Brian Kittrell - The Consuls of the Vicariate

“What if they vote for it? What will we do?”

“Fret not. I take the worried looks from the majority of the consuls as a sign it shall fail. Regardless of the outcome, we will find a way.”

Tristan stood and leaned against the rail. “Here me now! Those in favor of my anointing to the status of Protector of the Faith, record ‘yes.’ Those who would oppose should record ‘no.’”

“We, of course, will say ‘no.’” Jurgen pointed at the scrap and the quill. “Write the response.”

After the chamberlains collected the votes, the chief went through each one. He then stood and walked to a podium near his seat. “By the grace of Azura, we congregate to do her will in all things. It is the will of the consuls that Grand Vicar Tristan IV not be anointed-”

The chamberlain’s voice was drowned with both the cheers and boos erupting throughout the gallery. Tristan stood and exited the chamber the way he had entered, apparently unwilling to face the crowd or speak another word that day. Jurgen chuckled under his breath, then dipped his head to Vicar Forane when she raced past them, heading for the main entrance.

“That went well,” Valyrie said, shaking her head.

Jurgen grinned. “We are fortunate it went that way, for I fear what might have come to pass if he’d succeeded.”

“Is it not dangerous, though? To anger him in such a way?”

“That’s the point, isn’t it? The last thing our faith should do is have us living in fear. If I put myself in danger, it is so others can be free of an iron grip.”

“Though you don’t think so, I still think you’re brave for doing this.”

“Brave?” Jurgen lowered his voice. “No, our Sorbian friends are brave. I am only doing what I should have done a long time ago.”

“Very well. You would know better than me,” Valyrie said. I just hope all of this is worth it in the end .

“Of course. Come. When the Grand Vicar departs, we are released for the day.”

Another day in the enemy’s homeland . Laedron rose from the bed and donned his clothes. Better get to it. One step, then the other. He concealed his scepter and wand as best he could and went in search of his friends.

In the common room, he found Marac sharpening his sword at the dining table.

Laedron closed the door after entering. “I think it’s sharp enough, my friend.”

“Never sharp enough. The blade must be ready.” Marac slid the whetstone along the length of the edge. “I won’t be caught helpless again.”

“Being captured worked in our favor this time. No worries.”

“It could’ve turned out much differently.”

“But it didn’t.”

“But it could have,” Marac said sharply.

“Are you well?”

Marac let out a chuckle. “As well as can be expected. I’m deep in the enemy’s territory, but we play games of politics and intrigue.”

“Things must be handled with delicacy, Marac. I’d like nothing more than to rid this world of Andolis Drakar, but we must do so carefully if we’re to survive.”

“And how long must we wait? Weeks? Months? Or years, perhaps? How long will it take?”

Laedron put his hand on Marac’s shoulder. “No matter how long it takes, we must stay the course. This plan is the best chance for success.”

Marac lowered his head. “Very well.”

“Don’t worry.” Laedron patted him on the back. “We’ll see some action today, but first, I must make sure Jurgen and Valyrie are preparing themselves to leave.”

“They’ve left already.”

“They have?”

“You seem disappointed. I would’ve thought you’d be pleased they got to it.”

“Yes, but-”

Marac smiled. “You wanted to see the girl off, did you?”

“No. Well… yes. To wish them a safe journey.”

“It’s more than that. I can see it.”

Laedron took a seat next to him. “I… um…”

“Say no more. I already know how you feel.”

“How did you know?”

Marac leaned back in his chair, having finally laid the sword on the table. “I’ve known you for as long as I can remember. I’ve never seen you behave that way around other girls.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“To me, sure. I doubt she realizes it, though.”

Laedron folded his arms across his chest. “I feel horrible for her. She’s just lost her father, and now she’s wrapped up in our schemes.”

“By her own will.”

“What?”

“She’s old enough to know what she’s doing, Lae.”

“Is she? Perhaps, but I can’t help but thinking she helps us because she has no other choice.”

“She mentioned her uncle, didn’t she?” Marac asked. “She could’ve gone to live with him.”

“From what I understand, he’s unbearable to be around.”

“It’s still a choice. She chooses to be here with us-with you.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

Marac smiled. “Of course I’m right. I’m always right.”

“Unless I am,” Laedron said, letting out a laugh.

“Oh, you got me there. I’m right until the ol’ archmage starts arguing me up and down the Midlands. Can’t be denied.”

Laedron poured a bowl of stew from the fireplace pot and returned to the table. “Once I get a bit of this in my belly, I’ll be ready if you are.”

“Go ahead, I’ve already had some. One thing I won’t miss is the food in this place.”

“Won’t argue with you there.” Laedron poked a chunk of overcooked meat with his spoon. “This stuff’s fit for a dog.”

“Not even a dog, but you’d better eat up anyway. You need your strength.”

Maybe this will help it go down , he thought, snatching a piece of bread from the plate.

After eating, Laedron brushed his shirt free of crumbs, then took the scroll sitting on the end of the table. “Jurgen’s note to get us in the militia.”

“Good.” Marac sheathed his sword and wrapped his cloak about his back. “At least we’ll get to walk around a bit. Where is this place, anyway?”

“Near what they call the Ancient Quarter. We passed it on the way to the sea.”

“Then, lead the way.”

Laedron followed the same path Jurgen had taken him on earlier. On the trip to the seaside, he had kept his head down most of the way, but he decided to take in the sights and sounds of the city. The buildings were closer together in that end of the city than anywhere he’d seen in Morcaine, but many rose as high as three stories. In his homeland, the houses and businesses were made of carved stone and wood, but the Heraldan homes and shops were built of timbers, brick, and plaster. Maybe they lack quarries. Or perhaps the expense would be too great .

Every window and doorway had some religious decoration of some kind, and the symbols made Laedron feel even more foreign. He wondered if the people glancing at him as he passed could see that he wasn’t Heraldan. Don’t give yourself away. They can’t know. There’s no way for them to know.

The houses and shops had well-trimmed grass occupying the open space of each lot, a feature he found strange, yet somewhat pleasant. People in Sorbia, from his recollection, cared little about how their lawns and shrubs appeared. The grass had been allowed to grow long around the passage, and the people apparently cut back bushes only when they threatened to block a door or a window. The only flowers to be found on a Sorbian’s tract were wild and grew at random. The Heraldan houses sometimes had a number of planters or even beds of fertile earth set aside for flowers. That’s likely the reason the air has a certain perfume at all times. These flowers are everywhere.