Brian Kittrell - The Immortals of Myrdwyer

Approaching the stable, Marac exchanged a few words with the stable hand, then the boy left and returned several times until he’d brought out four horses.

“Just a minute,” Laedron said, watching Marac mount his gelding. “I want to get some of that stuff.”

“The concrete? But why?”

“Might be useful back home if we ever get there.”

Brice stopped him. “But Sorbia’s rich with stone, Lae.”

“Stone that can be formed into any shape so easily? I think not.” Laedron walked briskly across the avenue and approached one of the men. “Could I buy some of that?”

“What?” the man asked, apparently befuddled at Laedron’s question.

“A handful of each pile. How much would it cost?”

“I don’t know.” The man arched his eyebrows and rubbed his chin. “A gold piece, I suppose.”

“For the lot?”

“Surely.”

Laedron fished out a sovereign and tossed it to the man. “Does that include a sack to carry them?”

The man nodded, collected a handful from each pile, and put the samples into separate burlap bags. “Here you are, young fellow.”

“Thanks.” Laedron returned to his friends, slipped the sacks into his saddlebag, and climbed atop his horse. “Laslo, then?”

“Yes, but do you know the way?” Marac asked.

“North, I suppose.”

“Best get a map.” Marac turned his horse so he could see the stable master. “Know where we can acquire a map, my good man? Nothing fancy, but enough to get around this country.”

“Where are you going?”

“Myr-”

“North,” Laedron said, stopping Marac. “For a while, at least. Then, west of Laslo.”

“The Ore and Timber Guild. That way. Ask for a surveyor’s sketch.”

“I’ll get it, and I’ll see what extra food I can pick up. Just meet me at the north gate,” Marac said, taking off down the boulevard.

* * *

Once Marac arrived at the gate, Laedron nodded to the others, then led them down the road. Looks like they waste few resources on the roads outside of town , he mused, observing the dirt and gravel mix beneath the horses’ hooves. Not long into the journey, he could no longer ignore the sun beating down upon his neck and his clothes moist with sweat. In the city, a constant breeze seemed to flow from the sea, between the buildings and onto the people in the streets, but such luxury was not to be had the farther inland he went.

Marac took a deep breath, then exhaled even louder. “This is what I love. The countryside, the fresh, free air. Nothing like it.”

“I know what you mean.” Brice came up alongside Marac. “The flowers and the birds chirping. Can’t be replaced.”

“Keep sharp,” Laedron said, studying the distant tree line. “We’re turning westward, toward the forest. If we’re to find brigands, we’ll likely find them there.”

Marac reached out and patted Laedron on the shoulder. “Fret not, my friend. We’re behind you every step.”

Even though Marac’s words had been spoken playfully, they gave Laedron some comfort; he couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather have at his side. Then, he glanced at Valyrie and felt as if he’d made a mistake by bringing her and leading her on a dangerous path into the wilderness. She’s grown, Lae , he thought, remembering Marac’s advice. She’s grown enough to make up her own mind. But am I grown enough to make her happy? To win her back when this is over?

“Let me see the map,” he said, opening his hand to Marac. Trying to steady himself in the saddle, he brought the parchment sketch near his eyes to see the finer details. “Myrdwyer isn’t listed here.”

“I asked the surveyor about that. He told me to stop dreaming of lost civilizations and buried treasure.” Marac took a stout pull on his canteen. “I hope we won’t end up chasing ghosts amidst the tall Lasoronian pines.”

“It’s there. Callista said it would be there, and we’ll find it.”

Marac narrowed his eyes. “What makes you trust the old woman?”

“The things she says and the way she says them. Somehow, I know her words to be true.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“We should keep our voices down for now,” Laedron said. “No way of knowing who might be listening.”

Nearing the tree line, Laedron took in the colors and shapes of the trees, and like all the others in Lasoron, the pines made him feel foreign to the land. They were nothing like the familiar oaks, birches, hickories, and dogwoods of his native Sorbia, and the evergreens were covered in needles of green or brown, a stark contrast to the forests of his home, which had leaves of every shade of rich green, brown, and red.

Though dark, gloomy, and daunting, the forest’s interior gave some shade from the summer sun, but it had a way of keeping in the humidity. The occasional bird fluttering through the woods put Laedron on edge, but he relaxed little by little the deeper they went, becoming accustomed to the ambient noises. Farther into the wood, the road worsened into a patchwork of holes, dirt, and loose gravel, causing the horses to stumble in places. The tree limbs grew closer to the ground as they traveled, and honeysuckles-their sweet smell penetrating his nostrils-reminded Laedron of Reven’s Landing, of home.

“We’ll have to slow up a bit,” Marac said, running his fingers through his horse’s mane. “Can’t risk an injury, to ourselves or to our horses.”

“We’ve been riding for a while now. May need to walk them for a while.” Brice gripped the reins and slowed to a halt. “Besides, we could pick up the pace a little if it weren’t for all these branches hitting me in the face.”

Laedron nodded, climbing down from the saddle, and the others did the same. He led them for another hour or two until the trees thinned enough-and the horses seemed rested enough-for them to mount up and ride again. Before climbing onto his gelding, he studied the ground. It’s nothing more than a lightly treaded trail at this point. Will we be able to find an ancient highway when the time comes? He decided to keep his thoughts to himself, for he saw no need or benefit in sowing doubt in his companions.

The trees and shrubs of the wood had a way of easing the passage of time, for Laedron found them far more interesting to observe than the open plains and cloudless sky. Much to Laedron’s dismay, the wind that had kept the humidity somewhat at bay had ceased. He picked the burs off of his clothes, but for each one he discarded, another one seemed to appear. A mixture of sap and sweat dripped slowly down his cheeks and neck, and annoyingly, his skin itched everywhere the stuff had accumulated.

Each step became accompanied by ever-taller grass, which he knew to be a sign that the path had seen few travelers in the recent months. After turning at a sharp bend in the road, he stopped at the beginning of an old stone bridge spanning a gentle brook.

“I wonder how long this has been here,” he said, then cleared his throat. He hadn’t said a word for over an hour, and his voice crackled from dryness and breathing the pollen from the pines.

Brice climbed down from his saddle and walked over to the bridge. Crouching, he said, “Old, but strong. It’s seen little upkeep, but it’s seen little traffic, too.”

“What about the other side?” Laedron stood in his stirrups, trying to get a better vantage point to see across the creek.

Marac, being a bit taller than everyone else, scanned the tree line beyond the stream. “It’s thick over there. There’s an opening near the bridge, but the trees have grown in tight.”

“Can we not rest here a while?” Valyrie asked. “I’m unaccustomed to riding such distances. I could use a break.”