Brian Kittrell - The Consuls of the Vicariate

“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 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.”