Brian Kittrell - The Immortals of Myrdwyer

Laedron shrugged. “I could do that, but I have no way of telling what they might have entitled it.”

“Write a few of the names that you would call such a spell,” she said, unfurling a blank scroll from Kareth’s bookshelf. “If that doesn’t work, we’ll try to find another way.”

Laedron took a quill from the table and scribbled the Nyrethine names for “rejuvenation,” “font,” and “everlasting life” onto the paper, then passed the scroll to Valyrie. Marac, Brice, and Valyrie gathered around the tome. Laedron kept his distance while they searched the ruby pages.

About halfway through, Valyrie raised an eyebrow, placed her hand over the bottom half of a page, and asked, “Is this the one?”

Joining them, Laedron eyed the first bit of the spell. “This could be the one. Yes, I think you’re right. Did any other spell contain these symbols?”

“No.”

“Check the rest,” he said, stepping away again and taking a seat in a chair. “And make sure. In this, we get no second chances.”

Brice, probably from his short attention span, and Marac, likely on account of his disinterest in magic, left Valyrie to scan the remainder of the book.

Reaching the back cover, she said, “That had to be it. I saw the words once or twice on other pages, but each time, they were deep in the text and seemed unimportant to the spell being discussed.”

“Right.” Laedron stood. “Flip back to it, and I’ll extract the spell.”

She turned the pages, then sat on the corner of the table. Laedron gazed at the open book before him. If only I had a few spare hours, I could read to my contentment and see the secrets the Uxidin have held these millennia hence. He shook his head. I’ll have to settle for a peek at the rejuvenation spell while no one’s watching. It’ll have to be enough. He pulled his scepter and, page by page, skillfully separated the ruby leaves from the spine of the tome until he had extracted-and mostly read via stolen glances-the rejuvenation spell.

He snatched a shirt from the coat rack, wrapped the pages inside it, then put them into his pack. “All done. Now, axeman, you may swing to your heart’s content.”

“Never have I heard sweeter words,” Marac replied. He raised the axe and struck, shattering the ruby book. He must have wanted to be sure because he continued chopping until the table nearly split in two.

Laedron peered at the mess of ruby chips and wondered if they had done the right thing. Are we-a handful of young people foreign to this land, to Uxidia, to her people and her customs-honorable enough, wise enough to decide this for the rest of the world? Is it our place to settle the matter conclusively for all time? He heaved a breath, and with it, he tried to expel the questions lingering in his mind. Little can be done to fix it if we were wrong. The deed is done, and there is no turning back. “Let’s return to Harridan, bring him his bloody spell, and be done with this place.”

Marac tossed the axe onto the table. “You can say that again, Lae.”

Once everyone had cleared the room, Laedron cast a spell at the roof of Kareth’s chamber, causing the ceiling to collapse and sealing, under tons of rock, what remained of The Bloodmyr Tome.

Back in Kareth’s throne room, Laedron glanced at the mangled bodies of Tavingras and Kareth lying on the platform, then looked at the Trappers. They stood as if with their master slain and no new orders issued, they had little to do.

“Ah, you’ve returned. Did you find what you seek?” the Trapper on the right asked. “The book you said you were trying to find, was it there?”

It speaks far better than it did earlier. What has caused its sudden advancement? “Yes, thank you. We’ll be going now. Will you point us toward the exit?” Is it learning somehow now that its binds are broken? Or did all the essence that Kareth contained change them somehow?

The Trappers both bowed deeply. “We can take you there, Master. Your wish is our duty.”

Master? No, I think not. And a bow to top it off? “You must be mistaken. I’m not your master.”

The Trapper on the right spoke again. “Not until recently, no. We have decided that you, the four of you, are now our masters. We thought it might be a shock to you, but we know, in the end, you shall learn to enjoy it.”

It has developed an understanding of emotions, no less. Laedron folded his arms. “Well, we won’t be. If you’ll show us the door, please, we will be on our way and out of your business.”

“You must.” The Trapper approached, and the vibrations from its heavy footsteps were enough to send a tingle of fear straight to Laedron’s knees. “We must have a master, for it has been the way of our kind since we were made. Without a master, the Myrdwyer cannot continue.”

“We can’t lug one of those things back into the cities, Lae,” Marac said, his hand firmly on his hilt. “Imagine the people running in terror at the sight of it.”

“As if you’re telling me something that I don’t already know?” Laedron stared at the creature, wondering what he should do. It’ll have to be another way, then. “Tell me, why do you need a master?”

“To guide and nurture us, to show us the things which need to be done. Our master gives the tasks, and we happily abide, for Master leads and instructs in all things.”

“You don’t need anyone to do that for you.”

“It is the master’s place to do-”

“No, you’re free now.” Laedron tried to think of what words to say next. It’s your life; do what you will? Do these things even have lives, in the conventional sense or otherwise? “Only you can determine your own destiny.” There, that fits, I think. “The door?”

The Trapper pointed at a large tunnel in the far wall, and when Laedron started toward the exit, the creature asked, “Master wishes us to stay here?”

“Yes, yes! You stay here and decide what you should do next.” He continued walking, but stopped at the tunnel mouth, considering exactly what he had just told them. No, I can’t leave it at that. If Uxidin might resort to Zyvdredi techniques to preserve themselves, no one can predict what these things might do if loosed upon a hostile world. “How many of you have been created?”

“Four hundred and thirty-one.”

Laedron couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping. “Four hundred and thirty-one?” Creator… “Four hundred…”

“And thirty-one,” the Trapper said, as if Laedron could have forgotten so quickly.

He sized up the creature, its broad shoulders, tall stature, and massive hulk of a body, intimidating even when engaged in cordial chatter. “All exactly the same as you?”

“That is how many the master has created in total, in all of the forms he has decided.” The creature seemed to glance at its twin. “Like us? Sixteen guardians. The rest are harvesters and builders.”

Laedron gestured at the broken shards of crystal, the remains of the Trappers Tavin had killed with his spell. “Is that counting the ones who perished here?”

“Yes, we have subtracted them from our number. Sixteen of us remain,” the Trapper replied, no sense of emotion or concern in its words.

I couldn’t imagine four hundred just like this one. Breathing a sigh of relief, he said, “It’s not as bad as I thought, then.”

“Bad?”

“Nothing.”

“What do we do, Lae?” Brice asked.

“I can’t say. What does one do with a sentient, crystalline race?” The thought of it. Fascinating. “We can’t take them with us, but we can’t leave them here to their own devices.”