The Consuls of the Vicariate amob-2

by Brian Kittrell

  Along with the others, Valyrie gave him a nod and said, “I’ll be in my room. Much to do in preparation for tomorrow.”

  “Agreed,” Brice said. “I’ll see you two a little later.”

  “Where are you going now?” Laedron asked.

  Brice tugged on his hair. “I saw a barber on the way back, and my hair’s getting long enough to irritate me. I’ll return shortly.”

  Left alone with Marac, Laedron grinned. “Well, I suppose it’s just us again.”

  “Just like old times,” Marac replied.

  “Do you think things will ever get back to normal?”

  “To normal? Sure,” Marac said, opening the door to his room. “The same? Not in a hundred years. I hope this war woke the church up to what can happen if they’re careless.”

  “So long as Jurgen’s there, I have faith that they’ll do well.” Laedron closed the door once he was in Marac’s quarters.

  “You believe in him, eh?”

  “Of all the priests I’ve met, though there haven’t been many, I think Jurgen’s the best of the breed. Kind, well-meaning, and wise.”

  “The other vicars, weren’t they well-intentioned?”

  “Not really, not in the same way. They meant well only for their own country, their own prosperity. Jurgen’s view is more centered on helping everyone and living in peace.”

  “If that’s the case, I agree with him. I could live the rest of my days without seeing another battlefield.” Marac took off his belt and leaned the sword in the corner. “I hope I won’t need that for quite some time to come. In fact, if I never had to wield that weapon in anger again, I could die a happy man.”

  “You mean the fight at the palace?”

  “That too, but the battle to the north was far more vicious, far larger in scale. I don’t regret joining the Shimmering Dawn now, no matter how much I’ve mourned Mikal.”

  “Did you see anyone we knew?”

  “Only Fenric. The others’ faces blended to a blur. Too many to remember each one.” Marac shook his head. “So many of them died while I watched. It was horrible.”

  “There’s little that I can say to make it any easier to bear.”

  “You don’t have to say anything, Lae. We’ve stopped it before it could claim anyone else.”

  “I never thanked you for what you did for me, for bringing me back.”

  “I had to.” Marac folded his arms and sat on the edge of the bed. “I couldn’t bear it, Lae. I had to do something. I couldn’t sit there and watch you die.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Marac cleared his throat. “I threatened Jurgen. I told him we wouldn’t help anymore unless he brought you back. Now, you’re… I don’t even know what to call it, and Jurgen is filled with regret.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine, Marac.” Laedron sat beside him. “Though the act itself is questionable, I would have no hesitation in saving any of you the same way.”

  “And go against the Creator? The Fates?”

  “If the Creator would look down upon me for saving you, then the Creator is someone in whom I would not want to believe. The Creator is life and mercy. I can’t believe that a god symbolic of all of those things would be angered with someone trying to prevent the destruction of life.”

  “Yes, but we’re not gods. Life remains in the hands of the divine, not us.”

  “Does it?”

  Marac gave him a confused look, and Laedron added, “If we possess the tools and ability to stop it, does it still remain in the hands of the divine? Or are we to disregard the things we know so as not to irritate deities who cannot keep secrets?”

  “Cannot keep secrets? What do you mean?”

  “The source of magic.” Laedron stood and began pacing. “Magic was taught to the Uxidin by the Creator. Then, when Midlanders came to these shores, the Uxidin shared that knowledge with the early settlers. If the Creator didn’t want us to know, She should never have given us the gift of spells.”

  “So, returning the dead to life and making immortals is a wonderful thing? I suppose you could cure the entire world of death before you’re done.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. Everything must be done in moderation, for things taken to excess throw off the balance.”

  “I don’t know if I can agree with you, Lae. Who gets to decide who lives and who dies, then?”

  “No one, Marac. We don’t decide the Fates, but we can change what we are empowered to change. Given the chance, would you not take the opportunity to live forever?”

  “What sort of question is that? No, I wouldn’t choose that, and I’m sorry if that’s what Jurgen’s spell has done to you.”

  “You look forward to growing old? To dying?”

  “It’s the way of things. If the Creator made us, we are destined to pass away, one way or another. Using your reasoning, the Creator would have made us all immortal if that was the original intent.”

  “But we’ve been given a way around it by Her hand-magic.”

  “Please, Lae, forget this line of thinking.” Marac stood and grabbed Laedron’s shoulder. “I want no part of it.”

  Laedron, seeing the fright in Marac’s eyes, gave him a grin. “Very well, friend. I’ll leave it alone.”

  “Now,” Marac said, with a relieved sigh. “Why don’t we see if we can find some supplies for our trip? The gold alone should be plenty to get what we need.”

  Laedron nodded. “Lead the way.”

  23

  Honor and Glory

  Another sleepless night passed, but Laedron was forced to spend it alone. Valyrie, apparently wanting her privacy that night, had remained in her room the rest of the evening, coming out only to get food from the main hall, then returning as quickly as she had emerged. He and Marac had found and purchased supplies for their trip, then had separated the provisions into backpacks of equal weight. Afterward, Marac volunteered to retrieve their clothes for the ceremony, and Laedron decided to see if he could sleep.

  Laedron got up from the bed and assumed that his sleep would never return, having spent an hour or more staring at the ceiling. With that in mind, he went over to the desk and pulled out one of his Zyvdredi tomes. Might as well make the best use of my time. If I’m not going to sleep ever again, there’s no telling how much I could learn compared to others.

  After reading the book and practicing a few of the incantations, Laedron stood, walked over to the window, and peered across the city. How long had it taken to read that book? Without impatience, tiring, or the light of the day outside, he had little concept of time. The constant rested feeling had diluted his ability to measure the time it took to perform the simple act of reading a book.

  Returning to the desk, he eyed the other spellbooks. Does time matter to me anymore? Am I truly immortal?Perhaps, but perhaps not. Like a starving man with a newfound bounty, Laedron devoured the material, reading book after book and taking time to practice each spell-except the big, spectacular ones. By the time the dawn’s rays pierced the window, he had finished reading every spell in his tomes.

  “Creator,” he whispered, noticing the light of the morning. Every bit of what he had read through the night was fresh in his mind, and he even believed he might be able to locate the tome and page of each spell without considerable trouble. What’s happening to me? The speed at which I read has been dramatically increased, and I can recall all of it without a second thought?

  A knock on the door broke his concentration.

  “We’d better start getting ready for the day’s events,” Marac said, handing Laedron the garments Manny had fitted for him.

  “Thank you.” Laedron took the clothes. “Be ready in a flash.”

  A flash, he mused, closing the door. By what would I judge it? He undressed and put on the clothes, taking time in front of the mirror to ensure everything was in its place. Then he joined Marac and Brice in the hallway.

  “Has Valyrie come out yet?” Laedron asked, straightening the back of his
collar.

  “Not since last night.”

  “Jurgen?”

  “He hasn’t sent for us yet, but I imagine it’ll be soon. Every window along this road bears a banner or decoration of some kind. Clearly, they’re preparing for a parade.”

  “Oh, what have you gotten us into, Marac?”

  Marac smiled. “Me? You’re the one who wanted to come to this city and do all these heroic acts. I only went along with you.”

  “You’re blaming it on me?” Laedron asked.

  “Would you two cut it out?” Brice folded his arms. “Being honored isn’t anybody’s fault. It’s a good thing.”

  “If you say so, Thimble.” Marac started down the stairs. “I’m going to wait for the messenger.”

  Laedron felt a rumble in his belly. Apparently, Jurgen didn’t block my anxiety with his miracle. The sensation was not that of hunger, but of nervousness. Ignoring it, he went over and gently knocked on Valyrie’s door.

  He received a muffled, “Just a minute more,” from the other side.

  After fighting with the back of his collar for a while, Laedron heard the door open, and Valyrie stepped out wearing the violet dress. He couldn’t believe his eyes. At some point unbeknownst to him, she must have gone to the market and acquired makeup. Her skin was pale with powder, her lips appeared full and bright red, and her cheeks had a blush to them. The moderate application had resulted in sharpening her beauty like a master’s stroke upon the easel.

  Happily, Laedron came alongside her and lifted his arm. “You look very beautiful, Val.”

  She slipped her hand underneath, resting her fingertips on his bicep. She smiled, holding on tighter as they descended the stairs. Piers, Caleb, and their men met them at the bottom of the stairs.

  Marac gestured, and when Laedron approached, he saw that the white and gold coach from the palace was parked outside by the curb. A driver sat on the top bench and four militiamen stood on step-sides at every corner, and all of them were dressed in fine garments to match the occasion.

  An attendant opened the side door of the coach, then lowered the step aid. Laedron helped Valyrie inside before getting in himself. Proceeding through the streets, the coach maintained a slow pace, and Laedron waved at the people gathered along the roadsides.

  “I never expected this.” Laedron then remembered the rather nasty conversation he’d had with the consulship. “I suppose I had better apologize to the consuls for my harsh criticism.”

  “You owe them no such thing for telling the truth.” Marac leaned forward, pointing his finger at Laedron. “They owe us.”

  Nodding, Laedron leaned back in the seat, and Valyrie took his hand. The farther they went, the more crowded the streets became until the coach rolled to a stop outside the consulship chamber. The same attendant opened the side door and helped each of them down. When Laedron emerged from the cab, he could hear nothing over the loud cheers and whistles of the thousands gathered in the square.

  Two lines of militia soldiers stood on either side of a deep red carpet that ran under the massive archway and into the chamber beyond. As Laedron and his party passed, each pair of militiamen presented their spears and held them high.

  Entering the chamber itself, Laedron glanced at the gallery of consuls, all of them wearing their gaudy ceremonial garb. Jurgen waved and gestured for Laedron to approach.

  Standing in the center of the ringed chamber, Jurgen spread his arms wide and said, “Our saviors. Today is a joyous day indeed.” He wrapped his arm around Laedron’s shoulders. “We have much to thank them for, and this ceremony shall be the first way we show our gratitude. The second way is in the form of this bag.” Jurgen waved his hand at two guards, one of them carrying a leather backpack.

  When the guard came forward, Jurgen said, “This is your payment for a job well done, my friends.”

  Laedron took the sack and smiled. “Thank you. We appreciate your generosity.”

  “We appreciate you, my friend.” Jurgen turned to the consuls. “And I, as your Grand Vicar-”

  The world seemed to slow to a halt, and Laedron couldn’t help but smile. The culmination of Jurgen’s life. He made it.

  “-recognize these as heroes of our church. May a feast be held this day in their honor at the Vicariate Palace and throughout the city of Azura.” Jurgen turned to Laedron. “Come, you will walk at my side.”

  Laedron followed Jurgen up a staircase to the Grand Vicar’s platform, then out onto the open walkway leading to the palace. A roar of applause came from the thousands gathered on either side of the platform. Jurgen kept the stride slow, the speed of his step in keeping with that of a parade, and when they arrived in the great hall of the Vicariate Palace, nobility from all over the city, perhaps the whole country, judging by the number, were gathered to welcome them. A series of long tables ran the length of the hall, every surface completely obscured by platters of delectable food.

  Jurgen led them through the packed room. Like a ship cutting through the waves, Jurgen caused the gathered nobles to make way at their passing. Taking his seat, Jurgen gestured for Laedron and his friends to rest upon the plush chairs.

  “The servants will be along shortly with food,” Jurgen said, leaning toward Laedron.

  “Congratulations are in order for you.” Laedron gave him a grin. “The consulship deemed you competent to rule it would seem.”

  “Not to rule. To serve.”

  For the first time in my life, I have faith that the church will do good things. Laedron nodded at the serving woman as she placed a plate in front of him. With Jurgen at the helm, I can’t see them doing anything foolish.

  Exchanging smiles with Valyrie, Laedron nibbled at his food. He found it difficult to eat, and his friends apparently felt the same way because they all ate carefully. He felt the constant glare of eyes upon him, the nobles watching every move, every subtle gesture. Now I know why royals look so weary. It’s not out of boredom; it’s to keep anyone from guessing what they might be thinking.

  Part of the way through the meal, Laedron detected the sound of music coming from somewhere in the crowd. The tune picked up, and the nobles parted like wheat in the breeze to reveal a band of musicians and dancers.

  “For your entertainment, my lords and ladies!” the lute player shouted, strumming.

  With his emphatic thrum of the melody, the dancers became animated. Though the waltz was tasteful and elegant, Laedron could tell that his friends were disinterested with the performance. He kept from bursting with laughter when he thought, What do you expect, Marac? We’re fortunate to see dancing at a church function in the first place!

  More people joined in with the dancing, but Laedron hesitated when he thought about asking Valyrie to dance. His enjoyment of dancing notwithstanding, Laedron thought it would be better if he didn’t embarrass himself-or her-with blundering around in front of the entirety of high Heraldan society.

  * * *

  When the party had died down and he didn’t feel as many eyes upon him, Laedron leaned over to Jurgen and said, “Might we ask a favor of you?”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “We require transportation to Nessadene. Would you mind asking Master Hale if we could pass on one of his ships?”

  “I don’t see him having a problem with such a proposition.” Jurgen gestured for a page and whispered something to boy who came forward.

  The page disappeared into the sea of guests. When he returned moments later, he had Demetrius Hale in tow. “Master Hale, Your Holiness.”

  “Master Hale,” Jurgen said, “we have need of your services.”

  “Whatever Your Holiness commands.” Demetrius dipped his head, his hand over his heart.

  “Can you arrange for my friends to travel by one of your ships to Nessadene?”

  “Why, yes, Sire. We would have little problem arranging that. When?”

  “In the morning, or as soon as you can manage,” Laedron said.

  “We have nothing going that w
ay within the week, but we have spare ships.” Demetrius tapped his fingers together, seemingly deep in thought. “The Galerunner. We can make it ready to leave before midday.”

  “Would that be acceptable?” Jurgen asked.

  Laedron nodded. “Yes, that will do.”

  “Then it’s settled.” Jurgen stood, raising his goblet and tapping it with a spoon. Eventually, the room grew silent. “Let us have a toast to our friends before they depart. May their journeys be safe and carry them home to gentler times.”

  “Thank you,” Laedron said, standing and taking a sip of his wine. Valyrie and the others rose, as well. “I could live the rest of my life gladly to never see such times as these again.”

  Jurgen patted him on the back. “Well said.”

  “Only the truth of the matter.” Laedron glanced at his friends, then back at Jurgen. “May the Creator keep you safe.”

  * * *

  Once he had returned to the Shimmering Dawn headquarters and his friends had split off into their respective rooms, Laedron was alone in his quarters once again. No quiet knock ever came upon his door, and he realized that he would be left by himself. Does she find me repulsive? he wondered.

  Might as well get after it, then. Perhaps I can experiment a bit tonight with a new spell. But what kind, and would it work? Am I capable of creating something from nothingness? He licked his lips and stared at the blank sheet of paper.

  Taking a lesson from every other invention he’d encountered, Laedron examined his tomes closely and looked for spells that might combine together in a pleasing manner. I want to create something different altogether. Something never considered, at least as far as I know. He scrawled notes, drawing concentric circles out from a common focal point. Then, he drew a line from the center point outward, intersecting his other lines.

  I know a spell for every kind of energy, for every offensive purpose. He recalled all of Ismerelda’s teachings in an attempt to compare the things he had learned against new ideas, new possibilities. Then he thought about the attack at the academy and how so many had died in the assault with no way to escape. Escape. A means of avoidance or retreat.