bow and motioning toward the foyer.

  Collette was just as beautiful as Brice remembered, and she seemed to be in better health than the last time they’d spoken. “Sir Brice, I thought I might never see you again.”

  “No?”

  “No, I feel horrible for slapping you,” she said, descending the stairs and joining him.

  “Think nothing of it. A man needs a good slapping every once in a while.” Needs a good slapping? No wonder everyone calls you a fool!

  She laughed. At least she found it funny. “You’ve come to fulfill my request, then?”

  “Miss?”

  “I seem to recall asking you if you should return to tell me of your exploits.”

  “Oh, right. Yes.”

  Brice stared at her through a pause, then finally said, “You mean now?”

  “I can’t think of a better time. You’re here in my home, after all. Did you intend to relay the story by letters and couriers?”

  “Mind if we have a seat?”

  She gestured at the sofa, and after waiting for her to sit, he took a place beside her.

  “So, how was Lasoron?” she asked.

  It’s as if she recorded every word I told her. No one’s ever paid this much attention to me, not in my whole life. He smiled. “Full of dangers and distressful intent, I’m afraid. Bandits roaming the countryside without fear from the guard, frightful beasts in the night, and even…” Brice turned his head back and forth to see if anyone was eavesdropping. “…immortal men hiding in the ruins.”

  “Immortal men?”

  “Indeed, and one would be hard put to figure out which is the worst-of the men, the bandits, and the beasts, that is. You see, the forests of Lasoron contain a number of perils. We departed Nessadene, and in the days that followed, we fought bandits and crossed ravines that would claim the lives of lesser men. All of that before we even reached Myrdwyer.”

  “Myrdw-”

  “Fret not, for you’re not an adventurer.” He brushed his lapel. “Only adventurers need to know how to pronounce the names of secret ruins and ancient places.” He grinned, feeling smug. “Once we were there, we were beset by wild beasts and strange creatures, the worst being the monsters made entirely of crystals.”

  “Crystals?”

  “Indeed.” Ah, it matters not if I embellish a bit. If storytellers ever recount the tale, they’ll make us all out to be heroes anyway, just as Lae said. “The others were worried about the noises in the night, but I told them not to be afraid. ‘Buck up, lads and lass,’ I told them, ‘for if they kill us, we need not give them the pleasure of our screams.’

  “Then, we went deep into the ground, fighting legions of undead and crystal creations, until we reached the end where the madman himself was holed up. I had to leave him to the mages to handle, though. Sorcerers fight sorcerers, and knights slay the rest.”

  “You did all that? I must have had the wrong impression of you, Sir Brice.”

  “What impression is that?”

  “I wouldn’t think you were the brave one at first sight,” she said, sizing him up. “You just don’t seem the type.”

  “Men behave in different ways in different situations. Just as I’m calm and cordial now, I could spin into a rage at the mere sight of evildoers.”

  “Spin into a rage?” She smiled. “I’m pleased to see you well, then. The way you tell it, I’m lucky to see you at all.”

  “And I you, milady. It’ll be difficult to return to my home and never see you again.” He stood. “I shouldn’t stay long, for my companions may be eager for me to return. Thank you for all of the kindnesses you’ve shown me and all the help you’ve given. It is a debt I cannot easily repay.” He turned and walked toward the door.

  “Perhaps I could come to Sorbia and visit you sometime.”

  He froze. “Could you? ‘Tis a long way and a hard road.” He hid the slight tremble in his hand, hoping that, if she did come for a visit, she wouldn’t ask his friends about their experiences in the ruins.

  “As a family, we have the means. Would you like that?”

  “Yes, I would like that very much.” Brice returned to her, took her hand, and kissed it. “Farewell. Until we meet again.”

  Once through the door, Brice heard it close behind him, and he walked along the wide boulevard toward the palace, unable to keep the smile off his face.

  * * *

  “That was an extraordinary tale, if I may say so myself. What a horrible man that Harridan must have been.” Jurgen wiped his mouth with a linen and placed his cup on a nearby table. “I do not claim to know the truth of all things, but I feel that you were right to do what you did.”

  Laedron nodded. “The spells in that book were something men were never meant to discover, I think.” He glanced at Marac and Valyrie. “My friends had to remind me of that, and I’m eternally thankful.”

  “Of course they did.”

  Raising his eyebrow, Laedron didn’t know if Jurgen meant to insult him or if he had something else to say.

  Jurgen seemed to notice Laedron’s cold stare. “I’m sorry if I offended. I meant that, being a sorcerer, you’re prone to an insatiable curiosity, and sometimes sorcerers must be saved from themselves.”

  “You know other sorcerers?”

  “No, no, but I’ve been studying the subject since you left. With the wealth of knowledge you held about our kind, I thought I might learn a bit about yours. It’s only fair, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose.”

  “The path to tolerance is paved by a mutual respect and understanding. Without them, our church and your Circle can never exist side by side.” Jurgen grinned. “If I make that first step, perhaps others of my ilk will follow.”

  “Thank you,” Laedron said, turning when he heard footsteps. “Ah, Brice. Did you accomplish… whatever it is you wanted to accomplish?”

  Brice nodded.

  Laedron stood. “Good. We would stay longer, but everything in my being desires nothing more than to return home to see my family again. We have one more stop to make, then we’ll be on our way westward.”

  “I shouldn’t have been so selfish as to hold you for so long, young man.” Jurgen put his arm around Laedron’s shoulders, walking him toward the entry foyer. “Anytime you wish to return, you are free to do so. Not just free, but welcome.”

  “I never thought I’d say this.” Laedron’s voice cracked, and he choked on the words. “Never imagined that I’d be proud to call a priest ‘friend.’”

  “The wounds will take some time to heal, but they will. They will.” Jurgen opened the door. “May the Creator watch over you on your journey home.”

  Valyrie grabbed Jurgen, embracing him. “It could be a long time before I see you again. You’ve always been such a good friend to our family, and it pains me to know that I may never come back to visit.”

  Jurgen wiped the tear from her cheek. “You may come and pay me a visit anytime you like. So long as this old body draws breath, I’ll be here for you whenever you may need me, Valyrie.”

  She nodded, and stepping away, she drew her sleeve across her nose and sniffled. “Goodbye.” She looped her arm under Laedron’s and walked beside him.

  Outside, Marac tapped Laedron on the shoulder. “One more stop?”

  “I thought we might visit our fellow conspirators, Piers and Caleb.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course.”

  * * *

  When they arrived, the door of the Shimmering Dawn headquarters stood open. Laedron figured that Piers had gotten many more recruits because the place bustled with activity, a number of new men with unfamiliar faces going about their various duties. I wonder if I shall be able to find the man amongst all these people. After wrapping his horse’s reins around the post outside, he crossed the threshold, then ambled about the front room.

  “You’re back!” Caleb ran to the end of the landing above them, turned at the stairs, and skipped two steps at a time coming down. “In one
piece, no less. Wel-”

  Caleb hit the floor, and Brice stood above him, shaking his fist. “That’s for the lock.”

  Caleb massaged the side of his face. “The lock? What lock?”

  “The trapped lock you gave me. Don’t pretend like you don’t remember.”

  “You picked it?”

  “Oh, yes!” Brice bobbed his head, his ears turning red. “I picked it, all right. Stuck me in the finger, and the soreness still hasn’t gone away.”

  Caleb, taking Marac’s hand and standing, shook his head. “I suppose I deserve that one. Do the rest of you want to take a swing at me while we’re at it?”

  “You haven’t done any wrong to me, but don’t try anything.” Marac folded his arms, then laughed. “I’ve never seen Thimble so mad in all my life, so I have to thank you for that one.”

  “It wasn’t funny,” Brice said.

  “So says you.”

  “Now that that’s settled…” Laedron glanced between the three of them. “Could you tell Piers that we’ve come to bid him farewell?”

  “Piers!” Caleb yelled toward the upper level. Subtle as always. I could’ve done that.

  Piers strolled into view on the upper level. When he reached the edge, he put his hands on the railing, and although he opened his mouth to speak, he stopped when he saw Laedron and his companions. Piers descended the staircase and shook Laedron’s hand, then exchanged handshakes with the others. “I can’t tell you how much we appreciate everything you’ve done for us. We’re well on our way to getting the order back to where it needs to be.”

  “You did your part the same as we did,” Laedron said.

  “What brings you back to Azura? More Zyvdredi plots?”

  I could go the rest of my life without hearing the word Zyvdredi again. “No, we’ve come to say farewell. As soon as we’re able, we’ll be off to Balfan to seek passage back to the Midlands.” Never have I uttered sweeter words. The Midlands and Sorbia, at long last.

  “You won’t stay a while? Can we get you anything? Food? Drink?”

  “No, but I appreciate the offer. We only wanted to see you one last time before departing.”