The Immortals of Myrdwyer (3 page)

“No, not exactly, I merely tutored her in addition to my mother’s teachings.” He drew his scepter from his boot. “The vibrancy illusion is nothing more than the conjuration of harmless light. It’s mostly useless, but it is a spell you must learn and master.”

Raising the scepter, he chanted the words and swayed the rod. A pale green light dripped from the ruby. Maintaining the spell, he drew shapes in the air that briefly remained before fading away. Her eyes lit up at the spectacle, then he released the spell. He repeated the incantation several times until she could vocalize it without his help.

Nothing happened when she said the spell—not a spark, glimmer, or glint. She shook the wand violently. “Why isn’t this thing working?”

Laedron dodged out of the way of the wand. “It won’t work on its own, for a wand is only a tool; the user must be skilled in its use.”

“What am I doing wrong?”

“You’re not concentrating.”

“I am.”

“You’re not,” he insisted. “Introversion. You must go within yourself, to the depths of your very being. Summoning magic is the act of going against reality to affect change.”

She nodded, then started again. He paced in circles around her while repeating the incantation until she could say the words without his help. As a sparkle of light appeared at the end of the wand, he smiled.

She gasped, her face full of excitement, but she must have lost her concentration because the light faded away. “I did it! Did you see?”

He felt as Ismerelda must have upon seeing a student succeed.
The apprentice has become the teacher
. “Yes. Very good. Now, again.”

She took a deep breath and exhaled, then extended the wand. Chanting the words, she waved the wand to and fro. A glimmer of light appeared just beyond the tip. He noticed her face turning red, the veins in her neck tensing beneath the skin, and a sway in her hips.
The headache’s coming on strong now, but she resists.
Watching her, he became amazed at how fiercely she fought the urge to end the spell.
Such vigor. Good.

“Let go,” he said. “Let it go before you lose consciousness.”

Releasing the spell, she fell to her knees, dropped the wand, and grabbed the sides of her head with both hands. “Unbearable!”

He crouched beside her and put his hand on her back, a move that Ismerelda and his mother would probably have frowned upon had they seen it.
‘A mage must suffer in solitude. Otherwise, he will never learn to cope,’ Ma had said. Can I not show her some compassion? Some understanding? Is there only one true way to instruct a student?

Though obviously in pain, she smiled at his touch. “I can only imagine what you must feel when you conjure your spells, the ones far greater than this.”

“It gets easier.” He helped her to her feet. “With practice, you build up a tolerance. While you continue your learning, that tolerance becomes a resistance, and you learn to forge through the pain.”

“How long does it take?”

“After a few weeks, you’ll learn to anticipate the headaches and stop before they grow too intense, and as you go along, you’ll find the pain easier to bear.”

“Weeks?” She lowered the wand.

“Does that disappoint you?”

“I only mean to say that we may need to take it slow. The pain is greater than any I’ve ever experienced.”

“’Tis only the beginning.” He opened his spellbook and tore away the pages with his writing, leaving only the blank ones. “Take your notes in this. You need it more than I do.” Lifting the cover of one of Ismerelda’s spellbooks, he slid his old notes inside.

* * *

With the morning light pouring through the disheveled curtains, Laedron cast a spell to reinvigorate Valyrie’s body, then exited into the hall. He found Marac and Brice coming out of their room at the same time. “Let’s see about getting something to eat.”

Descending the stairs, Laedron detected the scent of steamed oats and fresh-cut fruit—apples, pears, and peaches, if his nostrils and memory did not betray. Upon reaching the base of the stairs, he turned and walked over to the innkeeper. “Do you offer meals for your renters?”

“Indeed. A breakfast of porridge comes with the room, but we have other things if you don’t care for the stuff.”

“Porridge?” Laedron asked, glancing at the others joining him before returning his gaze to the innkeeper. “What’s that?”

“Boiled oats.”

Laedron wrinkled his upper lip. “What other things do you have?”

“Whatever you’d like,” the innkeeper replied, gesturing at the long table. “Over there.”

Laedron nodded, then walked over to the table, sat, and retrieved three apples from a bowl. He wasn’t able to make out much of the inn the night before due to the dark, but he could tell that the innkeeper cared more about the tavern than the lodgings. The curtains didn’t have holes, the linens were clean, and the chairs and tables were in far better condition than the beds and dressers in the rooms.

Marac inspected the fruit bowl, then selected some pears. Valyrie and Brice joined them, each with a bowl of porridge in hand. Brice took the sugar, milk, and spices right after Valyrie, as if he didn’t know how boiled oats were best eaten and was merely following her lead.

Laedron unfolded the scrap of paper Jurgen had given him just before their departure from Azura. “We passed this street on the way here. Twelve Pinecrest.”

“A house?” Marac asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine, but Jurgen looked through old church ledgers and discovered that address to be the source of the books.”

“Better place than any to start,” Brice said.

“Finish up. I’m going to see if I can find anything out about the place.” Laedron rose and walked over to the innkeeper. “Are you familiar with this address?”

The innkeeper read over the scrap of paper that Laedron had produced. “Aye. A left from here, then your first right. About halfway down that street, you’ll find it.”

“Do you know what lies there?”

“Twelve Pinecrest,” the innkeeper repeated aloud, scratching the scruff of his neck. “The bakery? No, that’s nine or ten. Oh, yes. I remember now. A shop of books and paper goods. It’s been there for quite some time.”

“Ever been? Met the owner?”

“No, lad, not I.” The innkeeper scrubbed an old stain refusing to release its grip on the wooden counter. “Never been one for books, if I’m being honest.”

“My thanks,” Laedron said, folding the paper and returning to the table.

“What’d he say, Lae?” Brice asked through a mouthful of oats.

“From his recollection, it’s a bookseller. Not much else.”

“Come on, Thimble.” Marac stood. “You look like a fool eating that.”

“Do not.”

Driving his companions out of the inn like a shepherd, Laedron led them through the door and down the boulevard.

« Table of Contents
← Chapter One
|
Chapter Three →

Of Bookstores and Spellcrafting

J
ust as the innkeeper had directed, Laedron found the shop along the wide avenue, and unlike the stone buildings surrounding it on every side, the bookstore, from the base to the roof, had been built of pine timbers. The dark brown panels of its exterior stood in stark contrast to the white faces of the other buildings, and years of disrepair were evidenced by the patchwork of lumber covering holes and weak spots. Laedron reached the wooden gate fronting the property and studied the sign, a wooden oval painted with a black field behind a golden moon and stars. He knew that such placards often decorated the shops and establishments of mages.
Lasoron isn’t known for its sorcerers. Perhaps it’s just a coincidence.

“Something bothering you?” Marac asked.

Laedron gestured at the sign. “Strange to see that here. Regular merchants rarely use such symbols to mark their shops.”

“Maybe it’s customary here in Lasoron.” Marac nervously scratched his arm. “Or maybe they’re mages.”

“Be ready for anything,” Laedron said, passing through the gate. First onto the porch, he peered through the window and saw only dim shelves full of books and the glimmer of a small fire in the hearth. He pushed open the door and immediately caught the scent of old tomes and dust mixed with the smoky aroma of the fire pit. Then, his eyes met those of the man behind the counter.

“Greetings,” the man said, closing an old volume on the counter in front of him. He had hair similar in length, color, and style to Marac’s, a sandy brown, trimmed short. “I’m Shanden Grey, proprietor of this establishment. Might I interest you in a book?”

Laedron held out his hand to Valyrie. “The book, please.” After she handed it to him, Laedron walked over to the proprietor and slid the book across the counter. “I was wondering if you knew anything about this. We came across it in Azura, and its contents are a curiosity to me.”

Shanden opened the book and fixed a pair of spectacles on his nose. “Can’t say that I do, unfortunately.”

Laedron produced from his pocket the ledger that Jurgen had given him, then pulled out the sliver of paper noting the origins of the book. “It came from your shop.”

“Truly?” Shanden closely examined the book from back to front, then the ledger. “Strange. I’ve never seen it before.”