The Consuls of the Vicariate

by Brian Kittrell

  “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.”

  Brice stepped forward with a puzzled expression. “What does this have to do with the ring?”

  “The ring? Everything, of course. The stealing of men’s essences is central to several of the rituals.”

  “How do you know all this?” Laedron crossed his arms. “Are you just venturing guesses?”

  “Guesses?” Cedric pointed at the strewn papers on the floor. “These texts are my life’s study. Uxidin writings, Zyvdredi ponderings, and even a few documents written by early Arcanists. Some of them speak of capturing life force and using it, but I didn’t know how until you showed me this ring.”

  “Do you know where we could find an Uxidin?”

  Cedric laughed. “Find one? If I did, do you think I would have been lingering in this basement for years?”

  Laedron, insulted by the man’s laughter, turned his back and stepped away.

  Valyrie asked, “Have you ever heard of Farrah Harridan?”

  “Harridan? No, I should think not. Who is that?”

  “A writer of tales,” she said.

  Cedric shook his head. “Tales? I have no time for tales, girl. Works of fiction will do little more than waste my time, time that would be better spent in studious research.”

  “Fiction may hold the answers you seek, but you must indulge yourself to find them.” She produced her book, flipped to a marked page, and handed it over. “Read for yourself.”

  Cedric nonchalantly scanned the pages, then seemed to focus on the words, whispering the
m as he read. After flipping through a few pages, he looked up. “Creator! Do you know what this means?”

  “Yes.” Brice smiled. “This is The Bloodmyr Tome.”

  Cedric sighed. “No, fool boy. The Bloodmyr Tome wouldn’t be written in some common Midlander dialect. However, one thing remains.”

  “And that is?” Laedron asked.

  “Whoever wrote this text had access to one of two things: an Uxidin or The Bloodmyr Tome itself.” Cedric returned the book. “No one could describe so many of the ancient secrets in such detail without a guide.”

  “It cannot be coincidence?”

  “Coincidence? Impossible.” Cedric clasped his hands. “This person, this Farrah Harridan, has written a translation of the original tome or spoken at length with an Uxidin. To find the answers you seek, you must first find the writer of this book.”

  “Which task would be more difficult? We have no idea where to find an Uxidin or this writer.”

  “I know that she was Lasoronian,” Valyrie said. “I’ve read the books, and she constantly references her home, the south of Lasoron. At least it’s something to go on, but I’m afraid she hasn’t been heard from for quite some time. She may be dead.”

  Cedric rubbed his chin, then raised his index finger. “Might I ask something of you?”

  Laedron shrugged. “And what is that?”

  “If you should find the tome, I could convince Demetrius to purchase it. Such an artifact could be worth a vast fortune of gold.” Cedric smiled. “That is, if you find it and care to part with it.”

  Brice extended his open palm. “When you say a fortune, just how much—”

  “We’ll think about it, but don’t hold your breath waiting,” Laedron interrupted, giving Brice a harsh glance.

  “Of course, of course. I only wanted to mention it, to plant the seed, so to speak.” Cedric walked to the oaken door. “If you have nothing else, I shall see you out.”

  “Thank you for your time,” Laedron said, walking past Cedric and into the spiral staircase. “Best of luck with your studies.”

  “And you, too, young man. All the best indeed.”

  « Table of Contents

  ← Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty-One →

  The Next Leg of the Journey

  On the way back to the Shimmering Dawn headquarters, Laedron considered the possible existence of The Bloodmyr Tome. He’d never heard of such a thing before, but given all the things that had come to pass, he wasn’t prepared to dismiss the possibility outright. On the contrary, he presumed that such a book could and probably did exist. Farrah Harridan. How does she fit into this? Is she merely someone who came across a loose-tongued Uxidin, or has she found the tome and used it for her fantastical stories?

  “We’d better discuss the trip,” Laedron said, when they were all in the common room.

  Once everyone sat around the table, Laedron stood at the end and said, “Any thoughts as to what—” The door flew open, startling Laedron until he saw Jurgen come through. “Ah, you’re back.”

  “Of course,” Jurgen replied, coming closer. “I told you that I would return this evening. Have you learned anything from the Arcanists?”

  “Before we go over that, I must tell you something. Whatever you did to save my life has done something to me. It’s changed me.”

  Worry crossed Jurgen’s face. “Changed you?”

  “I can’t sleep, yet I feel refreshed and eager. What spell—miracle—did you perform on me?”

  “The restoration miracle,” Jurgen replied with a shrug. “It is designed to repair all of your wounds and remove anything hindering you.”

  “That would explain why the wine had no effect,” Laedron said, glancing at Valyrie. He cleared his throat when she looked away. “No matter. I can’t sleep at all.”

  “I apologize, but the injury was too severe to treat without the stone.” Jurgen took a deep breath. “The stone seemed to make the miracle easier to perform, too. Almost effortless, in fact.”

  Laedron eyed him for a moment, thinking about Ismerelda’s scepter and the ruby set in its end. I find spells easier to cast with that rod, too. Does that gem also contain the essence of someone? Something? Ah, I can’t even say what’s wrong with me, let alone determine what that ruby may possess.

  “Is something bothering you?” Jurgen asked.

  “No. Let’s move on. You asked about the meeting with the Arcanists?” Receiving a nod from Jurgen, Laedron continued, “Demetrius Hale was little help, but he did send us to speak to Cedric Tamden, a reclusive man spending far too much time in the library cellar.”

  “I see. What did Cedric have to say?”

  “He seems to be convinced that we must find one Farrah Harridan, the author of an untitled book. Valyrie thinks the woman is somewhere in the south of Lasoron.”

  “What do you think, Laedron?” Jurgen asked.

  Laedron paused, then swallowed deeply. “I can see no other possibility. We seek either an Uxidin or the tome. If we pursue Harridan, we have a name and a starting point, but if we go out looking for an Uxidin, we have neither.”

  “Better to go after a peer than a legend, eh?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Oh, I have heard of Mistress Harridan, and I know of her works. The church has hunted these books to the point of extinction over the past several decades since we first heard of them, and we suspect that she’s a sorceress.”

  Valyrie tilted her head. “Several decades? I thought they were far older than that.”

  “The style of writing is older than most contemporary works, but I recall their first appearance in our libraries,” Jurgen said. “I would say they first started showing up about twenty or thirty years ago.”

  “And you suspect she’s a sorceress?” Laedron asked.

  “Yes. Her words carry a consistent affinity for magic, and she has twisted prophesy and scripture to better fit a mage’s world view.”

  Laedron shook his head. “Cedric Tamden seems to think otherwise. After reading through the book, he was convinced that she’s seen or heard something to inspire her work. Whatever that is, we need to find it.”

  “Then you will seek her out, Sorcerer?”

  “If she’s still alive. If not, I hope we’re not left walking in circles.”

  “I wish you luck, but I hope you will stay for a while yet.”

  “Stay?” Laedron shrugged. “We have nothing left to do here. You haven’t started any more trouble, have you?”

  “No, nothing like that. The consulship and I merely wish to thank you for everything you have done for us.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “It’s not quite that simple, my young friend. The consulship has instructed me to summon you for an assembly two days hence.”

  “Two days? I’d much rather get underway sooner than that.”

  Marac came alongside and swatted Laedron. “Oh, come on, Lae. I know you’re not one for praise, but take a little recognition when you deserve it, won’t you?”

  “The sooner we can find out what’s wrong with me, the better.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be all right.” Marac turned to Jurgen. “Go ahead and make the arrangements, my good man. We’ll be there.”

  Jurgen left, and Laedron gave Marac a scornful glare. “We have little time for ceremonies. I must know what’s happening to me.”

  “We can’t go without a plan,” Marac replied. “At the least, they’ll probably pay us something for our trouble. We can’t go without supplies, either, Lae.”

  “Very well.” Laedron took a seat at the head of the table. “Let us discuss our next step, then.”

  “If we’re to go to Lasoron, we must decide where.” Valyrie retrieved a map from a nearby bookcase and spread it across the table. “In the south, there is but one major city—Nessadene. It lies on the coast of the Sea of Pillars. Aldrissa is a small logging village just west of the city, but it’s unlikely that a writer as skilled as Harridan would be t
here.”

  Laedron smiled, remembering his little fishing town of Reven’s Landing and the fact that he, his mother, and his sister—all gifted mages—lived there. “Of course, no one of any importance could be in a place like that.”

  Valyrie glanced at him, seeming to notice the insult she’d cast. “Forgive me—”

  “No, think nothing of it,” Laedron said. “You’re probably right. After all, nothing world changing ever happened to my family while we were there. I would doubt something as mystical as The Bloodmyr Tome, or an Uxidin, for that matter, would be in a logging village. Even Ismerelda hid herself in a sizable city.”

  “How will we travel?” Marac asked.

  “The same way we got to Azura. Along the roads.”

  Valyrie crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat. “There is another way.”

  “If you mean by magic, it’s dangerous.” Laedron shook his head. “No, it must be by land.”

  “Going by land presents several problems,” Marac said.

  “What sorts of problems?” Laedron asked.

  “Well, for one, highwaymen. Battles tend to draw unseemly sorts from all over to profit on the dead and travelers.”

  “And the war,” Brice said.

  Laedron rolled his eyes. “The Sorbians aren’t going to attack again. Why would they?”

  “Not the Sorbians. The Falacorans. Jurgen is sending a ship, but the message has much further to travel.”

  “He’s right,” Marac said, nodding. “Armies could still be moving along the roads, and word might not have reached them yet. We could be mistaken for enemy scouts.”

  Laedron threw up his hands. “Then how?”

  “By sea,” Valyrie said. “We could acquire passage on a ship.”

  “A ship would take us away from the direction we’re going, and I thought only the Arcanists could sail the Sea of Pillars. You did say Nessadene lay on its coast, right?” Laedron leaned forward over the map, then struck the marker with his finger. “The northeastern end of the Sea of Pillars, right there.”

  “Yes, but that’s what I’m suggesting.” She traced the map with her fingertip. “We could convince the Arcanists to ferry us across the Sea of Pillars. We’d save days—maybe even a week—compared to the other options.”