The Immortals of Myrdwyer (10 page)

If I’m untruthful, will he be able to tell?
Laedron considered the size of the small village and the remoteness.
Would it matter if I told him? It’s not as if he could call upon anyone who might mean us harm from way out here.
“We’re venturing to the ruins of Myrdwyer.”

“And why would anyone want to go to those ancient grounds?”

“Answers.”

“I hope you’re good at holding conversation with stones and moss, my strange friend.” Paldren gestured for him to follow. “Little remains there beyond broken rubble and old memories, a testament to Uxidin arrogance.”

“Arrogance?”

“They tried to build a city to stand forever, but they succeeded only in decorating the forest with broken buildings and overgrown roads. The great empires that remain today learned a lesson lost on the Uxidin: place all of your hopes in tomorrow, and you’ll find that the problems of today don’t take care of themselves.”

Laedron eyed the knight with curiosity. “Have you been there? Have you seen the ruins?”

“Yes, and it’s a place I won’t soon visit again. Nothing to be gained there. Don’t look forward to getting much sleep, either, if you tread that place.”

“No?”

“Sounds in the night. Whispers and moans float on the evening breeze like pollen in the spring. Ancient sorrows that never had healed from aching hearts long since forgotten, I’d say.” Paldren pointed at a row of small buildings. “The village’s families live in those row houses. You’d do best to leave them alone, for they don’t abide outsiders.”

“Then, you’ve seen the highway? The path leading to Myrdwyer?” Laedron asked.

“What remains of the road lies west of here. An arrow’s shot away from the west wall, you’ll find the base of a column made of marble, and what remains of the pavers will take you to Myrdwyer.” The soldier continued across the center of town and gestured at the tallest building in the village. “That’s the lumber mill, the lifeblood of these people. Next to it is the guardhouse, and then the stores. Brenner, our only merchant, operates the inn and adjoining shop at the end of the line.”

“How long has it been since you’ve been to the Myrdwyer ruins?”

“Oh, I would say ten years or more, but it was still enough to keep me stirring some nights.”

 “Thank you for allowing us to stay here,” Laedron said. “We should make arrangements with… Brenner, you said?”

“Indeed. You can tie your horses to the post outside.” Paldren stopped him before he could walk away. “Tell me, did you run into any bandits on your way here?”

“Yes, about a day’s travel south.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Laedron thought about his response, wondering if the knight had any prejudice against sorcerers. “We lost them in the woods. After that, we followed the valley. Why do you ask?”

Paldren glanced back at a long covered wagon. “We’ll have a lumber shipment leaving in a few days for Nessadene, and the men from Kingsport are overdue. We’d hoped to send an escort with the wood, but I was wondering if we could do without.”

“I would recommend that you not send that cart unguarded. We didn’t encounter any other brigands, but that’s not to say that there are not more on the roads.”

“I appreciate it. The wood can wait, then. Carry on.” Paldren walked toward the wall.

Laedron called out to him before he got out of earshot. “Sir Paldren, can you tell me how far the Myrdwyer ruins are from here?”

“A little over a day. Maybe two.”

Laedron turned to his friends. “Let’s see about lodgings for the night.”

“Did you hear him, Lae?” Marac asked. “He’s been to Myrdwyer and found nothing.”

“And he also said he hasn’t been there for a number of years. Are you suggesting that we turn around now? After we’ve come so far?”

“Of course not. I only wonder what you think is to be gained from this.”

“Something’s out there.” Laedron stared into the western sky. “Someone must be left. Callista seemed so sure of it.”

“Forgive me if I don’t put much faith into the words of a woman you’ve only just met. What if she lied?”

“Why would she?”

“Amusement? The crone’s probably sitting on a stack of books, laughing at us right now.” Marac folded his arms, a sour glare twisting his features. “What reason do we have to believe her?”

“I do, Marac. Everything she’s told me rings true. Well, except for the last bit.”

“What last bit?”

“She said that she told me everything she knew.” Laedron shook his head. “She told me little and withheld anything important.”

“So, instead of sending us on a fool’s errand, she’s more than likely leading us into a trap?” Marac asked. “More the reason to pull up stakes and go home, lest we lose our lives traipsing about the wild lands.”

Laedron nodded. “If you don’t want to come with me, wait here for the soldiers from Kingsport and hitch a ride with Sir Paldren. I
must
finish this journey, though. I must.”

“I only needed to be sure that you’re sure, Lae,” Marac said, extending his hand. “I’ll follow you to the ends of Bloodmyr if you’re certain it’ll be worth it.”

Laedron took Marac’s hand in a firm embrace.

“Me, too!” Brice said, and Laedron and Marac laughed.

I can always count on Brice to break the tension
. “Good. At least we’ll have comfortable beds to sleep in tonight.” Gesturing for his friends to follow, Laedron led his horse along the row of buildings to the end, tied the reins to the hitching post, then entered the inn. Everything in the inn had some measure of dust coating its surface, and Laedron could tell at a glance which things saw more use because they were cleaner. The windows barely let in any sunlight, as the panes obviously hadn’t been cleaned since installed. On the left, a line of cots had been placed along the wall, and a portly man stood behind a counter on the right. Laedron caught the scent of something awful, then spotted the probable source: a pot had been hung in the fireplace, its contents bubbling. “This is your place?”

The man cleared his throat and looked up from his ledgers. “Last time I checked. Need something?”

Not the usual greeting from an innkeeper.
“Yes, some beds for the night.”

“The four of you?”

“Yes.”

“Two silver.”

For this?
Laedron gazed at the cots with a skeptical eye. Some of them looked as though they had never been cleaned. “Two silvers?”

The man spit into the receptacle at his feet, and the impact resounded with a ding. “Too pricey for you? I’d suggest the next inn if your purse strings are too tight.”

“Very well. Where’s the next inn?”

“Go out my door and take a left. Out of the gate and about a week later, you’ll hit Paladum, if you’re lucky.”

“Fine,” Laedron said, plopping two silvers onto the counter.

“Now, was that so hard?” The man grinned, revealing jagged yellow teeth. “Welcome to the Brenner’s Board House.”

Laedron wanted to say,
“
And what a fine board house indeed, Mr. Brenner,” but he resisted. In the grand scheme of things, losing a pair of silver coins to a swindler represented the least of his concerns. Money didn’t seem quite as important as it once had.
Is this the way true adventurers regard coin? As merely a means to an end? Pavers along a road leading to a much greater reward? Perhaps it depends upon the adventurer.

Brenner gestured at the foul-smelling cauldron. “The cot comes with a bowl of my finest pottage. Help yourselves.”

Avoiding the stew, Laedron took a handful of jerky from his pack. His friends didn’t seem interested in sampling the local fare either because they kept their distance from the filthy stuff.
The man’s probably immune to rotten meat and spoiled vegetables by now. Disgusting.

Marac sat on his cot and pulled his sword from its scabbard.

Brenner threw up his hands. “And what do you plan to do with that?”

“I need to sharpen it.”

Laedron shook his head at the innkeeper. “We mean you no harm. We’ve a long way to go yet, and we have preparations to make.”

Brenner wiped his mouth with a stained rag. “Just don’t get any wise ideas.”

Marac glared at Brenner, then reached into his pack and produced a whetstone. The rhythmic scraping of the stone against the sword’s edge made Laedron feel more at ease, as if they were sitting in the Shimmering Dawn chapterhouse, and for a moment, he expected Piers or Caleb to come through the door with news of more plots.

After examining the arrow holes in his shield, Brice laid his sword and dagger on his cot, then stared at Marac. “Mine needs it more. Mind if I get started?”

Nodding, Marac tossed the stone to Brice. “What about you, Miss Pembry?”

Valyrie looked at Marac, and Laedron could tell by her expression that she didn’t understand what Marac had meant by the question.

“It may be a good time to arm yourself,” Marac said. “We may not always escape our fights. Do you know how to use a weapon?”

She replied, “I can use a bow.”

“You think we can get a length of pine here?” Marac asked, turning to Brenner. “Can the mill supply one?”

Before the innkeeper could answer, Valyrie said, “Bows aren’t made from pine.”

“We’ll be hard-pressed to find a staff of oak around here, I’d wager.”

“Not that kind of bow.” She laughed. “The kind that shoots arrows. A shortbow, preferably.”

Laedron raised an eyebrow. “You know how to shoot a bow?”

“Indeed.”

“Are you any good?”

“You doubt me?”

Crossing his arms, Laedron examined her. “I only speak to the point that we have no evidence to the contrary. Where did you learn?”

“The university.”

“Archery is a part of their curriculum?” Marac asked.

“They train the militia archers there. There’s more to shooting than releasing a string and praying that you hit the target.”

“All right,” Laedron said, waving at Marac. “It would be best to see her in action before we draw any conclusions. We could use an archer.”

Marac reached out and took the whetstone from Brice. “Could’ve used one a while back. Why didn’t you say anything until now?”

“For one, you never asked.”

Marac pointed at her. “In the future, I would appreciate your volunteering useful information. Keeping secrets puts us in danger, and
no one
is going to travel with us and put us at risk.”

“Enough,” Laedron said, his neck and ears growing warm. “I won’t have you speak to her that way.” As soon as he said it, he wanted to take it back, and he saw the irony in the statement.
I thought
I
was the one who said we should take a break from our emotions.

“You would take her side? If she’d had a bow, you wouldn’t have had to use m—” Marac cut off before he finished the word, shooting a look over at Brenner. “You wouldn’t have had to do what you did in the forest. If you two didn’t have something going on, you might be able to see—”

“Stop this. She’s a part of our group, just as you are.” Laedron stepped closer to Marac. “Our relationship has nothing to do with this.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“He’s right, Lae,” Brice said, fidgeting with something in his hands. “We’ve been talking about it.”

“So, you and Marac have it figured out, have you? What business is it of yours?” Laedron huffed, his skin boiling.

“It’s our business when our lives are on the line.” Marac furrowed his brow. “When your attachment is so strong as to be blind, you’ll put all of us in danger.”

“My attachment?” With little regard for volume, Laedron said, “Do you not see?”

Marac and Brice sat in silence like dogs scolded by their master.

“Meklan Draive put us together. And do you know why? Because men with close bonds fight better. They are more successful. Am I close to Valyrie? Yes, but I am just as close to you, Marac Reven. Through all of this, I’ve grown closer to Brice.” Laedron walked away.
Now I see the truth of what she was trying to tell me, but is it too late to salvage what we had?
“We’re not cold, calculating killers. We’re friends—nay, brothers. Brothers in arms.”

“I only meant—”

“I know what you meant, Marac, but if ignoring my heart is the only way forward, I cannot proceed. We would become nothing better than the Zyvdredi—cold men with no love.” Laedron stared at Marac through a long pause. “If I deny my love for her, I must deny my love for you. I won’t… can’t.” Glancing at Valyrie, Laedron saw her stern expression and folded arms, and he felt no warmth from her.
Perhaps it is too late for us. Creator, why have I allowed things to get so far? I will make this right. I must.

Marac nodded. “What did they used to say about you in Reven’s Landing? ‘Don’t argue with a Telpist. You’ll be fighting an uphill battle to win,’ I believe it was.”

“Aye.” Laedron took a deep breath. “That’s what they say.”

“You’re right, Lae.” Marac extended his open hand. “Being high in the clouds, it’s hard to see where you came from.”

“We’ve all been under insurmountable stress of late, and I can’t fault you for your words.” Laedron took Marac’s hand. “As we’ve always done, we’ll have to forge ahead despite ourselves. I dream of the day when all of this is behind us.”

“Ouch!” Brice dropped something that
thunked
against the planks of floor.

Bending down, Laedron picked up an ornate lock, being careful not to stick himself with the barb on the bottom of it. “What’s this?”

“Something Caleb gave me in Azura. Damn!” Holding up his hand, Brice displayed a wound on his finger with blood dripping from it.

Laedron stared at the needle protruding from the lock. The end was soaked with Brice’s blood, and he wondered how Brice had come to be injured by it. “Were you being careless?”

“I almost had it open, and that point shot out of the bottom.” Brice shook his head. “I guess that was the surprise he was talking about.”

“He gave you a trapped lock?” Valyrie asked.

Brice nodded.

Marac chuckled. “What a bastard.”

Valyrie laughed. “My thinking exactly. Will you be all right?”