The Lightless Labyrinth - Excerpt 8

VIII

The mercenary captain laughed after the knight accepted Jonn into his party.

"What sort of a group are you puttin' together, Andarrion?  He's barely more than a lad." The captain turned his scarred face to regard the tanned woman who sat opposite him. "An’ speakin’ o’ which, there’s a few more here who don’t seem man enough to be comin' along."

The swordswoman regarded him with cool eyes, but a slightly raised eyebrow was her only reaction.

"Well, milady?" said the knight. "Who are you?"

The woman stood, tall and graceful. "My name is Myrio Immyrio Velaasa," she said, with a bow.

There were several gasps, and the sardonic grin on the mercenary captain’s face fell into slack-jawed disbelief.

"You can’t be..."

"Why not?" she said. "I am here, and I am who I say I am."

Jonn felt his own jaw hanging open, and with an effort he closed it.  Myrio Immyrio Velaasa.  The greatest living master of the sword, or so the stories said.  Jonn had grown up with Reena telling him those stories, and there were dozens of them.

"I’ll believe it when I see it" said the captain with a dismissive wave.

"Yes," said Myrio. "You will."

"So you are the greatest living swordsman?" said the barbarian with a chuckle. "Or swordswoman, I suppose.  Luckily for me, I wield an axe."

"Enough," said Sir Garath. "I for one am honoured to have such a one as you along as company. What do you seek within the Lightless Labyrinth?"

"You have heard of my former mentor?" she said.

"Farrigo Delaaso?" said the knight.  "His legend rivals your own.  He disappeared in the Labyrinth, what was it?  Twenty years ago?"

"Another one seeking a dead person?" said the thief in exasperation.  "This is getting ridiculous."

"That is not my goal," Immyrio said, her lip curving in amusement.  "The knight almost had the right of it, when he said that Farrigo's legend rivals my own.  His legend far exceeds mine, and that is the problem.  He went into the Hellwarren, and did not come out.  I plan on going in, and returning to tell the tale.  I would have my own story eclipse his, and live on for a thousand years after he is forgotten."

"I want no glory-seekers," said the knight.

"You want me, though," she said, touching her hand to the long, thin blade at her hip.  "With this in my hand, I am an artist.  There are none deadlier, and none better that you could take with you."

"Aye," Sir Garath nodded.  "I believe you."