The Consuls of the Vicariate amob-2

by Brian Kittrell

  When they arrived at the bedraggled church, Valyrie’s hand slipped down his arm and clasped his hand. He gave her some resistance when she entered his room, but she pulled him the rest of the way through the door before closing it. Once inside, Laedron felt his back against the wall and her kiss on his lips. Then, he noticed her fingers slowly running through his hair and caressing the side of his face. Her other hand stroked his shoulder then slid down the side of his body.

  The drink has gotten to her, taken control, he thought when her hand reached his waistband. “No, not like this.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, the wine adding an unusual accent to her speech. He could tell she wanted him, but he feared that the alcohol might have heightened her lust instead of her affection.

  “Just… not like this.”

  She backed away, looking ashamed. “You don’t desire me?”

  “Nothing like that.” Laedron shook his head, walked over to the bed, and sat on the edge. “If it happens, I want it to be something special for both of us, something we’ll remember in the morning and for the rest of our lives. I don’t want to be too hasty.”

  She sat next to him. “It’s all right, Lae. Really, it’s-”

  “No.” He took her hand in his and kissed it. “I care for you, and I don’t want what we have to be ruined by a night of carelessness; I don’t ever want regret coming to mind when you look my way. Not ever.”

  She nodded, then pressed her hands against his chest, causing him to lie back until his head hit the pillow. His eyes fixed on the ceiling, he felt Valyrie crawl up alongside, then she rested her head above his heart.

  “If you’ll do nothing else, hold me close, Sorcerer.”

  He lay with his arm wrapped about her shoulders, holding her tight. Unable to judge the time, he decided to stay until he felt tired and could fall asleep, but the feeling never came.

  19

  Old Stories

  Valyrie stirred at his side when the dawn light beamed into her face. The stained glass subdued the light, but it was clearly enough to rouse her from her sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she arched her back and stretched her limbs. Then, her eyes met his, and shock filled them.

  “What… what happened?” she asked.

  Laedron grinned. “Nothing to be ashamed of, for we’ve only slumbered here. You wanted more. Well, the wine took control once we returned, to be perfectly honest.”

  “You must think I’m a fool.” She sat up and straightened her clothes.

  Laedron leaned over and put his arm around her. “Not at all. I would never think that about you. Drunk, perhaps, but not a fool.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “This is so embarrassing.”

  He turned her to face him. “There’s no reason to feel humiliated. I…” Say something. I can’t say how I truly feel. What if it pushes her away? Could it push her away?

  “Yes, Lae?”

  “I…” Just say it already. “It may seem silly to you, since we haven’t known one another for long, but… I care for you deeply, Val. There’s something about you I find impossible to resist, and though I haven’t felt this feeling before, it’s unmistakable.”

  His anxiety rising, he watched her sit in silence until he could take no more. “Please, you must say something.”

  She blinked rapidly, then smiled. “I feel the same for you.”

  He sighed in relief. “I’m glad. It makes it easier to bear.”

  She gave him a concerned look. “Anything besides that on your mind?”

  “I didn’t sleep much last night. In fact, I haven’t slept at all.”

  “Anxious about my being next to you all night?”

  “No, not at all,” he said, caressing her hand. “It’s something else.”

  “You can tell me, Lae. Anything at all.”

  “I don’t know what to say, really. I’ve been awake all night, yet I’m not tired in the least. In fact, I feel more refreshed and rested than ever. The wine, too. It had no effect. I drank nearly three goblets, and nothing.”

  Confusion riddled her face. “I wonder… wait.” She looked past him, and when Laedron turned, he saw the Farrah Harridan book on the nightstand. Snatching it up, she flipped through the book. Then she said, “Here it is. This part is entitled ‘Rituals of Wizardry.’”

  The ceremony called for an ancient essence. Once it had been acquired, the recipient was taken to a grove of standing stones, and the ritual was done. Imbuing one of their own with the essence, the druids proclaimed that, from that moment hence, he would be a wizard, one with the magic. He would take on the qualities of magic itself; he would be restless, impervious to toxins, and needing little sustenance. Flowing through him like water in the river, magic would embody his existence. Only one step remained for his full transformation, the final ritual bestowed upon them by their father’s father-the Font.

  “How can this be?” Laedron asked. “I’ve had no rituals performed upon me in dark, druidic circles.”

  “Jurgen did something to you to stop your death,” Valyrie said. “He used one of the soulstones, and we don’t know who, or what, was contained there.”

  “Does it say how long this is supposed to last?”

  “The book doesn’t give a frame of time. It could be permanent.”

  Laedron collapsed onto the bed. “Permanent?” He let out a growl.

  “We should go to the Arcanists and see what they can tell us.”

  “No, we must find Jurgen.”

  “He’ll return to us this evening. Knowing Demetrius Hale, we won’t get many more opportunities to speak with him.”

  “All right.” He stood. “If you think it’s worth it.”

  When Laedron entered the common room, Marac and Brice were sitting at the table. They both smiled when Valyrie stepped out behind him.

  She was clearly upset at their cocky grins because she said, “I’ll get ready,” and ran into her room, slamming the door behind her.

  Laedron shook his head and sat beside Marac. “It’s not what you think.”

  “A pity,” Marac replied. “I should have expected as much, though.”

  “Must we talk about this?”

  “No, not if you have something else to discuss.” Marac looked over at Brice and laughed.

  “Jurgen’s made me into a wizard.”

  Brice and Marac exchanged odd looks.

  “What?” Marac asked.

  “With the spell, the one you asked him to cast, he put something inside me, the essence of whoever, or whatever, was in that stone.”

  “And how did you come to this conclusion?”

  Laedron clasped his hands on the table. “The book Valyrie has describes the ritual. The wording differs, but it sounds eerily familiar.”

  “I’m so sorry, Lae,” Marac said, his head drooping.

  “Nothing can be done about it now, not unless we find out more from the Arcanists.”

  “Do you think they’ll have an answer?”

  “Unlikely, but maybe they can point us in the right direction.” Laedron stood with Valyrie’s return. “Ready?”

  Marac and Brice followed him out, and Laedron turned to Valyrie. “Can you show us the way?”

  She nodded.

  * * *

  Arriving at the row houses across from the university grounds, Laedron breathed in the scent of fresh cut grass. The sounds of birds chirping and young people talking were thick in the air. It’s as if the war never touched the lives of the people around this district. How lucky they are.

  Valyrie stopped before a red brick building marked with the number four cast in gold. “This is it,” she said, climbing the cement steps to the front door.

  Laedron joined her on the landing and knocked. A few moments later, the door opened to reveal a man clad in red and black, apparently the garments of a Heraldan university scholar. The tunic was stitched in such a way that the clothes had a repetitive diamond pattern throughout, the center of each diamond adorned with a small black embroidered Azur
a’s Star.

  “Demetrius Hale, I presume?” Laedron asked.

  The man removed the cob pipe from his mouth. “Jurgen’s friends?”

  “We’ve come to seek answers from you.”

  Demetrius chuckled heartily. “I shall endeavor to help you, but a true scholar knows only that he truly knows nothing. Won’t you come in?”

  Undaunted by the man’s peculiar statement, Laedron followed him inside. The entry parlor immediately reminded Laedron of Ismerelda’s house in Westmarch-the decadent furniture, the rich floor coverings, and the pleasant scent. Laedron reckoned that the man was wealthy, a senior member of the powerful Arcanist guild.

  In a wide, open room past the parlor, Demetrius took a seat in a plush leather chair behind a massive oaken desk. Papers occupied the entire surface of the desk, but they all seemed to have a place. Nothing was strewn or scattered, and most everything was arranged in perfect stacks.

  “Won’t you tell me more of your dilemma?” Demetrius asked, pulling a fiery stick from the hearth and lighting his pipe from it. “I must have driven Jurgen to madness with my questions, but he could answer none of them.”

  Laedron sat across from him. “We seek information on the Uxidin. We need to locate and speak to them about a sensitive matter.”

  “What matter is that?”

  Laedron didn’t want Jurgen to get in trouble for saving his life, so he said, “Gustav and Andolis were Zyvdredi.”

  “Yes, quite an unfortunate happening. Glad the church got that one sorted out before it was too late.”

  “Yes, well, Andolis trapped someone in this onyx ring,” Laedron said, gesturing to Brice. “Since the Uxidin are the most gifted magicians in the world, we seek one to tell us what can be done.”

  Demetrius narrowed his eyes. “Trapped someone inside a ring? That’s preposterous.”

  “I cannot say if it’s true, for I do not know,” Laedron replied. “Perhaps you could take a look at it.”

  Taking the ring from Brice, Demetrius produced a loupe and peered through it. “Interesting. Yes, very interesting indeed.”

  “You see something?”

  “Glints of energy are sparking through the crystal formations. That’s what gives it the unnatural glow.” Demetrius tilted his seeing lens, examining the gem on each side. “Tiny symbols.”

  Laedron leaned over the desk. “Symbols?”

  “Yes,” Demetrius said, handing over the ring and his lens. “If you’ll look closely at the edges, you should see small runic characters scribed along the perimeter.”

  “I see them.” Laedron squinted through the lens, awestruck by the meticulous precision of the foreign lettering, then returned the seeing glass and pocketed the ring.

  “I’ve never seen anything like them.” Demetrius took another puff from his pipe. “Far too small and precise to be made with any set of tools I know or any jeweler I know for that matter. Do you know who is purportedly trapped within this stone?”

  “We have suspicion that it’s Daris the Second.”

  “Daris the Grand Vicar?” The man’s eyes grew wide with surprise.

  “One and the same,” Laedron replied. “If we’re to free him or learn more of this, we must find an Uxidin. That is, unless you know of someone else.”

  “No, unfortunately. The trapping of souls in gems is a thing of legend, an evil practice performed by the Necromancers of old.”

  “Then, do you know where we can find an Uxidin?”

  Demetrius scratched his chin with the mouthpiece of his pipe. “No, but I know someone who might. If he cannot, there are few who could.”

  “Who?”

  “His name is Cedric Tamden, but I can’t say how much help he might be,” Demetrius said. “He has studied the Uxidin and Zyvdredi cultures for longer than I’ve known him, and he even possesses a few of their texts.”

  “Where can we find him?”

  Demetrius grimaced. “At the center of the university grounds is our ancient library. Deep in the lower levels, Cedric hoards his texts and artifacts, and few ever go down to visit him.”

  “He doesn’t teach classes?” Valyrie asked.

  “No, and you shall require my permission to reach the lower levels.” Demetrius took a quill and began scrawling on a scroll. “Be careful down there, by the way.”

  Laedron raised an eyebrow. “Is it dangerous?”

  “The library is the oldest structure in the city besides some of the shrines in the Ancient Quarter. When the city planners constructed the Heraldan Channel, this area became a swampland, and the library tower sank into the ground. It continued sinking for years, and eventually, the first floor became the lowest level in a series of flooded basements.

  “The consulship had little concern over the issue in the early years of the church, but we Arcanists convinced them when we got tired of waiting. We threatened to halt all transportation to Azuroth, and that got their attention. It took quite some time to get the water out, but now, the lower levels are dry as a bone. Of course, the structure is damaged from years of neglect, so tread carefully.”

  “Thank you,” Laedron said, taking the scroll. “When would be the best time to go?”

  “He rises early and works long hours, constantly in pursuit of the location of something he calls The Bloodmyr Tome, a record of the times before Azura, before most written records. You should be able to find him there now.” Demetrius relit his pipe and puffed it a few times. “Best of luck.”

  Laedron led the way out, across the street, and onto the university grounds. He easily picked out the library building. It had an archaic design which differed significantly from the other university buildings. The walls were built of smooth stone, which had darkened over the centuries, and dimples and cracks indicated many years of weathering. Nearing the tower, he could see moss clinging to it, and he noticed that the door set into the front of the structure seemed much newer than the rest of it.

  The marble faces of the other buildings appeared younger and more modern, and he attributed the presence of high-quality stone to the rise of the Arcanist guild over the centuries. They began with this simple limestone tower, improved upon it, and added buildings as they grew in wealth and power. He eyed the magnificent structure beyond the library. That is probably the latest addition, the richest of them all.

  “A brand new door on a place like this?” Marac asked, apparently noticing the same thing Laedron had.

  “Likely to replace one several stories beneath the ground.” Laedron glanced at him. “Demetrius did say that the building has sunk over time. The first door is well beneath our feet.” Laedron opened the door, and Brice closed it behind them.

  A man looked up from a tome and asked, “Might I help you?”

  “Yes,” Laedron replied, approaching him with the scroll in hand. “Master Hale has sent us to speak with Cedric Tamden.”

  “What?” The librarian snatched the paper from Laedron’s hand. “Truly?”

  “Yes, we need his help.”

  “Good luck with that. He said he’s not to be disturbed… ah, he always says he’s not to be disturbed. Grumpy old codger, that Tamden.”

  “Can we see him?”

  The librarian shrugged. “If you want, I care not. You have permission, so go right ahead. The door in the back.” He pointed over his shoulder.

  After giving the man a nod, Laedron went to the door and opened it. The door heaved a sigh, and Laedron looked back at the librarian.

  “Oh, worry not. It does that if it’s been closed long enough.”

  Entering the passage, Laedron led the descent down a set of stairs. “Hale said the final level, didn’t he?”

  Valyrie nodded.

  He followed the stone steps, spiraling downward until he reached a dark landing and could proceed no further. The only exit was a solid oaken door, and presumably behind it he would find Cedric Tamden. With the creak of wood, the door opened at Laedron’s push.

  Inside, he saw the back of a man crouched
in the middle of the room, his tunic deep red and adorned with designs identical to the one that Demetrius Hale had been wearing. Strands of gray hair draped over his tunic in the back, and the man whispered quietly to himself.

  “Cedr-”

  “I told you I wasn’t to be disturbed!” the man snarled without turning. “I can’t abide these constant interruptions.”

  “Master Tamden.” Laedron stepped into the room. “We’ve come to ask some questions. Master Hale sent us.”

  “Hale? He’s too busy with his school and the guild to worry about my research.” Cedric looked over his shoulder. “Why would he send you?”

  “We seek answers, and he thought you might be able to help.”

  “Me? Ridiculous,” Cedric replied, turning away again. “No one cares about my research. No one.”

  “I need your help. Something terrible has happened.”

  “Terrible? Perhaps you should speak plainly, young man.”

  Laedron crept forward and pulled the onyx ring out of his pocket. “We believe we carry the essence of Daris the Second, his soul trapped within this ring.”

  Cedric stood and turned to face him. “Daris? Then, the stories are true, and it may yet exist.”

  “What may yet exist?” Laedron asked.

  “The Bloodmyr Tome.”

  “A book?”

  “The book. The ancient book of knowledge held secret by the Uxidin, an artifact and quite possibly a holy text. Some say it is a historical record, but I have come upon information that speaks to the contrary.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “A book of miracles. An ancient spellbook, young man, a tome of magic to rival any others seen before or since. Most importantly, an outline of the ancient rituals of the Uxidin, the history behind their direct link to the Creator, and much, much more.”

  “You would want such a book?” Valyrie asked. “The Arcanists don’t deal in magic.”

  Cedric scoffed. “I only wish to possess it for its significance. Such a piece would be a prized addition to the guild’s assortment of rare and wondrous artifacts.”