Brian Kittrell - The Immortals of Myrdwyer

“You have a way to kill them?”

“Being composed entirely of crystal, the monsters can be destroyed by a competent mage. The most effective method we’ve found is by the use of vibrations, summoning tremors so strong that they can crack the Trappers’ rigid bodies. But you must bring a powerful quake; mistakes and hesitation could result in dire consequences.”

“Good. If we have a way to fight them, we stand a much better chance.” But what if I cannot conjure a spell strong enough? Fearing that Ismerelda’s ruby scepter had broken, Laedron pulled it from his side. “Can you tell me anything about this rod?”

Tavin’s eye twitched, but he took the scepter in his hands. “Where did you get this?”

“My teacher.”

“He would give away an instrument of this caliber? He must’ve been a great sorcerer indeed to have something like this as a spare.”

“Sorceress. My teacher was killed in the streets of Morcaine months ago, murdered by a Zyvdredi master posing as a Heraldan priest.”

“What was her name?”

“Ismerelda.”

“A name I may have heard in passing, but it doesn’t easily come to mind. Was she from Myrdwyer?” Tavin handed the scepter back.

“No,” Laedron said. “She was originally of Uxidia, and she moved to Westmarch when her family left to live in Evdurein.”

“It is a rare thing for an Uxidin to live amongst mortals in a city. It’s dangerous for us to be in contact with the wider world, but in your case, we must make an exception. For the survival of our people.”

“I’m surprised that you haven’t heard of her. She stood with Azura in the battle against Vrolosh.”

“Many names escape me, especially those of minor players, my young friend.” Tavin tapped his temple. “Little but the most important details remain when you go on for as long as I have. Besides, she could have been exaggerating her own importance.”

“Exaggerating her importance? I think not.” Laedron clenched his fists at his sides.

“Forgive me. You must have had a close attachment to her.”

He probably meant nothing by it. Even Ismerelda seemed a bit uncouth when speaking of some subjects. Laedron sighed. “If the scepter seems in good condition to you, then perhaps it is just me.”

“Just you? Has something happened that you haven’t revealed?”

“When I cast a spell the other day, it seemed as if it suddenly became harder before I could finish my casting, like something that had been helping me stopped without warning.”

“And you were using that rod at the time?”

Laedron bobbed his head.

“Easy. The power’s been depleted.”

Hanging his head, Laedron asked, “Depleted?”

“Yes, exhausted. Spent-”

“I know what the word means. How has the thing been depleted, exactly?”

“Just as we rejuvenate ourselves, we can create wands, staffs, and scepters fueled with essence, and this makes spells cast with that instrument easier to perform and more potent.”

“Then it is as I’ve feared.” Laedron stuck the scepter in his belt, intent to carry it for sentimental purposes instead of utilitarian reasons.

“Why are you sad? You merely need to recharge it.”

“And how does one do that?”

“Those soulstones would do the trick, and if each one contains the essence of a man, you could use a few of them, and the charge would last another hundred years or so. Would you like me to teach you the spell?”

A hundred years? Fascinating how these people think and plan in terms of centuries or millennia where most people think about only today or tomorrow. “Yes.”

“Would your companions prefer for us to go elsewhere? It could take some time.”

“Marac?” Laedron asked.

“It’s a bit tight in here. It’d probably be best if you did.”

“What about you, Brice?”

“He’s right. Wouldn’t want someone accidentally turned into a toad, after all.”

Laedron chuckled. “No, that would be terrible indeed. Val?”

“Yes, but I’d like to come with you.”

“You would?”

“I might learn something. You said you’d teach me.”

“Yes, but I don’t think it would benefit you. This sort of magic is beyond my expertise, and being there could be detrimental to your learning.”

“I suppose you would know best.” She sat at the table, but Laedron could tell she wasn’t happy.

“When we get to that point, I’ll teach you. I promise.”

Looking over her shoulder, she smiled. “All right.”

Laedron nodded, slipped off his pack, and turned to Tavin. “Did you have a place in mind?”

Through the adjacent hallway and by glimmer of dim light, Tavin led Laedron to the huge pit they had passed on the way to the shelter. Laedron imagined that Tavin had a rather pitiful existence because the few places they could visit consisted of a dreary room full of refugees, an office with basic wood furniture, and an unending hole in the ground.

“Would you care for something to drink, or should we get straight to it?” Tavin asked, holding a cup to the rocky wall near the start of the bridge. The water coming through the cracks slowly filled it.

His mouth dry from traveling, Laedron said, “Yes, a drink would be quite welcome. Thank you.”

Tavin passed Laedron the full cup. “Though it may taste strange to you, the water, I assure you, is safe.”

Sipping, Laedron detected a distinct flavor, the taste of metal and minerals, and the fluid seemed a bit thicker than what he used to drinking. In fact, he couldn’t recall any other time where his taste buds had been so offended by a simple swig of water, and he couldn’t help but wonder if that deplorable water would be the last thing he ever tasted. It could be, for I have no way of knowing when the magic will wear off.

“Why do you look saddened? Is it not to your liking?”

“I have no idea what I am anymore.”

“No? A sorcerer, are you not?”

Laedron handed the cup back to Tavin. “In Azura, I was nearly killed by the Zyvdredi. I would’ve died if not for a spell… well, priests call them miracles, and it was a priest who performed it.”

“The healing arts are common amongst all practitioners of magic.”

“This time, it was different. The priest in question used a soulstone to increase the power of his miracle, and after that, I couldn’t sleep and didn’t feel the need to eat for several days. I even healed at an astonishing rate.”

“Ah, yes. When one uses an essence for a spell, the magic can stay longer without need of further concentration or commitment. He could’ve made the spell extend longer had he known how.”

“So, it’s temporary?”

“Indeed. The spell fades away as the essence does. If you fail to seal in the essence, it will dissipate considerably faster than otherwise, but ‘considerably faster’ has a different meaning to me than it might for you, yes? It’s relative to one’s point of view.”

Laedron swallowed deeply. “Am I going to die?”

“Yes, but not on account of that.” Tavin smiled. “The spell has probably given you a wellspring of longevity, though, so do not be surprised if you should go on for the next few centuries or so.”

A few centuries? His eyes widened, and he considered the possibility of living past all of his friends and family, watching all of them pass away before he would be given the gift of death. “Centuries? As in, hundreds of years? You’re sure?”

“The amount of essence held within Zyvdredi soulstones can vary, for a single stone can contain the life force of several men. The essence of three men is roughly equivalent to two hundred years, and a full stone could contain… twelve, maybe.”