Brian Kittrell - The Immortals of Myrdwyer

“No one’s left to guard the routes?”

“They’ve little choice, for the undead are numerous and do not negotiate. The army’s always patrolled the roads, and with the soldiers gone, the bandits have come out of the woodwork. Open season on traders and couriers, or anyone braving the highways.”

“When would be the best time to travel?”

“During the day. Harder for them to sneak up on you that way. Of course, some might still attack; a bandit’s motivation lies in two places-his stomach and his purse-and the emptiness of either guides his decision-making.”

“Thank you for your help.”

“Think nothing of it. As a purveyor of fine liquors and not-so-fine lodgings, I’m obliged to help my customers. It’s part of my job, really. If a little information might help them, well… a client who stays alive might come back and be a client again.”

Laedron returned to the table. “Looks like we’ll have to keep a sharp eye while on the road.”

“He spoke of bandits. That doesn’t worry you?” Valyrie asked.

“Shouldn’t be any more trouble than we’ve already faced. Robbers tend to be disorganized, and not many are a match for a sorcerer in the company of knights.”

“Suppose they’re well-organized and have a sorcerer of their own?”

“Don’t worry, Val. We’ll prepare for any possibility.” Laedron turned to the door when it opened and saw Marac and Brice returning. “And, Val, about last night-”

“Think nothing of it. The mission, remember? Nothing is more important than that,” she replied, a certain nonchalance about her. She doesn’t mean that. If she’s trying to make me feel guilty, she’s doing a damned good job of it.

Holding up a scrap of paper, Marac grinned. “Four geldings, and they’ve given us a deal since few are seeking horses for travel these days.”

“Good. We depart at first light,” Laedron said, reading over the receipt when Marac passed it to him.

* * *

Night fell across the city, the white walls of the stone towers darkening with the setting sun, and Laedron retired to the room with Marac and Brice. He wanted to say something before Valyrie closed the door to her room, but he didn’t. Things are so delicate between us that I’d rather give her space. No, I’d like to be in her arms this last night, but I should have thought about that before I said what I did. I’ve been such an idiot.

“She’ll be all right in the end, Lae,” Marac said, plopping onto the bed, his tone making him seem almost sympathetic to Laedron’s plight. “You’d better get some sleep. We have a long way to go in a short time.”

Nodding, Laedron sat in the corner chair, hung his shirt over the back of it, grabbed a bed sheet, and closed his eyes, trying to force the remorse of his many mistakes and failures from his mind. I couldn’t help Ismerelda. I was barely a match for Gustav, and Andolis nearly killed me. I’ve driven the only woman I’ve ever loved away, and only the Creator knows if she’ll ever forgive me for that. Damned spells! Damned magic! If only I could sleep away these thoughts. He shifted his weight to get comfortable and quickly realized that if being a wizard meant never sleeping again, he wanted no part of it. He’d drive himself insane long before the usefulness of his power became apparent.

Laedron pulled the sheet over his bare chest, his skin prickled by the cool air. Then, his eyes shot open at the drowsy feeling. Have I slept? The inky darkness of night had dominated the landscape, and the last thing he remembered was staring out the window and watching the nightlife of Nessadene. Can it be so? Is the spell losing its power over me? Am I cured, or shall I die by its fading?

Not wanting to disturb Marac and Brice, he rested his head on the pillow. For a moment, he wondered where the pillow had come from, but the thought was fleeting. The night sky like a weight on his eyelids, Laedron once again fell asleep.

* * *

“Good morning,” Marac said. “Sleep well?”

Laedron shifted in the chair, his back strained from the position in which he’d slept. “Surprisingly I did.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing.”

“I hope so.” He scooted to the edge of the chair and put on his shirt. “If it’s not, it’s a very bad thing.”

“No need to worry about it until we know otherwise.” Marac strapped his belt about his waist.

Brice came through the door, a towel wrapped around him. “They’ve got hot water for the bath here. Down the hall, opposite the stairs.”

Laedron nodded, put his feet on the floor, then staggered through the hall, ending up at the tub. Leaning against the lip, he struggled to keep his balance; it was as if all of the energy had been leeched from his body. Looks like the sleeplessness has finally caught up with me. Oh, I can’t get atop a horse and go slogging across the countryside in this condition. Perhaps I can convince them to stay here one more night. No, I’ll have to get through it. Maybe the bath will help.

Slipping into the water, he rested his neck against the cool edge of the tub, and after a while of soaking, his muscles felt reinvigorated by the heat.

He couldn’t tell-and he didn’t really care-how long he had spent in the soothing water. But when it began to cool, he stepped out of the tub, dried himself, and dressed.

Meeting Valyrie on the way downstairs, Laedron caught the familiar scent of the inn’s breakfast foods, but he desired nothing to eat. Though he had recovered somewhat from his morning fatigue, he didn’t want to weigh himself down with a heavy meal. A handful of nuts and some fruit should suffice .

Marac and Brice, having already started their meals, greeted Lae with a nod when he reached the bottom. Valyrie apparently didn’t want to slow them down because she, like Laedron, took a few things from the fruit bowls and headed toward the door, and Laedron returned the keys to the innkeeper. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Take care on the road,” the innkeeper said, waving as Laedron exited.

Laedron turned to Marac once they all had joined him outside. “Where’s the stable?”

“Up along this road.” Marac pointed to the right. “It’s on the north end of the city.”

“Lead the way.”

* * *

Across from the stable, a rather strange, fenced compound had been built, and the area was unlike anything Laedron had ever seen. A great pile of stones sat at one end of the lot, and two mounds, one of white powder and another of blackened sand, were on the other. In the center of the heaps stood a wooden structure with unfamiliar machinery, and he could see workers mixing the ingredients and pouring the substance into carts bound for the boulevard.

“What do you make of that, Marac? Anything like a mill?”

Marac glanced at the place. “I asked the stable master about it yesterday. He said they make something called concrete there.”

“Concrete?” Laedron asked, the foreign word twisting his tongue.

“Yeah. It’s what they use instead of stone since the country hasn’t any good quarries.” Marac gestured at the nearby structures. “All of these buildings are made of the stuff. The streets, too. Everything not made of wood, anyway.”

“And it holds up?”

Brice nodded. “He said that it has to dry first, but yes. Once it’s set, it stays.”

“Marvelous.” Valyrie stared up at one of the tallest towers in the skyline, but she shied away from Laedron when she smiled, as if unwilling to share her happiness, no matter how brief.