The Immortals of Myrdwyer amob-3

by Brian Kittrell

  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 finding 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!”

  9

  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.

  “Fascinatin
g. 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 you 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.

  Although the proposition of following some stranger through darkened halls didn’t appeal to him, Laedron turned to his companions. “Have we any choice but to follow?”

  “If he meant us harm, he would have attacked in the blind,” Marac said. “You don’t give up your advantage, talk, then turn your back on people you intend to kill.”

  Laedron glanced at Brice and Valyrie, and both nodded in agreement. “I suppose we’re in agreement, then.” He quickened his pace to catch up to the man, the others close behind.

  He counted each step until he reached a hundred, then he stopped trying to keep track. When they came to a rope bridge, Laedron and his companions gawked in every direction at the domed cavern.

  The view captivated him. He stood at the edge of eternity, the vast abyss beneath the rope bridge and the vaulted dome above so massive that their footsteps hadn’t produced an echo when they arrived. Through a hole across the expanse, a waterfall emptied into the chasm, and he gulped when he noticed that he couldn’t see the water striking the bottom of the pit.

  “You built this place?” Laedron asked once he’d gotten his senses about him.

  The man shook his head. “My people merely put the bridge over it and smoothed the walls.”

  “Your people? The Uxidin?”

  The man looked surprised. “Indeed.” Gesturing at the rope bridge to his left, the man proceeded across, and Laedron followed, afraid to speak a word lest the utterance snap a rope or a plank. Don’t look down. Look anywhere but down. It was like being on the ancient bridge over the vale they’d crossed days before, but he didn’t know if he was glad or more frightened that he couldn’t see the bottom.

  Once on the other side, the man picked up his pace, but finally stopped at the end of another stone hallway. “Be respectful within this place.” The door opened at his touch, and light poured through the opening.

  Inside the room, thirty people were huddled in small groups, and the place stank of unwashed bodies. All of them wore clothes too big for their frames, and Laedron noticed that their skin had drawn tight over their faces, ribs, and hands. Children had apparently painted murals on the walls with whatever they could find. From the wide strokes making up the images, he figured that the drawing implements had most likely been fingers dipped in mud or soot. He couldn’t quite tell what the pictures represented, but it somehow made the people seem kinder, gentler than how they appeared.

  So many of them, Laedron mused, glancing at their faces as they walked. They seem terrified by us. All of their faces bore dirt and scars, and most of the people were elderly and infirmed. “Are we safe enough to share names?”

  The man stopped halfway into the room. “Tavingras. You may call me Tavin. From what I know of mortals, you would prefer no
t to waste your time with long names.”

  “Very well, Tavin. I’m Laedron Telpist.” Glancing at the people in the dim light, Laedron felt as though he had entered an asylum for the destitute. “Why do you hide yourselves in this manner?”

  “If the Trappers weren’t roaming the forest, we would have no reason to hide.”

  His eye twitched. “Trappers?”

  “You haven’t seen them? Horrible creations, part crystal and part essence pulled from the living. Soul-suckers. Upon finding anything still alive, they make no small effort to deprive that body of its life essence.” Just as quick as Tavin produced a sack from his robes, a little child, one of only a handful in the room, ran up, snatched the bag, then disappeared again. “Eat them slowly and enjoy them, for it took quite a while to find those,” Tavin called to the girl. He turned back to Laedron. “This wolf’s body should be a good meal compared to what we’ve been eating.”

  “You can’t reason with them? These Trappers, as you call them?”

  “No. Our enemy prefers his slaves to be willing, able, silent, and uncompromising. They do not speak, and we have no evidence that they’ll listen to anything we have to say. Cold killers set to a singular task.”

  Marac raised an eyebrow. “Your enemy?”

  “I’ll explain that later, for to hear the name is hurtful to my people.”

  “What was in the bag?” Laedron asked, trying to see the child behind the adults.

  “I went out to find nuts and berries earlier. The pickings are slim of late.” Tavin motioned at a side door, and Laedron and his friends followed. Laedron assumed that the room was Tavin’s private quarters because furniture for every purpose had been arranged about the space, and clothes similar in size and style to the ones Tavin wore hung on the racks near a row of bookshelves along the back wall. In the center of the room sat a table with a few chairs beside a desk littered with books and scraps of paper. Laedron felt a little constricted near the entrance, for the room had clearly not been designed for five people to occupy it at one time. If all this furniture wasn’t in here, I doubt it would feel so cramped.