The Consuls of the Vicariate

by Brian Kittrell

  “Back stock? Old fashions?” Laedron asked.

  “No, no. They’re in style, but not entirely custom. I’m sure they’ll be quite fetching.”

  “How much is all of this going to cost?”

  “The four of you? You did hold up a platinum—”

  “And we saved the city, you understand.”

  Manny frowned as if the thought of a discount was abhorrent. “Fine, fine. Three-quarters a platinum, then. Seventy-five sovereigns, which means I’ll give you twenty-five back.”

  “Seventy-five?”

  Manny gave him a firm look. “That barely accounts for the materials and my hours of labor. Seventy-five is far cheaper than the regular rate.”

  “Fine, fine. Here you are.” Laedron handed over the platinum coin and received the difference. The gold gleamed nearly as bright as the platinum, and he remembered the days when even the sight of a gold coin would pique his interest in the one possessing it. Holding twenty-five gold coins and still having another platinum in his pouch, he was richer than he ever had been, even with splitting the entire purse four ways. Opening the pouch, Laedron dropped the coins into it with a pleasant jingle.

  “Who’s first, then?” Manny asked.

  Laedron raised his hand. “I’ll go first.”

  “Very well.” Manny turned to the back of the shop. “Larson!”

  A boy came running up the aisle. “Yes?”

  “Fetch my wife, boy. Tell her the shopping can wait. And my daughter if she’s there. We’ll need everyone we can muster to get these orders finished on time.”

  “Yes, sire,” the boy replied, then ran out the front door.

  Manny turned back to Laedron. “Come along, and we’ll see if we can find you something suitable.”

  * * *

  After toiling with Manny for an hour, Laedron returned to the front parlor of the shop, wearing the fine coat and pants the tailor had fitted for him. He had never worn crimson, but the dark red vest accented the black coat and the white silk shirt.

  “You clean up nicely, Laedron Telpist.” Marac stood. “I suppose I should go next.”

  “While I’m fitting him, change back into your other clothes carefully,” Manny said, pointing at Laedron. “I’ll need to alter the clothes, and my marks were made with great precision.”

  By the time Laedron finished changing clothes, Marac had been fitted and Brice was already in the back with Manny. “That was quick.”

  “You like it?” Marac asked.

  Looking at the light blue vest and the tan overcoat, Laedron smiled. “Very nice.”

  “He had this one already done. Said a nobleman requested it, then cancelled the order at the last minute.” Marac stretched out his arms. “It’s a little snug, but it fits well.”

  “That it does,” Laedron said, then turned when the curtain flew open to reveal Brice.

  Brice shook his head and paced through the parlor. “I don’t like it.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” Manny chased after him, still trying to take a measurement of the sleeve. “Will you hold still?”

  “I’ve made a pair of pants or two in my time,” Brice replied, kicking his legs. “These will never fit.”

  “Trust me, would you? If you would just hold on, I will show you.”

  Brice sighed, freezing in place. Manny manipulated the pants around the waist, then tugged at the back around the knee. “Any better?”

  “Yes, but how did—”

  “Secrets of the trade. I can’t give everything away, can I?” Manny pinned the pants. “Now, get changed so I might get started on her dress.”

  Brice disappeared behind the curtain, and Manny put his hands on his hips. “What colors do you prefer, miss?”

  “Violet and pink, if you’re able. I’ve always favored those,” Valyrie said.

  Manny glanced at the ceiling and tapped his chin with a finger. “It could take some time, but we’ll find a way. The rest of you have a little wait on your hands.”

  “We’ll remain here,” Laedron replied. “She sat peacefully through our fittings, so we shall wait through hers.”

  “If you wish, but I’d at least recommend sending someone across to the tea house. Get me a pitcher all my own.” Manny handed Brice a silver piece as he came out from behind the changing curtain. “Dresses can take much longer to get perfect.”

  Laedron nodded and looked at Brice. “Do you mind?”

  “No, I could go for something to drink about now.”

  Valyrie followed Manny to the back, and Laedron and Marac sat on the tufted bench which ran along the front of the shop. Returning shortly with a pitcher of tea and some mugs, Brice took a seat with them.

  * * *

  Normally, Laedron would have become uncomfortable and drained from waiting so long, but Jurgen’s spell apparently held strong because Laedron felt fresh and eager regardless of how much time passed. Marac had fallen asleep, and Brice, having plenty of open bench on his side, had lain down and stretched out.

  Manny came out and slid the curtain to the side, revealing Valyrie wearing a deep purple dress with soft pink trim. Speechless, Laedron leaned forward, taking in her beauty. Though she lacked a crown atop her head, he likened her appearance to that of a princess. The dress fit perfectly, accentuating every curve and the lines of her body.

  She did a quick twirl. “What do you think?”

  “Amazing,” Brice said.

  Marac roused from his slumber and stared at her with wide eyes. “Beautiful.”

  Laedron stood and took her hands in his. “I think it’s wonderful. Breathtaking.”

  She simpered, apparently embarrassed by their reactions. “Thank you.”

  “I’m surprised it fit so well. I’d planned to give that one to my daughter as a gift, but I have plenty of time to make another like it.” Manny tugged at the sides of the dress. “You’re very close to her size, close enough not to require any sweeping alterations, at any rate.”

  “You’ve certainly earned your keep,” Laedron said, giving Manny a grin. “I can see that your shop lives up to its name.”

  “Thank you.” Manny turned to Valyrie and gestured to the back room. “Lay it across the table when you’ve changed, and I’ll finish everything up by nightfall.”

  “We’ll send someone around to pick them up after dark, then.”

  Once Valyrie returned, Laedron led the way into the street. “Have we anything else to do?”

  Marac shook his head. “A good meal tonight and plenty of rest for tomorrow, I’d say. Beyond that, I can think of nothing.”

  Laedron smiled even though he knew that the next morning would come after another sleepless night. It could be worse. Combined with an inability to sleep, I could be fatigued all the time. At the very least, I feel wonderful, despite the fact that I feel unnatural.

  Arriving at the Shimmering Dawn, Laedron glimpsed a full table and said, “Looks as if the quality of the food has increased with the quality of the lodgings.”

  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.”

  « Table of Contents

  ← Chapter Twenty-Two | Chapter Twenty-Four →

  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 a
nd 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.