Vivian

By Lyndon Hardy

Like many other alchemists, Vivian had been dispatched to the end of the world with her mentor -- seeking a cure for the pandemic plague. But he had caught it and was dying. She was left to fend for herself, the first woman to practice the craft in a male-dominated world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lyndon Hardy
• Release date: Aug 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9780999132050

Lyndon Hardy

I am a New York Times best-selling author of the Magic by the Numbers fantasy series. One Last Heist is planned to be published in December 2023 but will be available for preorder in September.I meld my knowledge from a PhD in elementary particle physics with the fantasy of alchemy, sorcery, and wizardry to produce tales in which there are constraints and limitations. Magic is not omnipotent. When the protagonists are in a jam, they are not saved with a simple bibbity, bobbiity, boo.With the exception that book 5, Magic Times Three, involves the same protagonists as book 4, The Archimage's Fourth Daughter, all the books in the series have different leading characters. They can be read in any order.I have some experience with adventures in our universe as well -- orchestrating the classic Rose Bowl Card Stunt in 1962. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Rose_Bowl_HoaxI have yet to come up with a plot in which a stamp collector saves the universe.

Book preview

Laws of Magic

The Laws of Magic

Thaumaturgy

Thaumaturgy Logo

The Principle of Sympathy — like produces like

The Principle of Contagion — once together, always together

Alchemy

Alchemy Logo

The Doctrine of Signatures — the attributes without mirror the powers within

Magic

Magician Logo

The Maxim of Persistence — perfection is eternal

Sorcery

Sorcery Logo

The Rule of Three — thrice spoken, once fulfilled

Wizardry

Wizard Logo

The Law of Ubiquity — flame permeates all

The Law of Dichotomy — dominance or submission

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Vivian the Novice

VIVIAN FANNED herself with her hand. The air below deck was oppressive, hot and humid, as one would expect in the tropics. She adjusted the mask covering her mouth and nose. Oswald laughed again. The third member of their trio, Medwick, said nothing. Like a large rag doll, he hung in a hammock swinging nearby.

She steadied herself against the rock of the boat. She did not want to fall backward into the lap of one of the rowers again. The below-deck space was confining. Barely enough for the oar-master squeezed into the prow to drum the beat. Hardly any room at all for Medwick, once he had fallen sick. There were no other passengers. This was a cargo vessel, usually used for hauling freight, not passengers with all their tables, chairs and chests.

Vivian tried to smile encouragement at Medwick, but it was hard to do. He would not last much longer. His body burned with fever, yet shook as if he were in an arctic storm. Once the symptoms of plague reached this point, there would be no recovery. She stomped her foot to scare away one of the bolder shipboard rats before it could jump into Medwick’s hammock. He was in no condition to deal with that himself.

The repeated clank of the bilge pump had begun to grate on her nerves. The smell of the oarsmen, who did not bathe for an entire voyage, made it difficult to breathe. She understood now why there were no other passengers, and the fee for the passage had been so little. She shook her head with frustration, and then stopped when Medwick looked up at her with pleading eyes.

Vivian was close to tears, but had resolved not to let her emotions show. She glanced at Oswald and almost openly scowled. If there were any sort of justice in this world, why couldn’t it have been him who had caught the plague instead?

Medwick had been her savior, the one who had rescued her from the squalor she had fallen into. When her parents died, her family had disintegrated. Soon after, one brother was hanged for murder, the other hauled off to a dungeon who knew where. Working as a serving wench for mere coppers from dusk to dawn was the only livelihood she could find.

But then, one night by chance, Medwick had wandered into the tavern. He was not one of the usual customers, but instead a master alchemist, one who wore the white robe of the craft. He saw something in her, remarked at how well she kept all the orders straight in her head.

Have you considered alchemy? he had asked shyly. You have a talent for memory, and, of all the five arts, alchemy requires the most. Potions, philters, ointments, elixirs, and salves. Each with a long list of ingredients and arcane formulas to force them to interact.

I am a woman, Vivian remembered protesting. Alchemy is one of the arts reserved for men.

Up till now, yes, Medwick had said. "But I am at an age now that I no longer care about such things. Come and be my final novice. I will teach you, and you will become the first master who is female."

And so her journey had begun. An escape from poverty and the family shame. She would show everyone in Samirand—indeed, everyone in all the Southern Kingdoms and even snobby Procolon to the north. The first woman alchemist, and perhaps one better than any of the men.

For many years, she trained under Medwick’s tutelage, each day learning more and more about the craft. If she was to be first, then her knowledge and skill had to be flawless.

But, almost on the eve of her final examination before the Guild, plague became rampant, exploding from the slum pocket in which she had been born. An epidemic that brought commerce almost to a halt. Only those who hauled away the dead remained gainfully employed.

In desperation, alchemists were dispatched to all corners of the world in the hope of finding a cure. Medwick volunteered, and as his novice, Vivian accompanied him. But because of the old man’s years, almost as an afterthought, Oswald was commanded to join the search as well.

Vivian sighed. She looked at Medwick’s wasted form and laid a gentle, gloved hand on his forehead. We have no more pain elixir with us, but we are almost to Cadaman. Hold out for only a little longer. With luck, on the next island, we might learn of a cure.

Luck has little to do with it, Oswald snorted. Either the random factors align, or they do not. You should have let me put him out of his misery a day ago.

There is always hope. Vivian stepped in front of Oswald before he drew any closer. All we need is one new discovery. On the first day ashore, we could find it. Something the natives have known about for years. An easy cure we can take back home.

Why do you persist with covering your face? Oswald asked. "There are no such things as imps so small that