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 performed 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.
12
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 preoccupied. 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?”
“Indeed, and we know that he has done so, for when he countered our attack, a large portion of his forces were Netheren, their faces familiar to all of us. It was horrible fighting against the bodies of people you once knew, those who had been transformed into shadows of their former selves.”
“How many?”
“Hundreds, but don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry, he says,” Brice scoffed. “It’s only hundreds of undead. Everything will be just fine.”
“We killed many of them, and they’re weak and single-minded. We’re only in danger if they attack in numbers.”
“What sorts of spells work best against them?” Laedron asked, doing his best to ignore the terror of fighting legions of dead men.
“Fire is quite effective, for corpses dry out soon after death. Separating the body from the head is also useful, so any spell that can accomplish that would be the first choice. A body that cannot see, hear, or bite tends to be far less dangerous.”
“I suppose we should get to it, then.” Marac buckled his shield to his arm and drew his sword. “We’ll do little good staring at the place from afar.”
Tavin nodded, then led them along the path, which snaked its way down the steep hill. When he reached the front of the temple, he turned to the left, passing the stone steps and heading to a small door in the side of the building. Then, Tavin produced a glowing gem from a pouch at his hip. “It’s dark within these halls. Unfortunately, they’ll see us coming before we see them.”
We’ll give away the advantage of surprise, but we can’t navigate the place in the blind. “A risk we’ll have to take.”
Tavin pulled the handle, then jumped to the side as the door fell to the ground. “As I said, the buildings are in disrepair.”
“That doesn’t worry me.” Laedron peered into the darkness. “How far that echoed is what concerns me.”
“Can’t help it now,” Tavin said. Laedron and his companions followed him inside the building.
The smell is nothing like what I thought it would be. The mustiness hung in the air like the smell of ale in a tavern. Perhaps the scent of decay lessens over time. He had little experience with the dead, for Sorbians-at least those living outside the big cities-buried the fallen in earthen graves instead of placing them in catacombs, and the bodies he’d dealt with apparently hadn’t been dead long enough to have an odor strong enough to detect.
Thankfully Tavin went first, and while he seemed cautious of his surroundings, he must have had nerves of steel because he walked with a certain confidence down the narrow stairwell. Laedron couldn’t say the same, for every scrape of boot against stone, every droplet of water falling and echoing in the pitch black, and each gust of breeze put him on edge. The hairs on the back of his neck stood tall and straight like the ancient trees in the forest.
Reaching the bottom, Tavin glanced over his shoulder at them, then whispered something to the gem in his hand. The shard grew brighter, illuminating the vast chamber beyond the end of the stairs.
“What is this?” Laedron whispered, tiptoeing up to Tavin’s side.
“You’ve never been in a catacomb before?”
“No,
I can’t say that I visit them often.”
“We’re entering the first hypogeum.” Tavin kept his volume low as he walked. “And as Uxidin catacombs go, the first chamber is the largest. We build them big enough so as not to need extensions, but we’ve found the need to expand after the passing of time-centuries, mind you. It was built to house hundreds, and we filled those spots quickly.
“The shelves in the center were added later when we needed extra space, for the cost for digging was higher. Eventually, we had to add more antechambers off the main one, and so on, until the place held thousands of our lost brothers and sisters.”
Laedron eyed the loculi in the nearby walls, the bodies placed in their own cavities, sometimes within and sometimes without a sarcophagus. “Thousands…”
Hearing the clattering of metal, Laedron looked at Brice, noticing his hand shaking and the rings of his chain glove tapping the hilt of his sword, and said, “Calm yourself. A few still graves-”
Tavin’s hand shot over Laedron’s mouth, and Laedron struggled to free himself until he heard a hiss from the distant darkness, an unnatural, airy sound like that of the final breath leaving a body. Then, he saw what had approached the edge of the light. The Netheren’s desiccated skin hung on its bones like ribbons, dry and tattered shreds, and the crusted leather armor wasn’t in much better shape. It held an old blade that appeared cracked and rusted, but Laedron feared the weapon even more for its wear. It’s probably dull, too. And jagged. Such an edge would be unlikely to cut a clean wound. The suffering it would inflict… unthinkable.
Laedron raised his scepter and pointed it at the walking corpse. He would have cast his spell-a blast of fire, probably-if he hadn’t noticed all the glowing eyes surrounding them, a multitude of colored orbs in the darkness. There must be hundreds of them. Laedron elbowed Marac and pointed past Valyrie, then to the left and right.
Marac spun and searched for his first target, his sword glowing unnaturally. “What do we do, Lae?”
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