The Consuls of the Vicariate amob-2

by Brian Kittrell

  He began writing in his own spellbook. In times of immediate danger, a sorcerer must be prepared for any possibility. Even when a mage finds himself trapped with no obvious means of egress, he must find a way out. Thus, I propose to study such a means by use of magic.

  Below the entry, he drew three circles. Then, he scribbled a black dot in the center of each one, and gazed at them for some time. Connecting the dots with a line, he put his head in his hands and considered the shapes.

  An idea jumped into his head, and Laedron flipped open the tomes and searched any similar or related spells. With four books laid out before him, he glanced at the pages, then began writing again.

  First, the subject must be made incorporeal. The lack of physical substance would make escape far easier. Second, the location to which one escapes must be well known and familiar-and probably nearby. Third, travel between the points should be instantaneous.

  He stopped. Instantaneous. Instant travel? From one place to another?

  Using a logical flow, he combined words of power of similar spells until he had produced a formulaic representation of the effect he desired. He stood in the center of the room and presented his rod. He focused upon himself and concentrated on the spell, but then, he stopped.

  “What in the hells am I doing?” he asked aloud. He had been about to cast a new and unproven spell on himself, with the possibilities unknown and potentially destructive.

  Spotting an empty candlestick on his nightstand, he focused on it instead. The candlestick sparkled with energy as he chanted, then it disappeared and reappeared a few feet away, hovering in the air. It plummeted to the floor with the clank of silver against stone. He crouched and examined the candlestick. He found no noticeable differences in it.

  He concentrated on the candlestick once more and repeated the spell, focusing on the great hall at the bottom of the stairs. With a flick of his wrist, the candlestick disappeared in a sparkle of white light. He quickly descended the stairs and found the candleholder a few feet from the spot he had tried to send it.

  Now, to test it for distance. He closed his eyes and pictured the common room of the former Shimmering Dawn headquarters. Casting the spell again, Laedron watched the glints of light on the silver until the candleholder vanished.

  He took to the streets. After running for some time, he stopped in front of the old chapel. His heartbeat slowed, and he couldn’t feel the burn in his muscles. In fact, he felt well rested even though he had just finished a run across the city. What other surprises shall I face from this rejuvenation spell?

  Laedron entered the chapel and searched the common hall. The coals of the fireplace had grown cold without someone tending them, and the place seemed more deplorable without people and activity. He located the candlestick beneath the dining table and closely inspected it.

  Finding the candlestick to be pristine, he sighed. The moment of truth. He knew that he had to cast the spell on himself, and it had to work to be useful for escape. After all, moving a candlestick across an entire city would give cheap thrills to a crowd, but the performance had little utilitarian value. He had to know if the spell could carry people across such distances.

  He took a deep breath to steel his resolve and firmly grasped the scepter. Closing his eyes, he recited the incantation, waving his rod to and fro and imagining the great hall of the Shimmering Dawn across the city. It must be somewhere I've seen before, somewhere I'm familiar with. Though he didn't know if it would help, he tried to center his concentration on a spot above the ground. He would be more than a little upset if he appeared in the hall with half of his body in the stone floor or a wall. Once he was confident, he flicked his wrist.

  The world was suddenly replaced by a torrent of swirling color, but he could see the buildings along the route flash as he passed. His entire body felt as though it was being yanked in ten different directions, and he thought his head might spin off at any moment. He caught a glimpse of the morning light before he vomited the contents of his stomach onto a beautiful rug, then his body heaved uncontrollably. Eventually, he lay on the floor, not even caring if his face was in the vomit, and he savored the cool stone against his cheek. The flashing colors still clouding his vision confused him and made it impossible to tell if he had arrived in the real world or somewhere else entirely, and he couldn’t recognize the walls or the floor. Maker… where am I? What have I done?

  24

  Upon the Sea of Pillars

  " Lae! What in the heavens are you doing?”

  Laedron couldn't respond since his body was still busy convulsing and trying to expel food that was no longer there to expel.

  Marac crouched next to him, putting a hand on Laedron's shoulder. “Lae, are you all right?”

  “What was that?” Valyrie asked.

  “I don't know,” Marac replied. “There was a flash of light, and he just… appeared.”

  “Appeared?” Stepping over the vomit, Valyrie fell to her knees on the other side of Laedron. “Lae? Can you hear me?”

  “I… made it.” When he heard his own voice, Laedron likened it to a handful of gravel being ground into power.

  “Made it? What in the hells is that supposed to mean?” Marac, with Valyrie's help, rolled Laedron onto his back. “What have you done?”

  “A new spell.”

  “New spell? What kind of spell?”

  Laedron turned his head and spat the foulness out of his mouth. Brice handed him a mug, and he took a swig. He used the first mouthful to rinse his mouth and spit, then he swallowed the next few.

  “I call it 'instant escape.’”

  Marac furrowed his brow. “Instant escape, eh? Looks more like ‘instant regurgitation.’”

  After taking another sip from the cup, Laedron felt his belly rumble, then he vomited again, doing his best to avoid hitting Valyrie or Marac. Afterward, he lay flat on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. “Looks like I've overdone it this time.”

  “That's an understatement,” Marac said, reaching to lift him.

  “No, no.” Laedron waved his hand and wriggled away from Marac. “Not yet. Can't get up.”

  “Well, I hope you're pleased with yourself, Lae.” Marac folded his arms and stood. “We're supposed to be leaving today, and you go and do something like this?”

  “He's been restless,” Valyrie said. “Completely unable to sleep. We can't fault him for trying to find something constructive to do with his time. Oh, Lae, I should’ve stayed with you.”

  Perhaps she hasn’t grown cold to me.

  Brice shook his head. “Yes, he's found a new way to summon up two days' worth of meals and decorate the floors with them.”

  “This is no time for jokes.” Laedron turned onto his side in anticipation of more heaving, but the dizzy feeling was beginning to subside. “Oh, my head!”

  “Do you think you'll be fit to travel by midday?” Marac asked.

  Laedron started to nod, but thought better of moving his head again. “I hope so.”

  After lying on the floor for several minutes, he pressed his palms to the floor and raised himself to his knees. The dizziness had subsided, and he was left with a light-headed sensation. “Such is the way with progress. I’ll have to adjust the spell.”

  “You intend on trying this again?” Marac threw up his hands. “What if you suffer the same effects? Or worse?”

  “I’m a sorcerer, Marac. This is the sort of thing sorcerers do.”

  “I can’t see how anyone could find this attractive,” Marac replied, glancing at the pool of vomit.

  “We study magic and learn its secrets. The spells that I can perform now had to be learned and studied, and I cannot accept that what exists now is the only possibility. New magic remains uncovered, just as I’ve demonstrated.”

  Marac sighed. “Would you at least tell someone before you attempt something like this again?”

  Looking at Marac, Laedron felt some measure of guilt for having performed the spell without telling them. But th
ey were asleep. I didn’t want to disturb anyone. He nodded, accepting the fact that his friends deserved to know his intentions. “Very well. I promise.”

  “Good.” Marac helped him to his feet. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Care for anything to eat?”

  Laedron held up his hand, imagining what effect food might have on his upset stomach. “No, not just now. Perhaps in a while.”

  “Upstairs, then. A change of clothes and a wash would do you some good,” Marac said.

  * * *

  By the time the sun stood directly overhead, Laedron had taken a bath, changed his clothes, and eaten a light meal-soup and some greens. Hearing a coach stop outside, Laedron and the others went to the open doorway to see who had arrived.

  The black cab had a solitary Azuran Star on the door. After a moment, Demetrius Hale hopped down from the back. Laedron dipped his head. “Master Hale, I had no idea you would be personally seeing us off.”

  “Of course. I’ll go with you to the docks to ensure you have no problems getting aboard your ship.”

  “Then, if you don’t mind, we’ll gather our things.” Laedron ascended the stairs, gathered his things, and met the others by the cab. The coachman loaded their belongings into the trunk.

  Laedron spotted Piers and Caleb on the front steps. “Thank you for your hospitality,” Laedron said, shaking their hands. “Without you, we would not have been able to complete our mission here.”

  “Without you, we would still be milling around in the dark.” Piers handed Laedron a small leather pouch. “Take this with our thanks. May it help you on your journey.”

  “What is it?”

  “A bit of money we were able to save up. It’s not much, but perhaps it shall be enough.”

  Laedron eyed the pouch, then tried to hand it back. “We cannot take this. The order needs-”

  “You’ve given our chapter everything that we need, Sorcerer. Now, take this charity as a symbol of our appreciation.”

  Laedron nodded, then returned to the cab and climbed inside. He gave the Shimmering Dawn headquarters one last glance as the coach lurched into motion, then he prayed that the Creator would protect them in the days to come.

  “Didn’t you want to say anything to Caleb?” Laedron asked, glancing at Brice.

  “Already did. We had a long talk this morning.” Brice waved to Caleb through the window. “I hope things go well for them here.”

  “They will,” Marac said. “I’m sure of it.”

  Laedron nodded. “With the Zyvdredi threat gone, they should be free and clear. What step they take next will dictate their future, but we’ve done all that we can for them.”

  “You’ve done more than you had to,” Hale said. “More than I would have ever expected you to do.”

  “Why do you say that?” Laedron asked.

  “A Sorbian Sorcerer? Coming all this way to free us from an unknown enemy? The theocracy would have lost the war, and you easily could have left us to the path of destruction. Instead, you came and did away with Andolis.”

  “No, we couldn’t have sat idly by. Scores of our countrymen would have been killed, many more than we’ve already lost. My presence here is self-interest as much as anything else.”

  “We can be glad that your self-interest has matched up well with our mutual interests, then,” Demetrius said, smiling.

  The coach rolled to a halt near the docks, and Laedron caught a glimpse of the ship that would carry them to Nessadene, the largest city in the south of Lasoron. Laedron read the name painted on the side of the vessel. The Galerunner. Opening the door, the coachman extended his hand for each of them as they departed the cab, then stacked their bags on the pier.

  “You’ve been a great help, Master Hale. We appreciate this special favor,” Laedron said.

  “And you, too. The ship’s sound and shall carry you swiftly to your destination.” Demetrius produced a pipe and chewed on the end, presumably due to a lack of fire to light it. “May Azura, the Creator, or the Fates, whichever you believe in, take you safely there.”

  Laedron raised an eyebrow. “A scholar such as yourself doesn’t know to whom or what sorcerers pay their respects? The Creator, of course.”

  “The Creator, then. Customs and culture were always lost on me, my young friend. I apologize.”

  “No need. Farewell,” Laedron replied, picking up his bag. Glancing back at the street by which they had come, Laedron thought of Jurgen and the trials and tribulations of their journey together. Perhaps he couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye this last time. Then he glimpsed the white horses drawing a white coach coming over the hill above the docks, and his heart warmed.

  The Grand Vicar’s carriage stopped next to him, and Jurgen stepped down from the cab and embraced Laedron.

  “I thought you wouldn’t make it,” Laedron said.

  Jurgen grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. And I have one last thing to give you.”

  “What else could you give me that you haven’t already?”

  Jurgen returned to his carriage, retrieved a scroll, and handed it to Laedron. “A ledger.”

  “A ledger? What’s this for?”

  “I spent quite a while this morning sorting through all of our old records. This ledger indicates the place from which the Farrah Harridan books originated, an address in Lasoron that may prove useful.” Jurgen grinned. “It’s yours. Farewell, my friend.”

  “Farewell.” Laedron turned away and ascended the gangplank, giving Jurgen one last wave.

  Valyrie hugged Jurgen before joining Laedron on the ship. Once they had all boarded, the crew pulled up the footbridge and untied the vessel from the dock.

  A young man sporting the uniform of an Arcanist scholar approached. “Greetings. I am Bannelt, day navigator of this ship. Being that the vessel and the water upon which we sail belong to the Arcanists, I would be the one you should see for any question or concern.”

  “Day navigator?” Marac asked.

  Bannelt nodded. “We have a day navigator and a night navigator, for we cannot watch the sea all day and night without rest.”

  Seems I would have been fit for that job, Laedron mused, thinking of his sleepless nights over the past week. “You’re the captain and the day navigator? You seem rather young for those tasks.”

  “And I might point out that you seem a bit young, the lot of you, to be our blessed saviors.” The young man grinned with a certain arrogance. “I would have thought that my peers wouldn’t discriminate based merely upon my age, and especially not without seeing me in action.”

  “Point taken,” Marac said, nudging Laedron.

  “I meant no offense, and I apologize. I only mean to say that every ship’s captain that we’ve met thus far has been well along in years.”

  “Perhaps that is a necessity on the open sea,” Bannelt said, gesturing for them to follow when he turned. “On the Sea of Pillars, you only need be gifted in the navigation symbols which guide the way. The helmsman is my second-in-command, and he is skilled in the handling of the ship and crew.”

  Laedron glanced at the large wheel on the bridge, the man behind it carefully piloting the boat on its departure from the dock. “I’m intrigued to hear more about these symbols.”

  “I can reveal little about them, unfortunately.”

  “That’s something I wanted to ask you about. Why must the Arcanists be so secretive? Why the special navigational code?”

  “To protect the ruins of Azuroth and the security of the theocracy. Things have not always been as they are now. In the centuries and millennium past, the Sea of Pillars served as a natural barrier to rampaging barbarian hordes and the intrigue of foreign nations. After the Great War, it served to protect the early settlers from many threats from the east, and we maintain these secrets so that the gains it offers will not be jeopardized.”

  “So, the Arcanists agree with Azura’s use of magic?” Laedron asked when Bannelt stopped near the forecastle door.

  “Not necessar
ily, no, but we must use that which exists to our advantage. Knowledge, science, technology, and yes, even magically created seas, can be exploited for our security and benefit.” Bannelt opened the door. “We are faithful to the church, and we hold knowledge and science above any mystical meddling.”

  “Meddling? A true sorcerer is just as methodical and scholarly as any of the Arcanists I’ve met. What was that you said about judging people prematurely?”

  “My apologies. I meant no harm with my comments. My only purpose was to explain our differences.”

  “The symbols, what are they?” Brice asked, apparently trying to keep the exchange friendly.

  Bannelt glanced at Brice. “According to all the records we possess, the pillars came about with symbols across each face, and the patterns were unique to each one, for the most part.”

  Laedron furrowed his brow. “For the most part?”

  “The patterns indicate our location in the sea, and it took years to find them and assign them a meaning.”

  “You don’t know what they actually say?”

  “No, but the patterns are indicative of the pillar you’re viewing, and you use that information to determine where you are and what your next turn will be. During our training, we memorize the ones we’ll need to know for a given route, and unless we are retrained or reassigned, we run that route our entire lives. All Arcanists must serve their time aboard the ships before moving on to bigger and better things. Some never move past navigation, and some like it that way.”

  Laedron stepped through the door behind Bannelt, observing the comfortable, albeit cramped, living space. “These are our quarters?”

  “Yes. The ship doesn’t allow for plush staterooms or fine dining halls due to its size, but I’m sure you’ll find them suitable for a couple of days.”

  Laedron nodded, and Bannelt left. They each selected a bunk, but Laedron piled his belongings on the mattress instead of stowing them underneath. It’s not as if I need a place to rest.

  “I think I’ll take a look around the ship,” Laedron said. “I have some more questions for our host, as well.” Exiting the forecastle, Laedron made his way aft where the bridge stood high above the water.