The Immortals of Myrdwyer amob-3

by Brian Kittrell

Marac swatted Brice on the shoulder. “For the first time in a long time, I agree with Thimble. You go on ahead. Give Harridan the pages, ask your questions, and at last, we’ll be headed home.”

  “Home,” Brice said. “Hardly seems like a real place.”

  “I’ll wait here, too, Lae,” Valyrie said. “Those people fill me with a sense of dread.”

  “If that’s what you want, I’ll go alone. Back in a blink.” Laedron descended the stairs.

  * * *

  “Have you come to tell me that our little plan succeeded?” Harridan asked when Laedron entered. “Tavingras does not return at your side, young mage?”

  “Indeed.” Laedron closed the door. “Your strategy worked. Kareth is dead, and beside him lies Tavingras.” He presented Tavin’s broken wand, and Harridan took it.

  “You speak as if you have disdain for what we’ve done.” Harridan, his staff tapping at every step, paced the room, then stopped and removed his cowl. “You were there. If Tavingras fell, Kareth was just as dangerous as we had anticipated. Why so cold?”

  “One of your men is dead. I thought that you might feel a little sadness at that fact.” Laedron looked away from Harridan, choosing instead to stare at the floor. The man seems to have no feelings about it, except for the glee at Kareth’s demise. Did Tavingras have any idea what kind of man he served?

  “Tavingras was a good man, but he knew his task and was well aware of the dangers involved. So long as Kareth and the Trappers held a stranglehold on this forest, we had no hope of recovering.”

  “Kareth is the only one who has met his end. The Trappers remain beneath the temple.”

  “Kareth’s death didn’t release them from his spell?” Harridan’s face flushed, and he pointed at the door. “You’ll have to go back and finish the job. I won’t suffer their existence for another second.”

  “They’ll not bother you.”

  “No? Those things have been the cause of a number of deaths of our people. What makes you think that they would have a sudden change of heart?”

  “Something happened in those caverns, something that’s difficult to explain,” Laedron said.

  “I suppose you should tell it, then. If we’re to live alongside them, we’ll need to know the dangers.”

  Laedron nodded. “Kareth had an amulet by which he controlled the Trappers, and Valyrie shattered it with a well-aimed arrow. Unable to control them, Kareth succumbed to them. His essence was ripped from his body, and the Trappers took it into themselves.”

  “Good. What happened next?”

  Good?I wouldn’t wish such a fate on my worst enemy. “The essence changed them. I have no way of telling, but I think they took in far more than just Kareth’s life force, for he had many soulstones imbedded in his flesh.”

  “Monstrous,” Harridan said, shaking his head.

  The man may not be made of stone after all. “Indeed. A horrid sight to take in.”

  “Then, you fought those Trappers?”

  “No. As I mentioned, something happened. Something changed about them. After a while, they started speaking to us.”

  “Oh? And what, pray tell, did they say?”

  “To make a long story short, they wanted us to be their new masters, and we refused. I told them that they would be their own masters, make decisions for themselves, and that the caverns beneath the old temple belonged to them.”

  “You gave them our land?”

  Then he goes and says something like that. Laedron sneered, having taken enough attitude from Harridan. “Did you even know about the caverns? Would you have ever known if I hadn’t told you? I witnessed the creation of a new race, a new form of life, and all you care about are your petty land rights?”

  “Calm yourself, Sorcerer. I only mean to find out what implications this has for the rest of us.” Harridan scratched his chin. “Did they discuss any terms for peace?”

  This must be handled carefully. If I’m too hasty, the end result will be nothing short of war. “Yes. They merely wish to be left to live in their caverns and travel the forest without hostility. If you and yours make no transgressions against them, they will maintain peace.”

  “Simple enough.” Harridan came closer and put his hand on Laedron’s shoulder. “Do you earnestly believe that they’ll uphold their end of the bargain?”

  “Yes, and I believe it more than I’ve ever believed anything. If the peace is broken, it will be by your hand alone.”

  “Then, I shall have to explain these things to my people so it doesn’t happen,” Harridan said, extending his hand. “Now, the more important matter. The tome?”

  “The answers to the many questions I have should come before I give it to you. Things that I still haven’t been given an opportunity to ask.”

  Harridan sighed and leaned against the altar. “Very well. Ask your questions.”

  What should I ask first? I have so many… “What is a regnant magister?”

  “That is quite an old term indeed. Who told you of that?”

  “My teacher. Her name was Ismerelda, and she was Uxidin.”

  “In the old days of the empire, the chief of the Azuran scholars was known as the regnantmagister, and when our people spread out across Bloodmyr after the empire collapsed, they retained their old titles and established new seats of learning around the world. It is a term that one doesn’t usually hear outside of Uxidin lands, but she must have had a school amongst mortal men.”

  “Yes, Westmarch.”

  “Westmarch?”

  Laedron furrowed his brow. If he hasn’t heard of that city, he’s been secluded considerably longer than I had imagined. “A city in my homeland.”

  Harridan nodded, but Laedron knew it was more of a dismissive gesture than one of agreement or knowledge. “Anything else, Sorcerer?”

  “Can you tell me anything about the Almatheren Swamp? The Netheren? I was told they were an undead variant of the Zyvdredi.”

  “Since the Zyvdredi derive from men, just as Uxidin do, it suffices to say that the Netheren do indeed come from Zyvdredi roots, and Almatheren is home to most of the world’s population of them. By infusing a corpse with life essence, the Zyvdredi created legions of the creatures.”

  “Do they control them somehow?”

  Harridan chuckled. “I’m sure they wish they could, young mage. No, and that’s part of the reason the swamp exists. The undead, chaotic as they are, went to live-if you can call it that-in Almatheren after a series of unfortunate events. Unfortunate for the Zyvdredi who created them, at any rate.

  “You see, the Zyvdredi created far too many and over too short a time. The creatures couldn’t be controlled, and some might say they developed some modicum of intelligence. The Netheren killed their masters-well, those not killed by other Zyvdredi-and went to live in the obscurity and seclusion of the wetlands.”

  “The Lasoronian army marches east to face them. Why would the Netheren pose a threat if they simply want to be left alone?”

  “Who can be certain what the walking dead truly desire? I can speculate on their reasons, but if the army is headed that way, it can only be because the army is the appropriate tool to use in the present situation. Did you have anything else for me?”

  Though Laedron had a number of questions he could have asked, he decided that some of the things he’d wondered about would be useless if posed to Harridan because he had little knowledge of the outside world in the present times. “Did you ever meet Azura?”

  “Since the subject of your question has become something of a divinity, are you asking as a sorcerer or as a worshipper?”

  “Could I, being a mage, ask in any way other than as a mage?”

  “Just checking, young man, for speaking of my experiences with Azura could be construed as blasphemy by some. I only wanted to be sure that you accept her as a gifted sorceress and not as a god.”

  “My family and I follow the Old Religion of the Creator.”

  “Good. Yes, I did know Azura. I left Uxidia
prior to the Great War and that business with… oh, what’s his name?”

  “Tristan?”

  “Yes, Tristan. She should have known better than to mingle with mortals. He, like all the rest, couldn’t be expected to accept our strange ways or the fact that we are immortal. Tristan’s church is one of hypocrisy; we have magic, they have miracles, but both are the same with different names. The priests believe that their power comes down as a blessing from the Creator, whereas in reality, they do the exact same thing we do.”

  “Thank you.” Pulling the cloth containing the ruby pages from his bag, Laedron watched as Harridan’s eyes narrowed. “Here you are.”

  Harridan took the small package and ripped open the cloth open. His pleasant demeanor changed to one of anger and contempt. “What happened to it?”

  “We recovered the pages to the rejuvenation spell. You will find it there in its entirety.”

  “Was the book not there? A ruby book ten times as thick as this,” Harridan said, holding the stack close to Laedron’s face. “We must have the tome!”

  “It is no more. Apart from those pages, only chips and shards of ruby remain of the original book.” Not the whole truth, but that’s what happened.

  Harridan eyed him with suspicion. “You did that, didn’t you? Smashed it into a thousand pieces?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damned fool,” Harridan whispered, as if the words came out more from reflex than any voluntary act. “Who are you to do that? To destroy our most sacred, our most holy text?”

  Laedron turned and reached for the door.

  Harridan stopped him. “Answer me. You’ll answer me, or you won’t leave this chamber alive. I swear it.”

  Now, the man shows his true colors. Laedron looked back over his shoulder. “No man deserves to be a god, and that is precisely the purpose of that book. Your faith may claim that it was given to your people by the Creator, but do you know what I think? I would venture to say that the tome was crafted by a powerful wizard in eras long forgotten, the spells chiseled upon those pages frightful even to him.”

  “You think our history is a lie? You come into my chapel and spit in my face?”

  “I think that, with no small measure of avarice, someone took that tome from whoever created it, then claimed it was a gift from on high.” Laedron clenched his fists. “Whatever the reason, the book should never have been made with spells so powerful, so dangerous to the world. Think what you will, but the deed is done. The Bloodmyr Tome shall threaten no one forevermore.”

  “To think that I had planned on sharing things with you-immortality, the secrets of wizardry, and the foundations of magic itself-”

  “You must have gotten the wrong impression of me, for I want none of those things. You have so quickly forgotten what I just said: men were never meant to be gods.”

  “Get out!” Harridan jabbed a finger toward the door. “Never pollute our halls again, and go before I change my mind.”

  “You still have your precious immortality, great Far’rah. Perhaps you should be thankful that we returned even that.” Laedron opened the door, and once he crossed the threshold, Harridan slammed it.

  The people gathered in the chamber stared at Laedron, the slamming door obviously catching their attention.

  He gazed back at them and said, “Be careful in whom you place all your hopes, for they may not hold your best interests with their own.”

  Laedron turned and walked away.

  * * *

  Finding his friends in the hollow of the tree, Laedron stood watching them, unsure what to say.

  “Well?” Marac finally asked. “What happened?”

  “I posed my questions-the few that I ended up asking-and gave him the spell.” Laedron sighed. “He was furious when I told him what had happened to the tome.”

  “You told him the truth?”

  “Yes. Better to tell him now than to risk his sending more of his people after the tome.”

  Marac approached, put his hand on Laedron’s shoulder, and said, “Good. At long last, we can go home. Home, Lae.”

  He smiled. “Almost, but I want to see Jurgen one last time.”

  “Jurgen? He has little need of us now, Lae. With the Zyvdredi gone, he’s surely busy with church affairs.”

  “No, I think that’s a good idea,” Brice said.

  Marac looked cross. “And why in the world is that a good idea to you, Thimble?”

  “I… um…”

  “Oh, I remember now… Thimble thinks he’s got a sweetheart in Azura, doesn’t he? Collette was her name, wasn’t it?” Marac grabbed his belly and laughed.

  “And why not?” Brice puffed out his chest and put his hands on his hips. “So what if I want to see her again? And Caleb and Piers?”

  “And Jurgen,” Valyrie said.

  “Fine, fine. I’m only playing with you, Thimble.” Marac crossed his arms and stared at the floor. “After all, when might we venture to these shores again? My family will have to wait. But I do ask that we make it brief. I miss my father more than any of our new acquaintances combined.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Brice smiled. “It could take a while to get back, but it’ll be worth it.”

  “Why would it take a while?” Laedron asked.

  “Why? We’ll have to traverse the forests a few days, then the ship, when and if we find one. Fighting any bandits we come across, sleeping, eating-”

  “I can take us there with a spell.”

  Valyrie raised an eyebrow. “I thought it wasn’t safe to travel great distances.”

  “Not all the way to Azura, but Nessadene should be no trouble. We were slowed by a winding path and rugged terrain on the way here.”

  “If that’s the case, why couldn’t you bring us here in the first place and save all that time and trouble?” Brice asked.

  “In order to use the spell, I must be familiar with the place I target. Since I’d never been to Myrdwyer before, I couldn’t bring us here.”

  Brice shrugged. “Makes sense.”

  Laedron presented his scepter, casted his ethereal spell, and sent them out one at a time. Once they were gathered outside the tree, he focused on the location he’d picked in Nessadene and chanted his teleportation spell. The world around him changed with a flash of colors. Perhaps the cover of night will help to conceal our arrival. If not, I only hope that we appear in front of someone not disconcerted by sorcery.

  19

  The Vicariate

  When the shifting lights faded, Laedron scanned his surroundings to see if everyone had made it and if they had appeared where he had anticipated.

  “Where are we, Lae?” Marac asked, turning in place.

  “The shore near Nessadene.” He took Valyrie’s hand. “It would’ve been dangerous to appear in the middle of the city.”

  Brice mounted his horse. “Do you think we’ll find a ship to take us to Azura?”

  “Only one way to find out,” Laedron replied, climbing onto his horse. He rode toward the docks, and he heard the gallop of his companions’ horses keeping pace.

  Reaching the port, Laedron and his friends hopped down and approached a man who seemed to be taking note of things being loaded off a boat. The man’s well-kept clothes with green and white bars and the griffin symbol indicated that he might be an official of some sort.

  Laedron waited, but the man kept scrawling on the page. “Pardon me, sir. Might I have a word?”

  The man stopped writing. “Yes?”

  “Know of any ships going to Azura anytime soon?”

  “This one in a few days, if we can get the cargos switched out. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

  “Will they take on passengers?” Marac asked.

  The official started writing again, glancing at the boxes being carried away. “You’ll have to ask the captain. Over there, the one with the red coat.” He pointed with feathered end of his quill.

  “Thank you.” Laedron walked over to the ship’s captain. Upon approaching,
he recognized the embroidery of the man’s coat. An Arcanist. Of course, for no others can navigate the Sea of Pillars. He gestured at his friends when they stopped next to him. “Pardon us, Captain. Would you be willing to take us with you?”

  “We’re returning to Azura the day after tomorrow. Is that where you want to go?”

  Laedron nodded.

  “Then, it shouldn’t be a problem. Do you have coin to pay for the passage?”

  “How much?” Laedron squeezed his pockets from the outside, confident, by the size of the bulge, that he had enough money.

  “Four sovereigns each should make it worth our time.”

  Marac leaned toward Laedron and whispered, “No way. We’ll walk if that’s the case.”

  “We have plenty of coin, more than enough.”

  “It’s not a matter of how much we have, Lae. Robbery is robbery, no matter how rich the victim.”

  Laedron gulped. “’Tis only two days’ travel, Captain. Why so much?”

  “Have you ever booked passage for the route before?”

  “Yes, actually.”

  The captain crossed his arms. “Well, well. How much did you pay that time?”

  “We didn’t, actually. The Arcanists brought us here without charging.”

  Rubbing his chin, the captain asked, “I think you intend to trick me, young man, for no self-respecting Arcanist would haul cargo-people or otherwise-without some form of payment.”

  “I’m not lying, sir. It was by order of the Grand Vicar.”

  “The Grand Vicar, no less?” The captain let out a chuckle, then smiled with obvious contempt. “And who, my high lords and lady, might you be that you command the attention of the Grand Vicar and draw favor from him?”

  “My name’s Laedron Telpist,” he said, then gestured at each of his companions. “Marac Reven, Brice-”

  “Laedron Telpist…” The captain tilted his head and seemed to search the night sky for answers. “Where have I heard that name before? Are you a wanted man? A fugitive from justice?”

  “To some, probably so.” He heaved a sigh. “We aided Aldric Jurgen against Andolis Drakkar, the Zyvdredi-”

  “That was you?” the captain asked, his eyes wide and jaw slack. “Saved us from the Zyvdredi, did you?”