Brian Kittrell - The Immortals of Myrdwyer

He gave his friends a nervous glance before opening the door.

Inside, a steward approached them. “Greetings. Can I help you?”

“We’ve come to see Vicar Jurgen.” Laedron looked at the walls and floors of the entry foyer, noting the change of tapestries, rugs, and paint colors since his last visit.

“Vicar Jurgen?”

Laedron cleared his throat. “Grand Vicar Petrius III.”

“His Holiness is quite busy with the work of the church. Perhaps we could arrange an appointment for you in the future?”

“Our time is short, for we’ll be heading home soon. Could you pass him a message for us?”

“Certainly,” the steward said, taking a quill and a scrap of parchment in hand.

“Tell him, Laedron, Marac, Brice, and Valyrie said to be safe and go with Azura.”

The steward nodded as he wrote, then paused halfway through, his eyes widening at what he’d written. “Did you say… Laedron ?”

“And Marac, Brice-”

“Wait here.” The steward rushed down a nearby corridor and disappeared.

When the page returned, he said, “He’ll see you now,” gestured for them to follow, and led them to a private chamber up a flight of stairs. “Your Holiness, I’ve retrieved them as you instructed.”

Laedron beheld the spectacle of the room when he entered. He had never been in the chamber before, and he was stricken with its decadence. He wondered if the picture frames were made of real gold. Surely they are. They’ve spared no other expense. The curtains draped the entire length of the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the fine marble floors had been dressed with exquisite runners and rugs.

Stepping out from behind a wooden divider, Jurgen smiled, his kind face shining bright. “My friends, welcome to the Vicariate Palace, and only by your many efforts does this hallowed place take you in, arms wide open.”

Valyrie rushed across the room and embraced Jurgen, and the steward left.

Laedron said, “We’re glad to see you again, Your Holi-”

“Aldric or Jurgen. None of this ‘Your Holiness’ business.” Jurgen grinned. “You haven’t risked your lives for me to grovel at my feet. I won’t have it.”

“Also glad to see everything’s coming along nicely,” Laedron said.

“Yes, yes. With Andolis gone, we can return Azura to a place of honor and make the church into something respectable again.” Jurgen’s expression became stern. “Have you come to give me bad news?”

“Some, I suppose, but nothing that should affect you.” Laedron and his friends took a seat when Jurgen offered with an open hand. “First, we need to return something to you.”

“Yes?”

Laedron motioned to Brice. “The ring, please.”

After receiving it, Laedron handed it to Jurgen. “The Uxidin told us that by no spell or miracle could he be returned to life. His essence can only be released or kept in the ring.”

“Then, we’ll place the ring in the church in a place of honor, as a reliquary.” Reaching behind him, Jurgen put the ring on a table. “You found them after all, did you? The Uxidin?”

“Deep in the pine forests and amongst the ancient ruins of Myrdwyer, yes.”

“Tell me, Laedron, what were they like?”

He didn’t know what to say in response to the question. Should I tell him that they’re maniacal, thirsty for ultimate power, and that they despise mortals? Would my words matter one way or another, considering he’ll likely never meet one? “Strange.”

“Strange? That’s it?”

Marac scooted to the edge of his chair and cleared his throat. “I think what he means to say is that they’re rather odd. Different customs, a different perspective on the world… just different.”

“Yes,” Laedron said. “We helped them with a minor task, and they helped me understand the changes that I experienced in the days following your spell.”

“Indeed, but you can’t leave it at that. I must know more.” Jurgen waved at one of the servants. “Come, bring us some fruit and drink.”

Brice stood and straightened his shirt. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take my leave.”

Laedron pressed his hand against Marac’s chest, intercepting the snide remark that he was sure would follow. “Go ahead. Meet us here when you’re done.”

* * *

Once outside the palace, Brice hurried down the stairs, took a quick glance around to get his bearings, then headed toward House Steadfahl. No need for a horse. It’s not far. He seemed to find his way as if he had walked it a thousand times, and he came upon the wrought iron gate facing the manor, only then stopping to heave a sigh. I wonder if she’ll think I’m strange for visiting again. Then, he remembered her parting words to him. ‘ If you should find yourself in Azura again, pay me a visit and tell me of your travels.’ Had she wanted to be rid of me forever, I would think she would’ve said so. Something to the effect of, ‘Drop dead, scum,’ would have gotten the message across. He pushed open the gate, followed the steps up to the door, and knocked.

The same butler who had snubbed him the last time opened the door. Giving Brice a stern glare, the man turned and called out, “Milady, Sir Brice Warren of Raven’s Landing.” It’s Reven’s Landing-no matter. At least he didn’t slam the door in my face.

“Come in, milord,” the butler said, giving Brice a slight bow and motioning toward the foyer.

Collette was just as beautiful as Brice remembered, and she seemed to be in better health than the last time they’d spoken. “Sir Brice, I thought I might never see you again.”

“No?”

“No, I feel horrible for slapping you,” she said, descending the stairs and joining him.

“Think nothing of it. A man needs a good slapping every once in a while.” Needs a good slapping? No wonder everyone calls you a fool!

She laughed. At least she found it funny. “You’ve come to fulfill my request, then?”

“Miss?”

“I seem to recall asking you if you should return to tell me of your exploits.”

“Oh, right. Yes.”

Brice stared at her through a pause, then finally said, “You mean now?”

“I can’t think of a better time. You’re here in my home, after all. Did you intend to relay the story by letters and couriers?”

“Mind if we have a seat?”

She gestured at the sofa, and after waiting for her to sit, he took a place beside her.

“So, how was Lasoron?” she asked.

It’s as if she recorded every word I told her. No one’s ever paid this much attention to me, not in my whole life. He smiled. “Full of dangers and distressful intent, I’m afraid. Bandits roaming the countryside without fear from the guard, frightful beasts in the night, and even…” Brice turned his head back and forth to see if anyone was eavesdropping. “…immortal men hiding in the ruins.”

“Immortal men?”

“Indeed, and one would be hard put to figure out which is the worst-of the men, the bandits, and the beasts, that is. You see, the forests of Lasoron contain a number of perils. We departed Nessadene, and in the days that followed, we fought bandits and crossed ravines that would claim the lives of lesser men. All of that before we even reached Myrdwyer.”

“Myrdw-”

“Fret not, for you’re not an adventurer.” He brushed his lapel. “Only adventurers need to know how to pronounce the names of secret ruins and ancient places.” He grinned, feeling smug. “Once we were there, we were beset by wild beasts and strange creatures, the worst being the monsters made entirely of crystals.”

“Crystals?”

“Indeed.” Ah, it matters not if I embellish a bit. If storytellers ever recount the tale, they’ll make us all out to be heroes anyway, just as Lae said. “The others were worried about the noises in the night, but I told them not to be afraid. ‘Buck up, lads and lass,’ I told them, ‘for if they kill us, we need not give them the pleasure of our screams.’