Brian Kittrell - The Immortals of Myrdwyer

“Problems?” Marac asked.

“I can’t find a common scheme; all of the stones are shaped differently.”

“Can’t you just create some?”

“For a space that size…” He pointed at the gap in the bridge. “It’s easier and safer to have a guide. Far simpler to make a copy than invent something new.”

“You might want to give it a shot, Lae. You may never find something you can use, and you might be able to conjure a spell well enough for us to get across without it.”

Laedron nodded and climbed back onto his horse with his scepter in hand. Closing his eyes, he imagined long lengths of timber across the span because he had far more experience with wood. A hundred feet? Almost two hundred? Waving the wand, he repeated the incantation and concentrated on his spell, then opened his eyes to see the result. Timbers glimmered into existence, bridging the gap. He added another, then another, and more until the space had been completely covered. He counted slowly while maintaining the spell. I need a count, a measure of how long I can keep it going. Without a count, we won’t know how many might cross during each cast of the spell.

“Sixty… sixty-one…” He clenched his eyes shut and stilled his mouth, focusing on his count and fighting the strain. Seventy… seventy-one… He released the spell and fell to his knees. He waited for the ache to fade, then asked, “Do you think that will be enough time to get over?”

“It’ll have to be,” Marac said. “We have no other choice.”

“We could go back. Down through the valley.” Brice came alongside Marac, pointing over his shoulder. “It’s the safest way.”

“And lose a few days of time?”

Brice scoffed at Marac. “What good is time when you’re lying dead at the bottom of the valley? Or worse, two broken legs and left suffering and starving until you finally die?”

“Time isn’t on our side, Thimble. Laedron’s sleep is returning, and I don’t take that as a good sign; it could mean the magic-and his life-are fading away. The sooner we get to Myrdwyer, the better.”

Laedron gazed at Valyrie. “What do you think?”

She shrugged. “I would have to agree with Marac. If something happens to you before we get there, what need will we have for answers?”

“Oh, we’ll still have a need for answers, but it’ll be hard to find any without him, I’d say,” Marac said. “No one else here has a handle on spellcraft or the ways of magic like Lae.”

Seemingly deep in contemplation, Brice rubbed his chin and jaw for a while, then said, “I think we should go one at a time.” He pulled a coiled rope from his pack. “This is at least a hundred feet. Tie one end to the first person and the other to one of the horses on this side. Switch it up as each of us crosses. Keep your feet free of the stirrups unless you want to take two horses with you. If we fall, we lose a horse, but not one of our lives.”

“We need the horses. All of them,” Marac said.

Brice shrugged. “We need our lives more.”

“I’ll just have to do it well.” Laedron readied his scepter. “Who’s first?”

“The slowest first,” Marac said, glaring at Brice. “You, then Valyrie, then me.”

Before wrapping the rope around his waist, Brice knotted both ends into a loop, then gave the loose end to Marac.

“Why two loops?” Marac asked.

“When you come across, we’ll have to tie off to one of our horses.” Brice pointed at the far end of the bridge. “Easier to add loops to both ends now than to try throwing the rope.”

Marac gestured at Laedron. “It’s a sound plan, but what about him?”

“Eh?”

“Once you two have crossed, I’m to put the rope around myself and the other end will be tied to one of your horses. When I go, both ends of the rope would be on that side, and we would have to toss the end some hundred feet or more back to Lae.”

“You’ll take my horse with you when you go, Marac,” Laedron said.

“But you could fall.”

“If I do, I stand the best chance of surviving. Have you forgotten when Valyrie fell?”

“If that’s how you want it, that’s what we’ll do. I’ll tie this end to your horse since you won’t be on it.” Marac secured the rope to Laedron’s saddle.

Once Laedron conjured the planks to bridge the gap, Brice guided his horse forward. Each impact of the horse’s hooves against the wood pressed against Laedron’s will, and he fought reality itself to keep his illusion going. Brice looked back over his shoulder with fear in his eyes. The pressure. Fight it. You can do this.

Once Brice stopped on solid ground, he untied the rope from his waist. Marac pulled it back, helped Valyrie secure it, and she started across the bridge. She kept a quicker pace than Brice, and the hooves pounding on his illusory bridge made his heart race.

Forty… forty-one… Laedron counted upward, maintaining the spell. Marac, watching Valyrie dismount and secure the rope, hastily tied his end around himself, then he looked questioningly at Laedron.

“Go. Plenty of time.”

Keeping his eyes on Brice and Valyrie, Marac urged his horse and guided Laedron’s across the bridge. His hands shaking, Laedron watched as the boards bowed and creaked. His will weakened and a headache formed behind his forehead. Just when Marac reached the other side, the planks fell and faded from existence in mid-air. Laedron dropped to his knees. He felt beaten, as if the horses had been trampling his body instead of an imaginary bridge.

Marac called, “Come on, Lae. Get up. You can do it.” Brice and Valyrie joined in with his cheering.

One step, then the next. A bit more, and I’ll be across this bloody ravine, with my friends once again, and onward to Myrdwyer. Thinking of the name filled him with dread, for he had come to associate that name with the endless road, the broken bridge, and his pain and misery. The name had become a mirage, an illusion no more real than his wooden planks, no more tangible than the answers he sought. Will I ever discover the truth? Or will this whole journey be for naught?

He stared across the gap at his friends, all of them apparently eager to see him cross the span and join them on the other side. I cannot lose faith. Failure is a choice, not an unavoidable end. He raised the scepter. I can manage a levitation spell. I don’t need a whole bridge. He chanted. When his feet lifted off the ground, he compelled his body forward. Slow. Keep it slow. Easier to take. Work through the pain! Gritting his teeth, he kept his focus on the spell, doing his best to ignore the agony coursing through his veins. He closed his eyes when his speed and balance wavered. His spell was diminishing with every step. When he thought he was close enough, he released the spell and dropped. His chest and head struck the stone, but he felt his legs dangling in the breeze. His head pounded from the impact, and he couldn’t tell if he’d broken any bones from the fall. The scepter rolled out of reach, and he noticed sparks flickering within the ruby. Then, the weak stones that had been supporting him gave way.

Slipping over the edge, he reached out and clawed at the little spaces between the pavers.

Marac slid to the edge, then reached out and grabbed Laedron’s hand. “Brice! Valyrie! Get my legs!”

Laedron stared into Marac’s eyes. Is this how it will end for me? Drenched in sweat, his hand was slowly slipping from Marac’s grip. Blinking rapidly, he looked down into the ravine, then he saw only darkness.

D reams. So vivid. Flashing lights. If I can dream, I must still be alive.