Brian Kittrell - The Consuls of the Vicariate

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 them 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.”

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 shemerely 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.”