Brian Kittrell - The Consuls of the Vicariate

Sergeant Wilkans opened the door. “Commander?”

“Lock him up, and go under heavy guard. Search him well before leaving him alone, then bring all of his possessions-clothes, wands, everything-to me.”

“Yes, Master.” Wilkans dragged the man from the room.

“Perhaps some time in the stockade will loosen his tongue.” Greathis sat on the edge of his desk. “I already know your name, so we can skip the introductions and move straight into the matter at hand.”

Laedron nodded.

“What in the hells is going on?” Greathis asked. His tone was kinder than the one he’d used with the man in black.

“We heard the whistle coming from the Ancient Quarter, and we made haste. Jurgen is a friend of ours, and we wanted to make sure no harm had come to him.”

Greathis’s right eye twitched. “Go on.”

“Just before the west gate, we ran into Jurgen and his clerk, and they told us of the chaos. We went forward and met that man-the sorcerer-inside the Ancient Quarter. He tried to lie, but we saw through it. We engaged him and stopped him then and there.”

“Engaged him. You mean with magic, right?”

Laedron closed his eyes and slowly bobbed his head. “We had no other choice but to-”

“No other choice?” Greathis slammed his fist on the desk. “As if everyone goes around playing with wands and magic? As if it’s something innate and natural to do? Do you realize where you are, boy?”

“I know how it must look, Master, but-”

“How it must look? A recruit wearing my colors and throwing spells into the night? ‘Ole Greathis has lost it,’ they’ll say. ‘He let a mage into his little regiment. Jeopardized the whole of the theocracy, he has.’ You’ve made me into a laughing stock!”

Marac stepped forward. “Few saw us, Master Greathis, and those who did were mostly running away and screaming.”

“And you! Don’t think you’re out of trouble in the least. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just as guilty as this one.” Greathis took a deep breath. “To think, my militia has been infiltrated by a mage. Azura! You’re not Sorbian. Tell me you’re not.”

Laedron dipped his head.

Greathis let out an angry growl. “I can’t believe it.” Greathis gave Laedron a puzzled look. “Why would Jurgen send you to me or even help you? You’re blackmailing him, aren’t you? Turned our dear priest into a spy for your dastardly cause? No, no… a forgery. You forged the letter to gain my trust, didn’t you?”

“He came willingly,” Laedron said, frustrated at the accusations. “And he aided us without threats or bribery.”

“Why, Sorcerer? If I may call you that, or would you prefer Sorbian dog ? Why would Jurgen assist you against us?”

“We share the same goal.”

“And that is?”

“To end the war.”

“Why would a Sorbian be interested in ending a war that the Sorbians started in the first place?”

Laedron stared into Greathis’s eyes. The man exhibited disbelief and wonder, not what Laedron would expect to see from someone helping the Drakars. “We didn’t start the war. This war began with an attack on the Morcaine Mage Academy, a sneak attack perpetrated by Gustav Drakar and a band of your militia.”

“You lie,” Greathis said in a dismissing manner. “All of my men have been here with me this entire time. They couldn’t be in two places at once.”

Laedron shrugged. “Perhaps they only wore the uniforms of your men, then. Either way, the war was started by the Drakars, not by the Sorbians.”

“This makes no sense to me. What you claim cannot be true.”

“Can it not? Since we’ve joined your ranks, have we done anything other than help you? We found one of your men slain, caught his killer, and reported the incident to you. We stopped the one in the Ancient Quarter, too. Why would we do those things if we meant you harm?”

“To get on my good side?”

“Is that what you would expect of a sorcerer sent to infiltrate you? You can’t believe that.”

“I don’t know what to believe,” Greathis said, folding his arms. “Where is Jurgen? I would hear this from his lips before drawing any conclusions.”

“I can take you to him, but only you. No one else.”

“Ah, yes, so you can lead me into a trap?”

“If I wanted to kill you, I could have done that already,” Laedron said. “You won’t be harmed. I swear it.”

“Well, if Jurgen trusts you, perhaps I can. You haven’t killed him yet, at any rate.” Greathis took a cloak from his chair and affixed it about his neck. “Lead on, Sorcerer, but no tricks. And the shackles stay on.”

* * *

Laedron led Greathis to the abandoned chapel. He took a deep breath, then opened the door and entered with Greathis following close behind. Once inside the common room, Laedron saw Jurgen and Valyrie seated at the large table, and Piers was treating Valyrie’s numerous cuts and scrapes.

Piers glanced at Laedron, then did a double take and drew his sword. “You’ve brought him here?”

“Shimmering Dawn!” Greathis shouted, reaching for his blade.

“Wait, calm down.” Laedron waved his hands, the chains of his shackles jingling. “Just calm down. We’re here to talk things out, not to make trouble, right?”

“You should have told me we were coming to the Shimmering Dawn-traitors, brigands, and thieves.” Greathis spit on the floor, then extended his hand to the priest. “Come, Jurgen. They shall hold you prisoner no longer.”

“They do not hold me hostage, Dalton,” Jurgen said. “I am a guest of these traitors, brigands, and thieves, as you put it.”

“A guest?”

“Yes, of course.” Jurgen wiped his hands on a rag and approached Greathis. “By your presence here, I can only assume you’ve been told the truth. Ah, but I can tell by the look in your eye that you don’t believe it.”

“What this sorcerer has said is impossible. It cannot be,” Greathis replied. “How can you be so quick to believe his lies?”

“You never knew it, but I’ve maintained correspondence with the Shimmering Dawn of Sorbia for quite a long time. Don’t you see, Greathis? Training priests with miracles of war, outfitting vessels with weapons, hoarding supplies, and restricting our borders? The Drakars knew war was imminent, but they claimed the Sorbians were responsible. Meklan Draive sent this sorcerer and his knights to me for help, to aid them in ridding the world of one Gustav Drakar.”

Greathis’s eyes widened. “You, Jurgen? You helped them kill the Grand Vicar’s brother?”

“Draive wouldn’t have set his people on such a task without cause.” Jurgen sighed. “I helped them for my own purposes. I wanted to leave this land. I just wanted to get away after what the Drakars had done to me and to our people.”

“And you thought it best to aid these assassins with their task? There’s no honor in that.”

Brice and Caleb entered from one of the side rooms. Upon seeing Greathis, Caleb drew his sword, but Jurgen held up his hand and said, “No need for that. We’re only talking.”

Caleb replaced his sword, but continued to eye Greathis warily.

Jurgen continued, “You speak of honor? It was honorable to attack and kill innocent people in Morcaine? To start a war and keep an entire nation-our nation, Dalton-blinded by lies? No one wanted to believe me, but the Drakars are the poison in our cups. Now you see what they have done, but you do not believe it because you have been conditioned by their treachery for so long.”

“What has gotten into you, Vicar? I’ve never heard you speak so forcefully,” Greathis said.

Jurgen took a deep breath. “I apologize if my tone was harsh. Nearly being assassinated must have put me in a volatile state. Tristan shall have to try harder next time.”