Brian Kittrell - The Immortals of Myrdwyer

“Oh, my sleep has thankfully returned. It took days, but it came back.”

“I’ve never seen someone regain their sleep. Then again, we always completed the font rituals, and we used essences far stronger than those you would have absorbed from Zyvdredi gems.”

Laedron nodded, then examined the nondescript leather cover of the book in Tavin’s hands. “What sort of book is that?”

“Azura’s journal,” Tavin said, as if it were normal reading material. “When we went to Kareth’s lair, he had created Trappers and Netheren. Before we go back, I want to see if these pages hold any secrets on how to defeat them-the undead, that is.”

Laedron’s jaw dropped. Azura’s journal? Her personal writings, straight from her hand to the pages? “How can that be? Anything written by Azura must be centuries old, far older than any book could survive.”

“It was my job as Caretaker of the Tomes to keep the old works from falling into disrepair, to ensure that they lasted for future generations.” Looking at Laedron over the top of the book, Tavin smiled. “In these times, we’re willing to do anything to feel as we did when our empire was strong. Far’rah Harridan meditates in private and offers prayers to the Creator. I read and maintain my collection of books and scrolls.”

Laedron leaned across the table to steal a glance at the writing. “Did you ever meet her?”

“No. By the time we heard of her great deeds, she had already disappeared into the wilderness, and no one ever saw her again. A shame.”

“Ismerelda, my teacher, told me about her. She said that when Tristan turned his back on her, Azura left Uxidia and hid herself and her broken heart. Is that true?”

“More or less, yes. Azura spoke of Tristan at length in her journal, and of her pain when he chastised her. She unknowingly prevented the total collapse of what remained of the empire in her time. Or I should say, she slowed down that eventuality.”

“The empire wasn’t going to last?” Laedron asked, sitting on the other chair.

“What we had in the old empire was doomed to fail. We’d grown too large, too decadent. We had too many different ideas of what we should do and how we should govern. When the nobles fractured, so did our nation, and it has never been the same since.”

“So, Kareth didn’t cause Myrdwyer to crumble?”

“No, that happened much longer ago. Myrdwyer was a loyalist city-to the empire-and had been since its founding. When Lasoron became an independent state, Myrdwyer had extreme difficulty in gaining any assistance from the empire, for the imperials, weakened by the schism, were unwilling to make an enemy out of the Lasoronians. With no military protection and being unable to maintain the city, our people fled, our buildings collapsed, and eventually, we became what you see now: a broken group of survivors hiding beneath a fallen city.

“As time went along, the immortals who used to live in Lasoron, the ones outside Myrdwyer, started to die off, and the people lived as mortals. The knowledge of magic passed to fewer and fewer descendants of the original nobles of House Lasoron, and now, you’d be hard pressed to find a sorcerer within these borders.”

“How do you know these things if you stay here in the forest?”

“We haven’t always been so reclusive. There was a time when we ventured out into the world, but the world has little use for us. The adventurers, the ones like you and your friends, brought some news with them, as well.”

“Can you tell me why Kareth killed an Elder Priest and stole The Bloodmyr Tome?”

“The Elder Priest had two apprentices, Harridan and Kareth. When the time came to declare an heir, she selected Harridan, and Kareth was filled with rage.”

“A revenge killing?”

“Yes.”

Feeling tired, Laedron extended his arms and stretched his back. “Could I ask one more question?”

“If it suits you.”

“If The Bloodmyr Tome is the only thing which can be used for the renewal spell, how do the other Uxidin around the world maintain their immortality? Do they come here seeking renewal?”

“Yes. At least, they have in the past.”

“They were unwilling to help?”

“We haven’t had a chance to ask. We performed a number of renewals prior to Kareth’s theft, but we have only had one other Uxidin pass through since then. Our people are few in the wide world, and they have had no need for us in the thousand years or so between their rejuvenation rituals.”

“Why not send word to them and seek their help?”

Tavin shook his head. “We’ve tried, my young friend. Don’t assume that we haven’t done everything we could imagine to get the tome back.”

“Well, what did they say to your message?”

“Some of the messengers didn’t return. Those who did all had the same answer: it’s Myrdwyer’s problem. Myrdwyer had the tome, and Myrdwyer should get it back.”

“If we get it for you, will you help them in the future?”

Tavin nodded. “Likely so, but that is the decision of the Far’rah. I have no part in it.”

“Why would you, though? If they take such a position against you and refuse to help, why help them when they need it?”

“The Far’rah receives tribute in exchange for his services, and we will need that tribute to have any hope of rebuilding what we’ve lost. It could take hundreds of years, if not thousands, but we’re confident that our city will stand once again.”

Suddenly, Laedron felt small and inconsequential, the same way he had felt when he first thought of the war between the Uxidin and the Zyvdredi. We are but pawns in the dealings of the immortals . Laedron’s presence, their conversation, and perhaps all of their deeds tomorrow would become nothing more than a blink of the eye to these people. Ismerelda told me that her memory remained accurate for only the past fifty years or so, except for major, life-changing events. A century from now, will these people remember anything about what we’ve done? He closed his eyes. A century from now, will I? Will I forget about Ma and Laren? Marac and Brice? My Valyrie? Am I doomed to lose my memories as Ismerelda did? Creator… in time, I must find a way to reverse this.

Laedron woke to Tavin shaking his shoulder. “Is it time already?”

“Indeed.” Tavin moved to the door. “We’ll receive the Far’rah’s blessings, and we’ll be off. Prepare yourselves.”

Blinking rapidly, Laedron stared at Tavin, for he looked nothing as he had the night prior. Instead of robes, Tavin wore tight-fitting leathers, a set of armor decorated with a floral design. The cloak flowing down his back had no flaws that Laedron noticed, and the man had weapons and wands fixed to his waist by a thick belt. “Equipped like that, you seem more like a warrior than a librarian.”

“I assumed ownership of these effects when our last attack failed. Some were mine before, and the rest belonged to one of our soldiers.” Tavin tugged and pulled at the tunic. “Not a perfect fit, but it’s close enough.”

“Seems good enough to me,” Laedron said, then turned to his friends. “Before we go, I should prepare our weapons. I’ve already enchanted this sword.”

Brice took the blade when Laedron offered it. “If we’re to fight huge, hulking monsters, I’ll need something longer than my dagger.”

“Be careful with that. Striking anything with it will summon a blast of sound capable of cracking stone, and bones and flesh are softer than rock. Marac, what would you prefer for your blade?”

After considering the question, Marac gazed at Tavin. “Any suggestions?”