Brian Kittrell - The Immortals of Myrdwyer

Careful to be as quiet as he could, he walked into the brush surrounding the camp, squinting at the strange shapes made by the shadows. He repeated the pattern of going a few steps, then searching for any sign of Marac several times before he came to a pile of rotten logs-more like a decaying wall of timber-at the base of what seemed to be a massive pine. That tree must be a hundred feet through the center. And there’s another one! Growing at varying distances from one another amidst the ruins, the trees must have been ancient, and he imagined that the forest had existed for a long time before the city had been built. He had no way of telling, though, and he could only assume facts about the place based upon his own paltry knowledge of history. Shaking his head, he decided that his amazement with the flora would have to wait. Marac was still out there somewhere, and Laedron was determined to find his friend.

He found footing in the pile of old trunks and climbed to get a better vantage point so he could survey the area. Nearing the top, he hugged the tree and sat perfectly still. The howling of wolves was closer than he’d heard thus far. He peeked through the limbs and saw four gray wolves pouncing upon each other while a larger one sat atop a boulder and howled at the full moon. They’re at play and must not have noticed my approach.

Though the howling and the proximity of the wolves made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, he mustered the courage to ignore his fear and take in the important details of what he was observing. Five in all. No blood on their mouths, no shredded clothes or bodies nearby. Unlikely that they’ve killed Marac. No evidence.

He felt a vibration in the log he perched on, and he froze, his mind first, then every muscle in his body. The wolves stopped their frolicking and paced back and forth in the clearing, as if preparing for a fight. It wasn’t just me. What’s causing that? With a thumping rhythm, the vibration resounded throughout the wood. Then, the noise intensified to pounding, growing louder as it pattered out a beat.

It sounds like… but it can’t be footsteps. Too heavy. Too large. His eyes widened when the brush just past the wolves parted, and he was unable to move or make a sound. First, he saw the head of the creature, which appeared similar to a huge, brilliant-cut emerald. The body emerged next as it sprung twenty feet through the air, landing in the middle of the wolves. Snarling, the biggest wolf charged the crystalline beast. What had been a green light swirling inside the creature’s emerald structure flashed to a red glow. A living thing comprised entirely of jewels? Is that what got Marac? Am I dreaming? What in the hells is that thing?

He watched in horror as the crystal monster grabbed the first wolf and tossed it like a used plaything. The snapping of the animal’s spine when it struck the tree was audible to Laedron even from his vantage point a hundred yards away. The beast raised its emerald arms, the glow inside it intensifying. A stream of red and violet light shot from the wolf’s body, and the monster seemed to be taking the energy into its own body. Is that…? It can’t be. Impossible. It looked just like the spell Andolis cast on me, the one by which he promised to take my soul. The remaining wolves bit at the creature’s crystalline legs, but Laedron figured they would be more likely to break their teeth than anything else.

Glowing ever brighter, the creature turned toward the other wolves, silent except for the crinkling of leaves and twigs beneath its bulky limbs. The quiet sent Laedron’s pulse racing faster, for the creature’s silence spoke volumes of its nature, its propensity to kill without apparent malice, its ability to rip flesh in its grisly fingers without screaming out in anger or victory. A cold, calculating mechanism of death. If Marac encountered this thing, he’s surely dead.

The wolves must have felt intimidated because they inched backward, and when the creature lunged, they fled. Like a dart, the crystal abomination pursued, its bloodlust or appetite apparently not sated. It carved a path of destruction through the forest, breaking through the smaller trees and fallen logs as though they were little more than twigs and leaves in its path.

Creator! Who would make such a thing and loose it upon the forest? Laedron thought, unwilling to accept the possibility that the crystalline beast was a natural occurrence. It must be the work of mages. Nowhere else in the natural world do gems take on a life of their own. And where evidence of sorcery is found, a sorcerer must be near. The Uxidin? Why would they make something like that? Zyvdredi? I dare not think it. Dammit, where did Marac go?

He climbed down the log pile and, hiding in the shadows, stalked from tree to tree, keeping an eye out for the monster in case it reappeared. He made his way back to the campsite. The fire had thankfully burned out, cloaking his friends in darkness.

“Val,” he whispered, shaking her shoulder. “Wake up, Val.”

Swatting at his hand, she rolled over. “Is it morning?”

“Keep your voice down. Marac’s gone.”

“I am?” Marac asked.

Turning around, Laedron said, “Where were you?”

“Scouting the perimeter of the campsite. What else would I do?”

“What side?”

Marac pointed over his shoulder in the opposite direction Laedron had gone. “I found some tracks that way, followed them for a bit, then came back. They look like footprints, but I couldn’t tell for sure.”

“Did you see it ?” Laedron tried to hide his fear, but he didn’t think he did a very good job of it.

“See what?”

“The monster.”

“Oh, I knew it. I just knew it.” Brice, seated on his bedroll, rocked forward with his arms wrapped around his knees, and his voice took on a higher pitch. “What are we going to do? Creatures of the night!”

“Keep your damned voice low if you want to survive this.”

“What did you see, Lae? What exactly ?” Valyrie asked.

“A creature made of crystal, like huge emeralds fused together.” He turned to Brice. “It killed that pack of wolves you were worried about. Well, it murdered one and chased the rest into the forest.”

Brice quivered with fear. “We’ve got to get out of these woods. I knew we were wrong to come here.”

“Not until we find the answers we seek.” Laedron sighed. “We’ve come too far to turn back now.”

“And risk our lives? We should cut our losses and go, if you ask me.”

“Well, nobody did!” Laedron, afraid that raising his voice had drawn the attention of someone… or some thing , ducked and scanned the trees. “It didn’t see me while I watched it. We should be fine as long as we keep quiet and hidden. We keep low, move under cover of shadow, and speak no louder than a whisper.”

Clenching his eyes shut, Brice breathed and exhaled slowly. “Right. Yes.”

Valyrie stood and took her bow in hand. She slung the quiver across her back and stared at Marac. “Did the tracks you found lead anywhere in particular?”

“No. Unless they make a sudden turn, they go to the west of the ruins.”

Brice peered into the darkness. “I’ll need to get a look of those tracks.”

Laedron crossed his arms. “For what? What could you possibly do about them?”

“To see what I can figure out and to see where they go.”

“So you’re a tracker now? When did this happen?”

Brice glared at Laedron. “The instructors in Westmarch thought we’d need to know a little more than sword fighting and how to wear armor. On top of that, Caleb taught me a number of things about being a sneakthief, Lae. A little about picking pockets, a bit of picking locks, and even a few things of traps and tracks. While you spent your time in the militia, I spent my time honing my skills.”