The Consuls of the Vicariate

by Brian Kittrell

  “I only hope that you are right.”

  * * *

  Once inside the city, Jurgen led the long procession of wagons to the Vicariate Palace.

  Marac dismounted, gave the reins to a stable hand, and said, “You have our thanks.”

  Marac and Brice helped Jurgen and the other priests unload the injured soldiers from the wagons.

  “Where are they going to stay?” Marac asked.

  “Only the palace would be large enough to house them all.” Jurgen started walking. “I must rouse the steward and have him prepare lodgings for these men.”

  Brice nodded. “What about us? What do we need to do?”

  “Check on our sorcerer friend. He’ll likely be awake by now.” Jurgen turned to climb the palace steps.

  “Well, back to the headquarters, I suppose,” Brice said.

  Marac touched his arm. “Not so quick.”

  “Why not?”

  “Laedron… he could be upset.” Marac stared down at the cobblestones.

  “Upset? About what?”

  “The spell. Jurgen using the soulstone.”

  “Nonsense. He’ll be as pleased as I was. Who could complain about being alive?”

  “You don’t know Laedron as well as I do,” Marac said, shaking his head.

  “That’s silly, Marac. Come on, and don’t worry about that.”

  Reluctantly, Marac followed him through the streets on the way to the Shimmering Dawn. How is he happy all the time? It seems like nothing gets Brice down. Maybe he knows that if Laedron’s mad, it’ll be me taking the brunt of it. Or perhaps he really believes what he says.

  Brice walked in first, and Marac paused before entering the headquarters building. How bad will this be? Might as well get the tongue-lashing over with.

  Marac overheard Laedron ask, “How did it go?”

  “Good, I guess,” Brice replied. “Jurgen summoned all the priests in the city and brought—”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes, from what I could tell. They healed the soldiers and brought them back to the city. Duke Fenric was there, too, and he was alive.”

  Marac crept the rest of the way into the room, trying his best not to be spotted, but he gave himself away when he noticed Laedron’s complexion and hair. “You’re back to normal? But how?”

  “Don’t play stupid, Marac. You know exactly how. Jurgen performed the spell at your request.”

  “No, have you not seen your reflection in a mirror? The gray tips, the wrinkles… they’re gone!”

  Laedron glanced at Valyrie, then back at Marac before struggling to stand. “What do you mean?” He took a metal plate in his hand, angled it with the light, and peered into it. “Creator! How can this be?”

  “Did you not notice these things?” Marac asked.

  “I wasn’t that concerned with my appearance when I awoke.” Laedron tilted the plate and his head, looking at his reflection at different angles. “We need to find out why this is so.”

  Marac relaxed slightly, glad that Laedron didn’t seem to be angry with him. “And how do you suggest we do that, Lae?”

  “By finding someone who knows. Perhaps Victor?”

  “Victor?” Valyrie asked.

  “Victor Altruis, the Shimmering Dawn mage of Westmarch. If anyone’s left who would know, he’d be the one.”

  Marac nodded. “Certainly, but only after our mission is complete here. Jurgen may need us yet.”

  “Then we must go,” Laedron said, returning the plate to the table.

  Valyrie shook her head and took Laedron by the arm. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere. You can’t.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Laedron said, patting her hand. When they exchanged a smile, Marac knew precisely what feelings lay behind it. Perhaps we should’ve left you two alone longer. Looks like the caretaker’s smitten with my boy.

  “Let’s be off, then,” Marac said, interrupting the moment. Though it’s nice to see, we can’t wait around all night for them to stop staring at each other.

  * * *

  They reached the Ancient Quarter and heard a commotion from the consulship building. Entering the consul chamber, Laedron stood in awe of its splendor. How many men and how long would it take to build something like this? Surely years and hundreds of workers.

  Jurgen had apparently called the meeting, and the consuls sat silent, staring up at him from the gallery. Few seemed to perceive Laedron and the others enter, but Laedron noticed the blood stains on most of them.

  “Ah, you’ve joined us,” Jurgen said. “Might I present my friends, Laedron Telpist, Marac Reven, Brice Warren, and Valyrie Pembry. Their hard work has helped to bring about the end of Andolis Drakar.”

  Sporadic applause came from the gallery, but it was clear that none of them were in the mood to hand out medals or high praise, and for him, the clapping seemed to be almost a slap in the face compared to the trouble he and his friends had gone through in dealing with such a terrible threat.

  “Might I speak to the assembly?” Laedron asked.

  Jurgen extended his open hand to the floor. “Laedron is a Sorbian,” Jurgen said, garnering a few hisses from the audience, “but he would like to speak with you.”

  “I have heard that you went to save the soldiers you could,” Laedron said, walking to Jurgen’s side, “and you have done the right thing. What have you decided to do, Vicar Jurgen?”

  “Nothing as yet,” he replied. “We can surrender or seek a truce, but we can do neither until Duke Fenric has recovered completely.”

  “Surrender? You’re considering that even now?” a vicar asked, standing in the gallery. He was a younger man, older than Laedron, but not as aged as the other vicars as the average went. “They’ll lay waste to our capital, to our honored traditions!”

  Laedron waited for the gallery to grow quiet. “Andolis Drakar has done more damage than the Sorbian army could ever hope to do. No, your honored traditions and your capital have been besmirched by treachery and lies, and you were led by the nose to this day.”

  “Get him out!” the same vicar shouted, his face red with anger. “He comes to our chamber to insult us? After what we’ve been through?”

  “He comes to our chamber to show us the truth, Vicar Alduin,” Jurgen said, putting his hand on Laedron’s shoulder. “Is it not true that we have been duped into the Zyvdredis’ plans? Used to fight a war that wasn’t ours? The Sorbians have been wronged by Andolis’s actions, and we were victims, too. We can only hope our good deed will be repaid in kind.”

  “Why can’t there be a truce? Sorbia returns to their shores, and we sign a treaty of peace?” Alduin asked.

  Laedron folded his arms. “It won’t be easy. Since Gustav Drakar orchestrated an attack on the Sorbian capital, this war will not be easily undone. Gustav Drakar, a man elevated to the rank of deacon by your church, murdered the crown prince of Sorbia, Prince Zorin, and the rest of the mages present at the Morcaine academy that day. This war is as much a father’s wrath as anything else, the revenge of King Xavier of Sorbia for your mistakes. ”Laedron pointed at the gallery. “You are responsible for this war. Indirectly, perhaps, but responsible nonetheless.”

  “Lies!” Alduin shouted. “How can you prove any of this?”

  “I was there, Your Grace,” Laedron replied with a sneer. “Men in the uniform of your militia guards were with Gustav, indiscriminately killing sorcerers. Their blood is on your hands, for you empowered him to do what he has done.”

  “Calm yourselves, Consuls.” Jurgen waved his hand. “This forum exists for discussion, not for disorder and chaos. Let us speak calmly.”

  “The Sorbians declared war,” Alduin said, clearly not as sure as he had been. “We would never begin a war—”

  “That is beside the point. What you would do and what Andolis and Gustav have done are two different things. Forane was also in on their plans to conspire against the peace and commit murder. Justice has been brought to all of them,” Laedron said. “
If given the chance to surrender to Duke Fenric, I would suggest that you take the opportunity and all do your best to keep the populace calm when the Sorbian army arrives. If Vicar Jurgen agrees, I will speak with Duke Fenric personally to request an honorable peace, but you should prepare yourself for the possibility that he might not accept that.”

  “Then, you must do your best,” Alduin said. “Our Falacoran allies just may have purchased us a fair peace with their lives.”

  Alduin returned to his seat. Laedron didn’t get the impression that Alduin’s mind had been changed though, simply that he was biding his time.

  After a long pause, Jurgen said, “I think we should allow my friend to speak to Fenric in the coming days. Inform the people of the presence of the soldiers here and tell them that the war is on hold, at least for now. Advise them to remain in their homes or shops and to travel as little as possible on the streets until the armies have gone. We need not have any encounters—accidental or otherwise—with the Sorbian troops while they are here. We stand adjourned until the morrow.”

  Jurgen led Laedron and the rest of the group out a smaller back exit. “Though I feel we haven’t heard the last from Vicar Alduin, you said what needed to be said.”

  Laedron shrugged. “I merely told the truth.”

  “I know, but the rest of the consulship might have a difficult time believing it.”

  “Why do they act in such a way? As if the war could have been good for them?”

  Jurgen stopped. “When Andolis and Gustav first came to the capital, they pushed everyone to higher aspirations. Long ago, the church occupied a dominant position in the eastern world. It was by the will of the consuls that kings were crowned, that people stood in awe of our sacred cathedrals, and that priests held true respect and authority in society.

  “The days of imperialism are long gone, but the taste of that validation beckoned. Being tired of merely tending the flock, the vicars saw in the Drakars a new beginning, a return to the old ways. Even if just for a passing moment, I entertained the thought of going back to the way things used to be so long ago.”

  “But tending to the flock, as you put it, is the church’s job,” Valyrie said.

  Jurgen nodded and started down the street again. “Yes, of course. This war is a testament to what is possible through avarice, want, and a disregard of one’s true purpose.”

  * * *

  Turning the corner after Jurgen minutes later, Laedron glanced at the ruined steeple topping the Shimmering Dawn headquarters. Once inside, they gathered around the long table in the common room with Piers, and Jurgen said, “Now that we have a moment, I’d like to hear about Laedron’s fight with Andolis. I’ve heard what Marac and Brice had to say, but I want to hear your side of it.”

  “We found him on the rooftop of the highest tower, holding his staff in the air and chanting.”

  Marac went into Laedron’s bedroom, and returned to place the staff on the table. “Here it is. Andolis’s staff.”

  Jurgen leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “Strange, but magnificent.”

  Laedron nodded. “Andolis intended to burn the city and make his escape. He said he would set a fire that would last a hundred years, likely by using the essence of the souls trapped in these stones to fuel his magic.”

  “You’ve done us a great service, young sorcerer. A great service indeed.” Jurgen took Laedron’s hand. “I shall personally ensure your order will be reinstated to its former glory, and you will be rewarded handsomely for your efforts here.”

  “I thank you for your generosity.” Piers smiled. “We’ll no longer be forced to live in the shadows.”

  “No, but keep your skills sharp, and educate those who come after you,” Jurgen said. “Your order may be called upon to save us from ourselves another time, and I can only pray that day will never come.”

  “So long as vicars have a taste for those old, imperial ways, I fear you’ll have problems, Jurgen,” Laedron said.

  “Perhaps, but why do you say it in such a way?”

  “Forane admitted to helping the Drakars and told us they were Zyvdredi agents. She traded her loyalty for soulstones, those onyx gems containing the life energies of their victims. She wanted to be immortal.”

  Jurgen frowned. “She was willing to let countless people die so that she could live eternally? It is a shame to see one so devoted give in to the lure of a font of youth.”

  “Those stones along either edge of the staff are the same as the ones we found on the mages, the ones who killed militia men.” Laedron took a deep breath. “The same as the one you used to save me.”

  Jurgen averted his eyes. “Yes. I did it at the demand of a man to see his friend returned to his side. I hope this doesn’t anger you, Sorcerer.”

  “’Tis a strange feeling and a hard argument, and it’s something we all shall have to live with from this day forward.” Laedron stared at the staff. “One of the stones of that staff could house the spirit of the late Daris the Second.”

  “It could be this one,” Brice said, presenting the black onyx ring Andolis had worn. “Maybe to keep him separate from the others?”

  “Creator…” Jurgen tapped his lip with a finger and eyed the stones. “Perhaps there is a way to free him?”

  “Surely there must be, but I don’t know how.” Laedron shrugged. “The Zyvdredi were meticulous in designing spells. They never created a spell without a counterpart that could undo its effects.”

  “We can’t approach a Zyvdredi with this information, that’s for certain,” Jurgen said. “There may be another way, though; we could contact the Uxidin.”

  Laedron nodded. “They are equally aged and gifted with magic. Perhaps they could answer the question of why I look the way I do now. But how can we find them?”

  “I shall think of a way. In the meantime, I must seek a peace with the Sorbians and fix all the things the Drakars have done.” Jurgen paused, taking a long look at Laedron. “Marac was right; we owe much to you, all of you.”

  “We’ve come a long way on a hard road,” Laedron said. “We can only be thankful that the war may come to a close, and few have died as a result. I hope we can soon return to our homes with our heads held high.”

  Jurgen stood. “Yes, that you can. Remain here until I call for you, for you may be the key to securing peace with the Sorbians. The theocracy has some difficult steps before it.”

  « Table of Contents

  ← Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Eighteen →

  The Wrath of a Father

  The passage of days came with little news from the outside world. Marac and Brice—and sometimes Valyrie, much to Laedron’s disapproval—practiced in the courtyard with blades to keep their readiness high. When not spending time with Valyrie, Laedron studied Ismerelda’s spellbooks.

  Following their outings, Piers and Caleb brought some reports of the happenings of the city. Above all other news, the fact that Duke Fenric had been saved—and, thus, could be a clear route to a lasting peace—gave Laedron some hope. The people have suffered so much at the hands of the Drakars, on all sides of this conflict. I am proud to be a Sorbian this day.

  Laedron began experiencing sleepless nights. As the days passed, he was only able to sleep for a few hours at most. With the war ending and the Drakars defeated, he couldn’t place the reason for his losing sleep. He felt more relaxed than he’d felt in a long time, quite possibly more than he had since before he left Reven’s Landing, yet his sleep remained irregular.

  “Your girlfriend surprises me,” Marac said, entering Laedron’s room.

  Laedron looked up from the text he had been reading. “She’s not—”

  “Oh, don’t give me that. I’ve seen the way you two watch each. I even spied a late night kiss in the garden if my eyes don’t deceive.”

  “I’m in no mood for taunting.”

  Marac sat next to Laedron on the bed. “I haven’t come to taunt you. Actually, I’m proud to see you’ve finally found someone.”


  Laedron closed the book and laid it aside. “I’m afraid to bring her with us, Marac.”

  “Is that what this moping about is for?”

  “Moping? I call it concern.”

  “She’s old enough to make her own choices, Lae.”

  Laedron shook his head. “The next leg of our trip could be dangerous. I’ve spoken to Caleb about the Uxidin, and he told me the only ones he’s ever heard of live deep in the forests of Lasoron, along with all the other things only legends describe.”

  “What sorts of things?”

  “Beasts, monsters… anything you might imagine in an ancient forest rarely traversed. The things that live well away from the realms of men.”

  “You’re not getting scared of ghost tales, are you?”

  “I just want her to be safe,” Laedron said with a sigh. “I can’t imagine the pain I would feel if she died because we allowed her to come with us.”

  “Like I said, she’s old enough to make her own decisions and go where she likes. Tell her of the risks, but let her decide. She’s lost her father, but that doesn’t mean she needs another one.”

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to insult me,” Laedron said.

  “I only speak plainly. Embrace her, love her, do all the things that you’re supposed to do at her side, but don’t rule her, Lae. No matter how fine your intentions, you’ll push her away.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I know so, my friend. She’s willful and stubborn. I can see that in her, just as I’ve seen it in you. She’ll fight you every leg of the way unless you let her determine her own path.”

  “Thanks, Marac.”

  “Anytime,” he replied, then he closed the door behind him when he left.

  Laedron opened the book and flipped to the page he had been studying before Marac had interrupted him. He repeated Marac’s words over and over in his mind. It’s not my decision to make. Marac’s right. When the time comes, Valyrie, for better or worse, will have to choose for herself.