The Consuls of the Vicariate

by Brian Kittrell

“Yes, it was quite filling.”

  She took a sip of her wine, and the musicians finished the song they had been playing. “Looks like they’ll be taking a break for a while.”

  “Did you care for the tune?”

  “Yes. It’s a local favorite. It would normally have a lyricist accompanying the music, but it seems they don’t have the luxury of a singer.”

  “Would you care to try?”

  “What, sing?” She shook her head. “Oh, no, I couldn’t.”

  “I thought you were preparing to be a lyricist?”

  “Yes, but I couldn’t. Not here and now.”

  “Why not?”

  “I always preferred the writing part over the singing part, to be honest. I could never muster the courage to sing in front of a crowd.”

  “Have you ever tried?” Laedron asked.

  “Well, yes, I tried a few times. Lost my nerve just before the performance every time. She wrapped her arms around her waist. “So much has passed that it hardly seems important anymore.”

  “Nothing is more important than keeping what we hold dear alive.” He put his finger under her chin, turning her face to his. “I’d like to hear it. I truly would.”

  She swallowed the rest of her wine, nodded slowly, and pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket. “All right. If you want.”

  Valyrie stood and walked toward the stage, then gave Laedron a glance before approaching the band. Following a brief conversation, the lute player seemed to have convinced the others to participate because they nodded approvingly. She walked with them to the stage, then stood in front of the band. Looking out over the crowd, she wavered and appeared nervous, so Laedron gave her a nod of encouragement.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the band, and they started playing. Laedron became fascinated at the tune, which began with a somber prelude, but evolved into spirited melody when she sang.

  Laedron sat awestruck by the flawlessness of her voice, every note sang with perfect tone and inflection. The passion behind her words sent chills racing down his spine, a sensation he rarely felt with music, a feeling not unlike the one he had experienced when they had kissed. The sweet melody completed the picture of her true inner beauty, and his desire for her gentle embrace heightened.

  When the song ended, a silence filled the room before the patrons gave her an ovation. Clapping his hands, Laedron rose to honor her singing, and she returned to the table, her cheeks flush and her eyes wet. The applause ceased only when she gave them a bow and took her seat.

  “Quite a performance,” Laedron said, scooting closer to her. “You have a wonderful, no, a magnificent singing voice.”

  “Thank you.” She hid her face, seemingly out of shyness.

  “What’s wrong, Val? Did you make a mistake? If you did, I don’t think anyone noticed.”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  Laedron took her hand, trying to do something to help. “What is it, then?”

  “The validation. I never thought it could feel so good.” She brushed her hand across her cheek.

  He knew the feeling. It was the same sensation he felt the first time someone called him sorcerer, and it was akin to the excitement that had stirred within him when he defeated Gustav. He raised her hand to his face and gently kissed the back of it.

  “What’s that for?” she asked.

  “Appreciation.” He glanced at the band when they began another song, then gazed at her again. “Would you care to dance?”

  Caught up in the moment, Laedron had forgotten that he didn’t know much about dancing. In fact, he didn’t know the first thing about it, and the only time he’d ever done it before was when his ma or sister asked. Then, he wondered how well Valyrie could dance. I bet she’s experienced. Maybe she doesn’t want to.

  She nodded, and Laedron swallowed deeply. He rose and escorted her to an open area of the floor. Thankfully, the band played a song with a moderately slow tempo. He drew her close to his body and placed his hand on her hip. She rested her head on his shoulder. He held her hand close to his heart and swayed with the rhythm.

  Closing his eyes, he inhaled her scent, detecting the hint of perfume on her skin. Jasmine? No matter. It’s not important. Blocking out everything except the music and her touch, Laedron felt as if they had escaped all of Bloodmyr in favor of their own nook of the universe, a place where time stood still and no one from the outside could enter. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had been so relaxed, and he didn’t want it to end.

  When the song ended, he opened his eyes. “That was nice.”

  “Very nice,” she said, taking half a step back and smiling.

  He walked to their table, still grasping her hand, and the serving woman refilled their goblets. They sipped wine quietly for a few moments before Marac came over.

  “Enjoying yourselves?” Marac asked, his words slurred slightly.

  Laedron nodded. “I can see you’re having fun. Where’s Brice?”

  “Left a while ago. Said he had something to take care of.”

  “Left? Just like that?” Laedron asked.

  “Yeah.” Marac let out a hiccup. “Sorry.”

  “Looks like we’d better get you back.”

  “No need to leave early on my part, my friend. I think I’ll head on back, but don’t trouble yourselves.”

  “You sure?”

  Marac slapped him on the shoulder. “Absolutely. I’ve found my way back before with far more than this to drink. I’ll be fine.”

  Laedron smiled when Marac turned away and weaved toward the door. “Looks like he’s lost his tolerance for fine liquor.”

  “Seems like you haven’t,” Valyrie said.

  He furrowed his brow and stared at his half-empty goblet of wine. How many have I had? Two-and-a-half now and no effect? No sign of inebriation? “How do you feel, Val?”

  “Oh, quite well, thank you,” she said, giving him a smile that he attributed, at least in part, to the alcohol.

  Laedron offered his hand after dropping a few coins on the table. “Want to get out of here?”

  Taking his hand, Valyrie stood, stumbled over her chair, and balanced herself. “Sorry, stood up too fast.”

  “It’s perfectly all right.”

  Exiting into the street, Laedron kept her hand wrapped under his arm and escorted her along the road back to the Shimmering Dawn. Although Valyrie was clearly intoxicated, she had consumed less wine than he had, and he felt no ill effects whatsoever. In fact, despite the late hour, he still felt well-rested and fresh.

  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 presse
d 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.

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  ← Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Twenty →

  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 Azura’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 sav
ing 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.”