The Consuls of the Vicariate

by Brian Kittrell

  He placed the book in his backpack, then thought of Ismerelda. How your life must have been filled with intrigue and adventure to possess books such as these. And now, I shall never know how you came to own them or why you took such an interest in Zyvdredi magic to keep such a sizable collection. He buckled the clasp on the leather bag and went out to the common room.

  Just as he arrived, Laedron heard a knock on the door, and he went to answer it. “Ah, Vicar Jurgen, you’ve come to visit us at long last? It’s been nearly a week.”

  Jurgen stepped inside. “Yes, I’ve come to summon you and bring some news. I’ve spoken with Duke Fenric, but he has been rather difficult to deal with.”

  “Come in, then. Care for anything to drink?”

  “No, I’m well, thank you,” Jurgen replied, taking a seat at the table. When everyone had joined him, he took a deep breath, then said, “Duke Fenric has recovered from his injuries and should be ready to speak with you, Laedron.”

  “Has he said anything?” Laedron asked. “About peace or the war?”

  “Not to us, no. We’ve given him some distance and time to think about things, and we… well, we thought that might be best for one of his countrymen to speak with him first.”

  “Then it shall be done. By the time the night falls, I hope we can be done with this war.”

  Jurgen nodded. “Good. If you can secure the peace favorably for all sides, the consuls and your king should be pleased.”

  “We shall see. Have you come up with anything regarding the ring and the staff? Anything about the Uxidin?” Laedron asked.

  “No, but I’ve made you an appointment with Demetrius Hale, the chief amongst the Arcanists.”

  Marac asked, “You’re not coming along?”

  “I cannot. I must return to the consulship once we have finished here. Tomorrow evening, I shall return, and you can inform me of your next step.”

  “Arcanists? The navigators?” Laedron asked, remembering how they had discussed the order before arriving in Azura.

  “Yes, they are an important group in Azura and have been for a long time,” Jurgen said. “Beyond being able to navigate the Sea of Pillars, the Arcanists have kept detailed records throughout history, and they are patrons of art and science. Merchants, scholars, and seafarers make up their ranks.”

  “Even the university is administered by them,” Valyrie said.

  “Yes, that is true.” Jurgen gave her a smile. “If it hadn’t been for them, much of what we know now about alchemy, architecture, and the natural world would likely have been lost through the ages. Time has not always passed kindly for the theocracy.”

  “Where is the meeting?” Laedron asked.

  “At his home. He can be found in the row houses across from the university, number four.”

  Valyrie nodded. “I know the way. When?”

  “Tomorrow at lunch. He always takes lunch at his home at or around noon.” Jurgen stood. “Perhaps he will have some answers. For now, I should take Laedron with me to meet with Fenric.”

  * * *

  The steps leading up to the front doors of the Vicariate Palace remained in disrepair. Climbing the stairs, Laedron observed two pools of blood around the large crater where he’d fallen, one stain his and the other that of Master Greathis. His skin tingled as if the place itself reminded his body of the pain, and he walked quicker to put distance between himself and that spot which had caused him so much agony.

  In the main hall, Duke Fenric sat with a group of his soldiers. A priest offered them food and drink. Fenric must not have trusted the man or his charity because he simply ignored the offerings.

  The first thing Laedron noticed about the duke was the impressive signet ring which bore the crest of the Sorbian royal family. The duke’s armor glimmered even in the dim light of the palace halls, and it had hardly a scrape or scratch from the previous day’s engagement. His face, goatee, and hair were all perfectly groomed.

  “Duke Fenric,” Laedron said, bowing.

  “And who are you, young man? Another priest coming to placate me?”

  “Your servant, my lord. Your subject.”

  “My subject? Your dulcet words will garner you no more favor with me than speaking plainly,” Fenric said with a sneer.

  “I do speak plainly, Sire. I am Laedron Telpist of Reven’s Landing.”

  “Telpist… a name that I have heard before, yet I cannot place. Reven’s Landing, you say?”

  “Yes, my duke. My father Wardrick Telpist was appointed as Bannor of that village by your brother, the king.”

  “No need to avert your gaze, then. My countrymen should look me in the eye when speaking.”

  “My apologies. I had gone so long in the guise of a Heraldan that their customs have become natural to me.” Laedron looked up at Fenric’s face. “I have come to talk of peace with you, my lord. These priests, being of weak will and filled with want for a time since passed, had elevated a charlatan to their highest office. The man persuaded them into a false conviction, then launched an attack against us in secret to provoke this war.”

  “What matter or concern is that of mine? Mistakes on their part do not facilitate a change of heart on mine. My nephew, your crown prince, lies dead at the hands of these miscreants, and my brother, your king, has ordered me to capture this country. Nothing has changed.”

  “My lord, I beg to differ,” Laedron said, glancing at Fenric’s soldiers. “You have few men left, too few, in my mind, to continue. Thus, now is the best time to consider alternatives.”

  “We can send word for more men. Surely, you know that we have many more men willing to fight—and die, if need be—for his majesty, King Xavier. A vengeful father is slow to forgive.”

  “Such a move is needless. His majesty has taken revenge upon the wrongdoers already, by my hand and those of my friends.”

  “Yours?”

  “We serve the Shimmering Dawn, my lord. We have completed our mission against Gustav Drakar, and we have done away with Andolis, more commonly known as Tristan the Fourth. This priest, Jurgen, has helped us every step of the way because he believes in justice, not power or prestige.”

  “What of the Falacorans?”

  Jurgen stepped forward and said, “If we declare a truce, the Falacorans will be forced to follow. They would have little choice.”

  “Little choice? They possess armies, ships, and the will to continue the fight, Priest.”

  Jurgen shook his head. “If we declare peace, I assure you that the Falacorans will obey the terms. They accede to our diplomatic actions in all things, especially those we create, and they would lack a case for war if they did not. The entire world would condemn them for continuing to fight without cause.”

  “Then you can promise that the Falacoran fleet will leave the Wayfarer’s Strait and stop harassing our merchant vessels?” Fenric asked.

  Laedron hadn’t considered the impact of the war on the grander scale. A Falacoran battle fleet in the Wayfarer’s Strait? This war has taken on a wide-reaching scale. For him to even mention their presence must mean they are causing havoc on the open sea.

  “Yes, we will swear by it,” Jurgen said, offering his hand. “If you say the word, I will dispatch the fastest ship I can find to carry word to Wintermere, then on to Talamere.”

  Wintermere and Talamere . A great port and the capital of Falacore.

  Fenric took Jurgen’s hand in an embrace. “Good. Then, I shall return to Balfan and depart these lands. Give me a day’s time to return to my ships, and the blockade shall end. Your ship will pass unimpeded.”

  “Thank you for your kindness,” Jurgen said with a bow.

  Fenric narrowed his eyes. “Strange…”

  “Yes?”

  “I have never had a priest bow to me before. They usually expect it the other way around.”

  “No, my lord. I bow because you have given my people a great boon this day. The gift of life and peace.” Jurgen gestured to the door. “We can arrange wagons—�
�

  “No need. My men can march. I, however, will require a horse. The sooner I can get word to my fleet, the sooner we can put an end to this madness.”

  “Take one of the geldings from the palace stables.” Jurgen pointed over his shoulder. “Below those stairs and to the left.”

  “I hope we are never forced to meet again under such circumstances,” Fenric said, approaching the door.

  “So long as I live, I shall prevent it.”

  Once Fenric and his men left, Jurgen turned to Laedron. “You never cease to impress me, Sorcerer.”

  “Thank you, Vicar.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, I shall speak to the consulship and inform them of this good news. I appreciate all you have done for us.”

  Laedron watched Jurgen leave. The first of our goodbyes. They’d had their arguments and confrontations, but Laedron remembered some good times with Jurgen. He also knew that he would probably never see Jurgen again, as their roads were unlikely to cross in the foreseeable future. We’re from two different worlds. He’ll remain in his, and one day soon, I hope to return to mine.

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  ← Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Nineteen →

  Revelry and Reverie

  Arriving back at the Shimmering Dawn headquarters, Laedron took a long look at the fountain out front, the golden chalice Meklan Draive had mentioned when he began the journey in Westmarch. The structure, a dilapidated church, housed the few men who remained of the order in Azura. It stood as a testament to strife and troubles in a time of madness and ancient grudges, a time of both triumph and defeat.

  The journey had brought him a world away from his home, and he’d had the distinct privilege of seeing the best and worst of his fellows—the depths of Marac’s grief and the heights of his bravery, the transformation of Brice from a mere tailor to a picker of locks and seeker of adventure. The journey had changed Laedron, too. No longer did he concern himself with learning lesser magic to appease a teacher. Magic had become a tool of survival, and he wielded it well. Ismerelda had passed her legacy on to him, and he had taken up the banner of her teachings and carried it forward against the Zyvdredi. In a way, he felt a part of a war still waged, one in which he hadn’t realized he was a combatant. He knew that war, the ageless fight between the Uxidin and Zyvdredi, would carry on long after he lay down his scepter.

  Some part of him didn’t want the war to be over, for an end to the fighting meant an end to their adventures. Perhaps the end need not come so soon. Maybe adventure lay before us still.

  The streets had seemed kinder on his return to the headquarters. They no longer appeared as hostile as when he had first arrived or any of the times he had gone out into the city before the peace settlement. Smiling, Laedron entered the building and dipped his head to Marac and Brice sitting at the common table.

  “What’s that smile all about? Have you done it?” Marac asked.

  Laedron nodded. “It is done. Fenric has departed with an offering of peace, and the war shall soon be at an end.”

  “Finally,” Brice said. “Now, we can go home.”

  “Yes.” Laedron sat at the end of the table. “You could go home, or you could come with me.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Wherever the Arcanists send us. I must find out more about these stones, and only the Uxidin can provide the answers.”

  “Another trip,” Brice said woefully.

  Marac gave Brice a gentle slap across the arm. “Another adventure.”

  “Oh, yes. Right.”

  Laedron glanced at the hall entry and noticed Valyrie leaning against a post and listening in on their conversation. “When we’ve finished with that, we can return home.”

  “I’ve made up my mind,” Valyrie said, joining them at the table.

  “And what have you decided?” Laedron asked.

  “I’m coming with you. There’s nothing left for me here.”

  “It would be difficult for you to return. Are you sure you want to leave?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve never traveled beyond this city, and I’ll likely never see the outside world if I stay here.” Her eyes turned downward. “I have too many memories of this place to stay, to watch you leave and not be at your side.”

  Laedron nodded. “If that is what you want, then so it shall be.”

  “So, what do we do now?” Marac sighed, seemingly bored with sitting around the headquarters. “Wait until tomorrow?”

  “A night out ought to do us some good,” Laedron replied, giving Marac a grin.

  Marac met his smile with wide eyes. “A night out? Laedron Telpist is saying we go out for a bit of enjoyment?”

  “Why not? Our mission is finished here, and we have nothing to do but wait. I thought you’d be pleased—”

  “I am, just a bit surprised that you would suggest it.”

  “Good, then it’s settled. Know any places, Val?” Laedron asked.

  She bobbed her head.

  “Let’s all get cleaned up, then.”

  * * *

  Laedron read the sign hanging above the door. Hubbard House. Going inside, he felt a rush of warm air, the heat caused by both the number of people within and the fireplace in the corner. From the stage resonated the sound of music, a harmonious mix of flute, tambourine, and lute. The performers, two men and a woman, were dressed in costumes, and the crowd seemed to be enjoying the performance, a contradiction to most places Laedron had visited. Overall, the tavern gave off a jovial ambience, but the owners of the establishment clearly expected a measure of restraint amongst its patrons.

  “I like it, but Marac may be uncomfortable here,” Laedron said, elbowing Marac in the ribs.

  Marac shook his head. “I think I’ll be fine. A fine meal and a mug of ale will please me more than a night of wild escapades.”

  “Something better than that stew we’ve been eating,” Brice said, rubbing his belly. “That stuff’s awful.”

  “Worse than awful.” Marac turned to Laedron and Valyrie. “Maybe you two would like some privacy?”

  “What? Don’t be silly.” Laedron folded his arms. “Privacy? For what? There’s no need.”

  “Actually, I think there is indeed a need.” Marac took Brice by the arm and led him away. “See you two after dinner.”

  “Ridiculous,” Laedron said. “He insists on making a big show out of everything.”

  Valyrie put her hand on his. “Let’s just try to enjoy ourselves, all right?”

  Glancing at their joined hands, Laedron gave her a nod. “Something to eat?”

  “Sounds delightful.”

  Laedron helped her to her seat, a custom his mother had always told him would be viewed favorably by women. Sitting at her side, he gestured at a serving woman to get her attention.

  “Welcome to Hubbard House,” the woman said with a slight bow. “What, pray tell, can I get for you two?”

  “Wine?” Laedron asked, glancing at Valyrie and receiving an approving nod. “Yes, wine. What is the meal tonight?”

  “Minted lamb and grilled leeks.”

  His mouth watered at the mention of lamb. “Two, please.”

  “Of course, and I shall have your wine out shortly.”

  When they were alone again, Laedron gazed into Valyrie’s eyes. “Are you certain that you wish to leave with us?”

  “Oh, Lae, of course. Why do you keep worrying over it?”

  “I don’t want to see you make the wrong choice.”

  “The wrong choice? No, I’m making the right decision.”

  “If you’re sure, I’m sure,” he said.

  Valyrie gave him a grin in return. “I’m certain about something else, too.”

  “Thank you.” Laedron smiled with appreciation at the serving woman’s return, took a goblet of wine, and sipped it. “Yes? What’s that?”

  “I’d like to learn of magic.”

  “Really?” Laedron asked, raising his eyebrows.

  She nodded. “I find i
t interesting. For a long time, I had only read of spellcraft in my books. When you came, I saw it, and then I wanted to perform it myself.”

  He remembered something his mother had told him. “Sorcerers aren’t born, they’re made. Some have an affinity for performing magic, but the door is open to anyone who will pass through.” He paused. “We can try, but I must warn you that students usually begin much younger.”

  “What, am I too old to learn new tricks?” she asked.

  Laedron smiled. “No, of course not. It’s just easier to get accustomed to the effects when you’re young—the headaches, the tiredness.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll try my hardest.”

  “Try your hardest?” Laedron asked, remembering what Ismerelda had told him what seemed so long ago. “I see we’ll have to work on your lack of confidence.”

  She had a puzzled expression. “Lack of confidence?”

  “Nothing. Just something my teacher told me when I started my training. She thought my indecision was a lack of belief in my own abilities.” Laedron paused. “Ismerelda was right. I was indecisive and unsure, but not anymore—not after what we’ve been through. She told me that I would have to learn to trust myself along the way, and Gustav and Andolis Drakar have done more to teach me about faith in myself than anyone or anything else.”

  The serving woman returned with platters piled high with roast lamb and grilled leeks, and Laedron thanked her before she walked away. Laedron could tell Valyrie had become as hungry as he was because she ate quickly and spoke little. The sludge served in the Shimmering Dawn must have had the same effect on her that it did me.

  “Sorry,” she said, clearly embarrassed by her haste. She patted her lips with a linen cloth.

  “No need to be.” Laedron continued happily through his meal, trying to make her feel comfortable by eating without a strict adherence to etiquette.

  Finishing, she pushed her plate away. “I need a rest after a feast like that.”