Brian Kittrell - The Immortals of Myrdwyer

Hearing a hideous snort from his right, Laedron scanned the area behind the counter, then sighed with relief. It’s just Brenner. The innkeeper rolled onto his side, and a handful of dust fell to the floor at the man’s shifting. Laedron’s chest tightened. I don’t think I’ve ever met a man so nasty in all my life. I think I kept myself cleaner than that whilst sleeping amongst the refuse in the alleys of Morcaine.

“No!” Marac shouted. He sprang from his bed, then grabbed his chest and tried to catch his breath.

“What’s the matter?” Laedron asked.

“Sorry. Nothing,” Marac said, sweat pouring off his face.

Brice sat up on his cot. “Didn’t sound like nothing.”

Marac wiped his forehead. “Just a bad dream. We were on the tower again.”

Laedron sat across from him. “The tower?”

“In Azura, the Grand Vicar’s Palace. I dreamed that Andolis killed us all, one by one. He saved me for last.”

Laedron smiled and patted Marac on the shoulder. “Thanks to you, he won’t be murdering anyone else.”

“Thanks to me? No. We all had a hand in that.” Balling the damp sheet, Marac dropped it on the floor. “I can go the rest of my days without meeting another Zyvdredi master, though.”

“I know how you feel. I even feel the same way,” Laedron said, “but we’ve done a favor for countless innocent people. We stopped Andolis before he could fulfill his plans.”

“Is that our job?”

“The Shimmering Dawn sent us after Gustav, and we couldn’t leave Andolis to fulfill his plan.”

“That’s not what I mean, Lae.” Marac averted his gaze from Laedron and stared at his bare feet. “In a deeper sense. Are we the guardsmen of the world? Is it our place to save people who will not save themselves?”

“It has always been the way of Circle mages to help those who cannot help themselves.”

“Yes, yes. I understand that; help the helpless. But those who won’t lift a finger? It’s our place to solve their problems, too?”

“Andolis was a powerful sorcerer, Marac, as powerful as they come. Even if they’d tried, they would have failed.”

“I seem to remember piercing his back with my blade. He wasn’t invincible.”

“Yes, you killed him, but not before Brice slashed him and certainly not before I dueled him with magic. You must also take into account the number of militia lost on the steps of the palace, how hard we fought to make it inside in the first place.” Laedron bobbed his head. “Had he not been Zyvdredi, the Heraldans might’ve had a chance, but tales are told of the difficulties that Circle mages have had taking on a Zyvdredi master.”

“But they didn’t try.”

“And why would they try to usurp him? With his silver tongue, he told them what they needed to hear. Old stories of empire and glory drove them to go along with his plans. He used their own pride as a tool to control them, and if anyone had stood against him, they would’ve been cast out as traitors.”

“Precisely, Lae. That’s what I’m saying. We stopped him, the three of us, and if people don’t want our help because they’d rather go along with it, why should we be bothered to step in?”

“In this case, to help our own people, to end the war, and we had luck on our side. Under other circumstances? You can’t save the whole world from itself. At some point, people must make their own decisions, live their own lives, and deal with the consequences.”

Marac chuckled. “Funny thing, that. I think this is the first time we’ve agreed on something.”

“It could be.” Laedron smiled. “The teachings passed down to us never speak of fixing every problem, but when directly challenged, Circle mages must do whatever it takes to preserve themselves and the traditions.”

“You learned much in a short period of time,” Valyrie said. “Ismerelda would have been proud of you, I’m sure.”

“Ismerelda didn’t teach me of the Circle.” He turned to her. “My mother did.”

“Your mother is a sorceress?”

“Indeed, and a powerful one at that,” Marac said before Laedron could answer. “A good woman, though. Kind and generous to our whole village back home.”

“I should like to meet her.”

“One day.” Laedron grinned. “I would like that, too.”

“Well…” Brice took a deep breath, his voice cracking. “If you’re done making me homesick, I’d love to get on with our journey.”

“Of course.” Laedron donned his pack. “Westward?”

“There’s still the matter of a bow.” Marac eyed Valyrie. “If she can do what she says, it could be an asset.”

The bow. Yes. I’d completely forgotten about it. Laedron nodded, then looked at Brenner. “Anywhere we could purchase a bow?”

“Nowhere that I know.”

“You’re the merchant, aren’t you?” Marac asked.

Brenner grinned, his teeth not unlike the black-tipped spikes along the town’s palisade. “Yes, milord, of course. Allow me to show you our silken robes, golden rings, and fine paintings whilst I’m at it. This is Laslo, if you hadn’t noticed, and the people here deal in food and clothes. I can’t be bothered to teach you how to run a business right now, but I’ll share a little secret with you: to stay in business, one caters to the clientele.”

“No need to be snippy about it.” Marac sneered. “Where can we find a bow? Nothing too extravagant.”

“I’m sorry if I can’t help with that. You might ask Paldren, given that it’s a weapon.”

“Right. We’ll see Sir Paldren.” Marac turned and walked out of the inn.

“Thank you for all of your…” Laedron eyed Brenner one last time before leaving. “…hospitality, I think.”

Laedron, Valyrie, and Brice jogged behind Marac, joining him as he reached the base of the ladder.

“Sir Paldren?” Marac called.

Paldren turned toward them. “Yes?”

“Might you have a bow for sale?”

“What?” Paldren raised an eyebrow. “A bow for sale?”

“We have need of a bow.”

“And arrows,” Valyrie whispered.

“Arrows, too.” Marac put his hands on his hips. “Do you have any we could buy?”

“Well, let me think about that.” Paldren climbed down the rickety ladder. “What do you need it for?”

“One of our party is an archer.”

Paldren examined Brice. “And he’s without a bow?”

“Not him,” Laedron said, gesturing to Valyrie.

“A girl?” Paldren sized her up. “What would such a pretty lass need with a weapon?”

“To do my part. Will you sell us one or not?” she asked, a fire behind her eyes.

“I have one, and some spare arrows, too, that I could part with, I suppose. For the right price.”

Here we go again. Laedron rolled his eyes. How much this time? Twenty platinum, a castle, land, and title?

“Fifty gold coins for the lot,” Paldren said, scratching his chin. “A bow and fifty arrows.”

Marac’s eyes widened. “Fifty-”

“We’ll take it.” Laedron fished out the coins and handed them over.

“You’re mad, Lae!” Marac tried to stop the money from changing hands. “Fifty gold? And before we’ve even seen it?”

“It’s a fine bow, I assure you. Your friend knows a deal when he sees one.” Paldren put the sovereigns in his pocket. “I’ll fetch it, and to put you at ease, young master, I will return your coin should it meet with your disapproval.”

The knight disappeared through the door of his house, then emerged carrying a stringed length of wood about half the height of a man and curved away from the grip on both sides. In his other hand, he held a quiver. He handed both to Valyrie.

“A composite yew bow?” she asked, her eyes wide.