Brian Kittrell - The Immortals of Myrdwyer

Brenner threw up his hands. “And what do you plan to do with that?”

“I need to sharpen it.”

Laedron shook his head at the innkeeper. “We mean you no harm. We’ve a long way to go yet, and we have preparations to make.”

Brenner wiped his mouth with a stained rag. “Just don’t get any wise ideas.”

Marac glared at Brenner, then reached into his pack and produced a whetstone. The rhythmic scraping of the stone against the sword’s edge made Laedron feel more at ease, as if they were sitting in the Shimmering Dawn chapterhouse, and for a moment, he expected Piers or Caleb to come through the door with news of more plots.

After examining the arrow holes in his shield, Brice laid his sword and dagger on his cot, then stared at Marac. “Mine needs it more. Mind if I get started?”

Nodding, Marac tossed the stone to Brice. “What about you, Miss Pembry?”

Valyrie looked at Marac, and Laedron could tell by her expression that she didn’t understand what Marac had meant by the question.

“It may be a good time to arm yourself,” Marac said. “We may not always escape our fights. Do you know how to use a weapon?”

She replied, “I can use a bow.”

“You think we can get a length of pine here?” Marac asked, turning to Brenner. “Can the mill supply one?”

Before the innkeeper could answer, Valyrie said, “Bows aren’t made from pine.”

“We’ll be hard-pressed to find a staff of oak around here, I’d wager.”

“Not that kind of bow.” She laughed. “The kind that shoots arrows. A shortbow, preferably.”

Laedron raised an eyebrow. “You know how to shoot a bow?”

“Indeed.”

“Are you any good?”

“You doubt me?”

Crossing his arms, Laedron examined her. “I only speak to the point that we have no evidence to the contrary. Where did you learn?”

“The university.”

“Archery is a part of their curriculum?” Marac asked.

“They train the militia archers there. There’s more to shooting than releasing a string and praying that you hit the target.”

“All right,” Laedron said, waving at Marac. “It would be best to see her in action before we draw any conclusions. We could use an archer.”

Marac reached out and took the whetstone from Brice. “Could’ve used one a while back. Why didn’t you say anything until now?”

“For one, you never asked.”

Marac pointed at her. “In the future, I would appreciate your volunteering useful information. Keeping secrets puts us in danger, and no one is going to travel with us and put us at risk.”

“Enough,” Laedron said, his neck and ears growing warm. “I won’t have you speak to her that way.” As soon as he said it, he wanted to take it back, and he saw the irony in the statement. I thought I was the one who said we should take a break from our emotions.

“You would take her side? If she’d had a bow, you wouldn’t have had to use m-” Marac cut off before he finished the word, shooting a look over at Brenner. “You wouldn’t have had to do what you did in the forest. If you two didn’t have something going on, you might be able to see-”

“Stop this. She’s a part of our group, just as you are.” Laedron stepped closer to Marac. “Our relationship has nothing to do with this.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“He’s right, Lae,” Brice said, fidgeting with something in his hands. “We’ve been talking about it.”

“So, you and Marac have it figured out, have you? What business is it of yours?” Laedron huffed, his skin boiling.

“It’s our business when our lives are on the line.” Marac furrowed his brow. “When your attachment is so strong as to be blind, you’ll put all of us in danger.”

“My attachment?” With little regard for volume, Laedron said, “Do you not see?”

Marac and Brice sat in silence like dogs scolded by their master.

“Meklan Draive put us together. And do you know why? Because men with close bonds fight better. They are more successful. Am I close to Valyrie? Yes, but I am just as close to you, Marac Reven. Through all of this, I’ve grown closer to Brice.” Laedron walked away. Now I see the truth of what she was trying to tell me, but is it too late to salvage what we had? “We’re not cold, calculating killers. We’re friends-nay, brothers. Brothers in arms.”

“I only meant-”

“I know what you meant, Marac, but if ignoring my heart is the only way forward, I cannot proceed. We would become nothing better than the Zyvdredi-cold men with no love.” Laedron stared at Marac through a long pause. “If I deny my love for her, I must deny my love for you. I won’t… can’t.” Glancing at Valyrie, Laedron saw her stern expression and folded arms, and he felt no warmth from her. Perhaps it is too late for us. Creator, why have I allowed things to get so far? I will make this right. I must.

Marac nodded. “What did they used to say about you in Reven’s Landing? ‘Don’t argue with a Telpist. You’ll be fighting an uphill battle to win,’ I believe it was.”

“Aye.” Laedron took a deep breath. “That’s what they say.”

“You’re right, Lae.” Marac extended his open hand. “Being high in the clouds, it’s hard to see where you came from.”

“We’ve all been under insurmountable stress of late, and I can’t fault you for your words.” Laedron took Marac’s hand. “As we’ve always done, we’ll have to forge ahead despite ourselves. I dream of the day when all of this is behind us.”

“Ouch!” Brice dropped something that thunked against the planks of floor.

Bending down, Laedron picked up an ornate lock, being careful not to stick himself with the barb on the bottom of it. “What’s this?”

“Something Caleb gave me in Azura. Damn!” Holding up his hand, Brice displayed a wound on his finger with blood dripping from it.

Laedron stared at the needle protruding from the lock. The end was soaked with Brice’s blood, and he wondered how Brice had come to be injured by it. “Were you being careless?”

“I almost had it open, and that point shot out of the bottom.” Brice shook his head. “I guess that was the surprise he was talking about.”

“He gave you a trapped lock?” Valyrie asked.

Brice nodded.

Marac chuckled. “What a bastard.”

Valyrie laughed. “My thinking exactly. Will you be all right?”

“It’s just a scratch.” Wrapping his fingertip in a piece of linen, Brice sighed. “It’ll teach me to look closer at something before playing with it.”

Laedron remembered when Ismerelda had shown him the mending spell and how she hadn’t stuck him with the dagger. “A good lesson to learn, but there are other ways of teaching it.” Pulling the blankets back, Laedron sat on his cot, then pulled up his legs. “The hour’s late, and we have a long road ahead. Goodnight.”

Early the next morning, Laedron awoke before the others. He sat up in his cot, the sun still not above the horizon, and watched Marac sleep. What have these travels done to him? To all of us? The rage he’d observed in Marac’s eyes the previous night disturbed him. Is it fear? The not knowing? We must hold it together. We must .

Removing the tattered sheet from his body, Laedron stood, being careful not to rouse the others, then ambled to the window. Through the dirty glass, he saw Sir Paldren emerge from what Laedron assumed to be the man’s home. Paldren walked to the wall where they had first met him. I wonder who watches over the place while he sleeps.Or maybe he doesn’t sleep. Maybe he can’t.