Brian Kittrell - The Consuls of the Vicariate

“It’s none of your concern. Worry only for yourself. Should we succeed tomorrow night, I shall pay you the other half of the money owed to Lester. If not, it will be up to you to earn it.”

Brice heard the flap of a cloak, then footsteps growing distant. He peeked over the stone wall of the well to see Caleb exiting the courtyard. He waited until he thought it was safe to leave, then walked back to the Shimmering Dawn.

Forane’s plotting deep and wide. We must warn them somehow . Reaching the last street before the headquarters, Brice took one last look around to see if he’d been followed, then he entered the building and heard Caleb relaying the essential details of his conversation with Forane to Piers.

“She didn’t say where or how?” Piers asked.

Caleb shrugged. “No, she wouldn’t reveal it. I can only assume it will be wherever Vicar Jurgen is tomorrow night.”

“We should expect any possibility.” Piers ran his fingers through his hair. “With Lester’s failure, they could have anything in mind and may have little regard for subtlety or stealth.”

Caleb folded his arms. “How do you think they will come for him?”

“When dealing with the theocracy, there are a number of possibilities. Anything, Caleb. Anything at all.”

“Should we shadow Jurgen?” Brice asked. “You know, to keep an eye on him?”

“No, impossible,” Piers said. “Forane has seen Caleb’s face, and she would likely see you two in the district. If they were to attack, you two couldn’t be seen helping Jurgen. No, we must contact Laedron and Marac; his safety will be theirs to handle.”

Brice took a seat across from Piers. “And I thought breaking into houses was dangerous.”

“We’re not out of the fire yet, not by any means.” Piers took a quill and scrawled a message on a piece of parchment. “I shall prepare a missive for our friends. Brice, you will take it to them.”

“Where?”

Piers rolled the scroll, wrapped it with a red ribbon, and dripped some wax for a seal. “To the militia headquarters. The red brick building near the Ancient Quarter.”

“That’s what that was?” Brice took the missive. “Right. I’ll be back.”

“Good. Hurry back, but you must make sure you aren’t followed. The stakes are high in this game. The same goes for you, Caleb. I shall devise how we will handle the vicar.”

After waking and dressing, Valyrie found Jurgen seated at the dining table.

“Good morning,” Jurgen said, turning to her when she came into the kitchen. “I thought you’d never wake.”

She rubbed her eyes. “You jest, Vicar. I’ve risen well before the rest of Azura.”

“Come, have some of this. I fetched it from the mid-market just before dawn.”

She thought fondly of the mid-market, a series of stands just outside the gate of the Ancient Quarter where one could acquire the freshest produce and dairy if the buyer came early enough. “Smells wonderful.”

“One of my favorite recipes,” Jurgen said, then put the plate before an empty seat and offered her the chair. “Apple bellies.”

“What’s an apple belly?”

“A dash of cinnamon and sugar, a spoonful of butter, all wrapped up in sweet dough and twisted at the end. Oh, and the slices of peeled apple at the center, I can’t forget to mention those.”

“But why the name?”

Jurgen smiled, lifting his pastry by the twists at either end. “See how it dips low, like the belly of a pig?”

Nodding, she took a bite and savored the rich flavors. The taste reminded her of the apple cobblers she’d enjoyed on numerous occasions at the inn, but more buttery.

Having already finished most of his by the time she had started, Jurgen waited until the last bite passed her lips. “You seem troubled.”

“My dreams trouble me. I can think of nothing but the dagger which pierced my father’s heart.”

“The nightmares will fade in time. I have them myself, but I keep faith.”

She dipped her head, swallowing the last bit of her breakfast. “Do you think we’ll make any headway today?”

Jurgen frowned. “You say that as if we’ve done nothing. Blocking Andolis from becoming Protector was an important step.”

Andolis. Tristan IV . “He still rules. Though he does not possess the title, he remains in power, right?”

“Indeed, but the powers of a Protector are sweeping and total. As Grand Vicar, he suffers some restrictions. Only through small steps can we hope to make a change, and the first was yesterday. Today, we continue along the path. We can do nothing more.”

She leaned back to take the pressure off her full stomach. “I fear for the future, near and far away. If we don’t do something soon, the war will claim more and more.”

“I know, and I share your concern. Come now to the consulship; we’ll make no progress sitting here.” He slipped on his ceremonial garb and led the way out the door.

* * *

She sat at Jurgen’s side, and again the drums roared throughout the chamber as the Grand Vicar made his entrance. Valyrie glanced at him, and then she stared at the onyx ring on his finger. The pulsing, shimmering glow didn’t come from the sun or the candles and torches ringing the auditorium. The stone itself glowed with an unnatural light. How can that be?

“Brothers and sisters,” Tristan said, then waited until the assembly grew silent. “I must apologize for my hasty exit yesterday. The stress of how best to serve our most holy church has weighed heavily on my mind of late, and the path is unclear at times. I spent the night in my private chapel praying that Azura would guide my hand, and I believe I have come to a solution.

“Vicar Jurgen is correct. Anointing a Protector will do us little good in these times, and we have yet to exhaust all of our options.”

Valyrie did her best to keep her face from telling her feelings of confusion and doubt at his words.

Tristan opened his hand to Jurgen. “You were right, my brother. Rise and be recognized.”

Jurgen stood, then bowed to the other vicars. A light applause echoed throughout the room. Valyrie could tell by the looks on the vicars’ faces that they were just as bewildered as she.

Tristan turned to the assembly. “Azura has shown us through her actions that even in the most dire of times, we must demonstrate our restraint and faith. Consuls, I yield to Vicar Forane, who has news for us from Balfan.”

“Thank you, Grand Vicar.” Forane emerged from the sea of consuls, and Valyrie was able to match a face to the voice she had heard the previous day. “It has come to my attention by way of a messenger that we are now under siege. The Arcanist ships we refitted for battle were unable to break the blockade, and Sorbian troops…” She lowered her head for a moment. “Forgive me, for this news may be difficult to bear. Soldiers from Sorbia have landed and surrounded Balfan in the night.”

Valyrie felt fear tainting the once-serene halls of the Vicariate. The vicars gasped and muttered profanities. Even Jurgen, who she had thought unshakable, seemed to be uneasy.

“Those are the facts,” Forane continued. “The city isn’t expected to resist for long since they haven’t any walls or a force capable of repelling the enemy.”

“Master Greathis,” Tristan said, sitting on the throne. “Pray tell, how long we can expect to hold out?”

When she heard heavy footsteps, Valyrie turned to view Master Greathis. He was adorned in Falacoran armor and spoke with the throaty, dense accent of that country. “A few months, I should say.” Greathis walked to the center of the chamber just below the Grand Vicar’s perch. “The militia can keep them out for some time, but we won’t last forever, and we won’t force out or dislodge a professional army.”