Brian Kittrell - The Consuls of the Vicariate

“Spoken like a true Grand Vicar.” Griffinwold swatted Jurgen on the shoulder. “Said by the kind of man we need leading the church in these harsh and uncertain times.”

“Do what you will once Tristan is gone, but until that day comes, our work lies unfinished. Good day to you, gentlemen. We shall speak more of these things when there is need.” Jurgen stood and exchanged embraces and goodbyes with each of them, then led Valyrie out of the restaurant.

“Will you take the throne if offered?” Valyrie asked once they were on the street.

“Perhaps. If Azura wills it through her consuls, I would serve, but we needn’t concern ourselves with such things at this juncture.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“For now, we continue going to the consulship to make sure Andolis doesn’t do any more damage. We must also send word to the others.”

“How?”

“I shall prepare missives, and you’ll take them around. If I were to go, it would put our friends in even more danger.”

Jurgen opened the door of their assigned house, closing it behind Valyrie. “You shall deliver these letters.” He sat at the writing desk and scribbled notations, then handed them to her. “I wrote them in the form of a journal in case they are read by our enemies. Go quickly. First to the militia for Laedron and Marac, then to the headquarters.”

She turned toward the door.

“Oh, and take this,” Jurgen said, removing his Azura’s Star brooch from his robe. “No one will trouble you while you wear it.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ll remain here until you return. Be swift.”

“Alone?” she asked.

Jurgen patted her on the arm. “If they were to come for me, little would stand in their way. Go.”

* * *

She arrived at the militia headquarters and found a guardian standing post outside the front door. “I have correspondences.”

“For Greathis? Third floor-”

“No, these are for two others. They joined recently. One with black hair and dark blue eyes, thin, and the other had brown hair and eyes to match. Bigger fellow.”

“They’d be on the second floor with the other new ones. On the right, miss.”

“You haven’t seen these two before?”

The guard chuckled. “Based upon the details provided, you’ve described half of the regiment. Good evening.”

“Sorry,” she said, her cheeks warming from the embarrassment. “I’ll find them.”

Once on the second floor, she found Laedron and Marac in their sleeping quarters. They were dressed in uniforms of the militia, a stark contrast to the plain clothes they normally wore.

“Jurgen sends news.” She handed Laedron the missive.

“Not as grave as the other news we’ve received, I pray.” Laedron passed her a rolled parchment. “This was left in our room while we were out. Found it this morning.”

She unfurled the parchment.

The meeting with our lady has gone well. Make yourself available around the Ancient Quarter and our holy friend’s new home, and keep a good eye out. The time nears. -Your Confessor.

“Your Confessor?” she asked.

“Piers.” Laedron sighed. “When I thought I was going to die by his hand, I begged that he take my life and spare you and the others. I said… too much, but in hindsight, it’s better that I did.”

“Will you two be close to us?” She tried her best not to plead for their protection. “We’re near the west end of the Ancient Quarter.”

“Of course,” Marac said, sheathing his sword at his hip. “We’re assigned a route that takes us near where you’re staying. Don’t worry.”

If only it were that easy . “Thank you. I have more to deliver, so I will be off before it gets late. All the best.”

“Are you well?” Laedron asked.

“As well as can be expected in these times.”

“I can’t disagree. I hope we’ll see you again soon, and under different circumstances.”

Laedron watched her walk down the hall until she was gone from sight. “It’s good to see her in higher spirits.”

“You call that ‘higher spirits’?” Marac scoffed.

“If you’d seen her mourning in the chapel, you’d agree with me.”

“If you say so.” Marac placed a shield on his arm and buckled it.

“Never thought I’d see you using one of those again.”

“I’d rather take a blow to this hunk of wood and iron than my fleshy bits, if I can help it.”

“You stand a good chance, I’d say. The thing’s more than half your height.”

“Let’s get on with it. My feet are begging to roam the cobbles for hours on end.”

“No need to be dry about it, Marac. At least now we have a useful purpose in the scheme of things.” Laedron gave him a good-natured poke. “Brice has seen more action than you in this city thus far.”

“Oh, so we’re competing now? Little thimble’s got a long way to catch up to Marac Reven.”

Laedron laughed, leading the way through the hall and into the street. He soon found the beginning of their appointed route, the mouth of a narrow back street near the western wall of the Ancient Quarter. It couldn’t have been a well-lit street, now could it? Laedron sighed.

Marac’s face radiated his concern. “Everything all right?”

“Yes, yes. I only wonder what we’ll find along this road.”

“This one’s as good as any other. We’ve been in tighter spots.”

“Let’s get to it, then. It’s not going to patrol itself.”

With the sun setting on the horizon, Laedron watched the lantern lighters scurry through the streets. The light posts gave off a dim ambient glow, just enough for him to make out important features, but not enough to clear the shadows that gave him anxiety. How entertaining it will be for our assailants when I draw this dagger. I know more about fishing than wielding this thing, and that’s pathetic indeed . He was glad to have Marac at his side; he knew the miller’s son had paid close attention to sword training.

Marac walked over to the first business they encountered, turned the knob, and jiggled the door in its frame.

“What are you doing?” Laedron asked.

“Making sure it’s secure. If we’re to be militia, we might as well do it right.”

Laedron checked the next door. “What do we do if they’re unlocked?”

“Reach in and lock it, I suppose. You’ll have to forgive me. I’m a bit new to this whole patrolling thing.”

“We just have to stay close to Jurgen’s apartment. I’d die if anything happened to him.”

“Don’t you mean to her ?” Marac asked.

“What? No, of course not. Don’t be silly.”

“What’s silly about it? Has your training made you cold to any possibilities other than the mission?”

“Now’s not the time. We have a war to stop.”

Marac gave him a cross glare. “All duty, eh? What will become of you when duty ends and all that remains is a tired old man?”

“I have some time before that, I should think. Plenty of time by my calculations.”

“Wait too long, and you’ll find things passing you by, my friend. Wait, yes, but no longer than you must.”

“We’re too different, and her father just passed. I don’t want to simply be a replacement for someone she’s lost.”

“No, she doesn’t strike me as that type. She’s willful, and she might even be as stubborn as you. From my limited experience, I could say that you two have several things in common-a love of books and knowledge, a quiet demeanor, all wrapped around a fiery, passionate center.”

“All of that aside, I doubt she’s interested in me. I’ve been in her embrace, but it was only to comfort her in her grief. Nothing more.”