The Immortals of Myrdwyer (2 page)

T
he reign of Grand Vicar Tristan IV has come to a violent end, and an unlikely peace settles over the Bloodmyr Isles. Aldric Jurgen is declared Grand Vicar of the Heraldan Theocracy and anointed as Petrius III. In his first act as leader of the church, Jurgen proclaims that priests shall no longer hold disdain for sorcerers, and he arranges for the city of Azura to celebrate the deeds of Laedron Telpist and his friends, the heroes responsible for ending the war and wresting power from the Drakars.

From Sorbia to Gotland, from Falacore to the Qal’Phamet Empire, voices are heard whispering the story of a young mage and his party who have defeated the Zyvdredi in the Heraldan lands. Some voices speak of these happenings with joy and celebration, while others tell tales of murder and intrigue against their brothers and sisters.

With their work finished in the Holy Land, Laedron, Marac, Brice, and Valyrie depart for Lasoron, a land of vast forests. Laedron seeks The Bloodmyr Tome, an artifact of untold magical power, and the secrets of someone named Farrah Harridan, one of which he hopes will provide answers for his peculiar condition.

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Chapter Two →

The City of Nessadene

L
aedron went to the forecastle of the ship and gathered his companions. “We’re close to Nessadene, and we’ll soon disembark on these foreign shores.”

Marac nodded. “Right. Once we get everything together, we’ll meet you outside.”

Laedron returned to the top deck with his bag in hand, then waited for the crew to tie off and lower the gangplank. The ivory faces of the buildings gleamed by the glow of fire in the street lanterns, and he thought they were constructed from limestone by their unblemished appearance. By the time he could step off, Marac, Brice, and Valyrie had joined him.

“Have you ever seen a city like Nessadene?” Brice asked, taking a long look at their surroundings.

“Quite different, I must agree.” Laedron pointed at the distant buildings as he walked down the plank. “Smooth stone and painted—or stained—stark white.”

Hearing a peeling sound at each step and smelling turpentine, Laedron reckoned the pier had been constructed of pine timbers and the boards had recently been replaced.
Pine is hardly the sturdiest of woods from which to construct a pier
.
Perhaps it’s in abundant supply here?
Even some of the roofs and walls of buildings had been built with pine, a feature Laedron noted as they passed along the road. When he heard the flapping of cloth in the wind, he looked up to see the Lasoronian flag—two bars, one green and one white, with the symbol of the griffin, the mythical winged lion once thought to inhabit the forested lands of Lasoron.

“We’d better find lodgings first. Somewhere to rest our heads,” Marac said, casting a wary eye on the strangers who walked near them. “How about that one? Looks like an inn.”

What about the heads that need no rest?
Laedron turned to see the building Marac had indicated. In front of the two-story structure, signage—a carving of a bed and a moon—had been hung near the street. Laedron nodded. “As good as any, I suppose.”

Unlike the other nearby buildings, the inn had both pine shingles and walls.
Looks like only the larger buildings are made of stone
.
Maybe it’s too great an expense to waste stone on a hostel.

He followed Marac through the door, past a dining table with seating for twenty or so people, and approached the innkeeper, a burly man clothed in black, who stood behind a counter of pine. “What’s your rate for four rooms?”

“Four? We don’t have four rooms available, I’m afraid.”

“How many do you have?” Laedron asked, then looked up to see a number of well-made steins painted blue, purple, red, and green on a shelf above the bar.

The man flipped through his ledger with his fat fingers, then picked at his beard. “Two.”

Laedron glanced at Valyrie, then returned his gaze to the man. “We’d have to double up, but we can manage.”

“Fine. How long will you stay? One night?”

“Better make it two. The morning after the second, we’ll let you know.”

“Two silvers, then.” The innkeeper extended his hand, received the coins from Laedron, and offered two brass keys in exchange. “Up the stairs and down the hall. Four and five.”

“Thanks.” Laedron gestured at the steins. “By the way, who made all of those?” Laedron gestured at the steins.

“When I have nothing else to do, I’ll work on a new one.”

“You did them all?”

“It’s a hobby of mine, and the customers sit and stare for hours. Good for business, you see?”

Laedron nodded. He kept one key and gave the other to Marac, then led the way upstairs. Valyrie followed Laedron to the door marked with the numeral four, and Brice went with Marac into Five.

Before Marac closed his door, Laedron called out, “Get some rest. In the morning, we must sort out our plans to find this Farrah Harridan.”

Laedron opened the door. The room was hardly worth the silver piece demanded for rent. The curtains did little to provide privacy, and he wondered if they were capable of stopping any sunlight whatsoever during the day.
No matter. ‘Tis but a room, a room I don’t plan to inhabit for long, but some creature comforts would have been nice.
The bed seemed to be comfortable, and he didn’t feel awkward at seeing one bed in the room, as he had felt when he had traveled with Ismerelda. Observing Valyrie, he noted that she seemed comfortable with the furnishings, as well.

Never again
. He snatched the wand and scepter from his bag before sliding it under the bed with their other luggage, remembering how he had left his casting implements in a room the last time he had really needed them.
I’m keeping these in my boot.

He walked around the bed, peered through the dirty glass of the window, then turned to Valyrie, casting uneasy glances between her and the bed. “I don’t expect—”

“No need to be silly, Lae. We’ve slept next to one another before. Why would this be any different?”

He nodded.

“Besides,” she tossed her bag onto the bed, “it was you who stopped things from becoming too serious the last time, if you don’t recall.”

“I just wanted to be clear, to put you at ease.”

She laughed, then shook her head. “Nonsense.”

“Well, that’s settled.” He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled one of his spellbooks from his pack. “I suppose you’ll want to get some sleep. Will my reading keep you awake?”

“Actually,” she said, falling on the edge of the bed, “I’d much rather learn a little about magic. You said that you could teach me, right?”

“Yes, but it’s late, and you’ll need to be fresh for the morning.”

“Can’t you fix that?”

He furrowed his brow. “Fix that? Fix what, exactly?”

“My tiredness. Use a spell to restore me, to make me feel as if I’ve slept.”

“Well, yes, I could.” He folded his arms. “What makes you want to learn magic, anyway? I can’t deny its allure, but what specifically?”

“What? I cannot be curious?” she asked, smiling. “When I met you, I saw an opportunity to learn how to cast those spells I read about in my books. Will you teach me?”

“Very well, but it’s not something to be undertaken lightly. So long as you realize that, we can proceed.” He reached into his boot and handed her his beginner wand. “This is a wand, the most basic of casting implements.”

She ran her fingers along the shaft, examining the intricate carvings of runic symbols. “What’s its purpose?”

“To hold your attention while you concentrate. To prepare and cast a spell, you require concentration, an utterance, and an implement like a wand. All of those things come together and manifest into an event—a spell.”

She stood. “What will I learn first? Fire? Lightning?”

“Not so fast.” He chuckled. “You must learn to crawl before you can walk. First, I shall teach you of the dreaded vibrancy illusion.”

“Dreaded?”

He laughed. “My sister hated it. I can still see the look on her face when I last practiced with her—a grimace of disdain for the simpler aspects of magic.”

“Did you train her?”