Brian Kittrell - The Consuls of the Vicariate

“Bind her hands.” Greathis handed a set of manacles to one of his men. “And put a gag in her mouth.”

Brice led the way into the house and upstairs to Forane’s study. Pushing open the door, Laedron spied innumerable scrolls lying strewn about the desktop. He walked to the writing table, and Greathis joined him.

Greathis read each of the letters, his expression hardly changing the entire time. Finally, he said, “Madness. All of this.”

Brice approached. “Mad it may be, but it is still the truth.”

“Take all of these letters and deliver them to my office,” Greathis said to one of the guards, then he turned to another militia man. “Once we’re done here, seal the house. No one in, no one out.”

They both replied, “Yes, Master.”

“Genevieve Forane… I can’t believe it.”

Laedron folded his arms. “Vicar Jurgen couldn’t believe it, either. Why does no one think this woman is capable of what she’s done?”

“Before this war business, she was kind, kinder than any woman I’ve ever met. Sincere, friendly, and abiding to all who approached her. She’s changed dramatically in a short period of time.”

“Perhaps she might be able to tell us why,” Marac said. “Now might be a good time to ask.”

“Yes, yes. Let us return her to the headquarters.”

* * *

Marac stopped Laedron just before the entrance to the militia building. “Lae, mind if I have a word?”

Laedron nodded.

“I–I’m having a little trouble.” Marac flexed his hand. “Ever since I was captured, I’ve had this tremble. It started off innocent enough, but it’s grown worse since we arrived in this city.”

“What do you think it is? A sickness?”

“No, not a sickness… not unless you consider cowardice to be an ailment.”

“Cowardice?” Laedron asked. “You’ve stood at my side in the face of danger. I wouldn’t consider that cowardly, not in the least.”

“Yes, I’ve stood by you, my friend. I’ve yet to swing my sword in anger against a foe, however, and I fear what may happen if it is required of me. Every time we face off against one of these mages, I can’t keep myself from shaking.”

“It’s natural, Marac. The fear reminds you that you’re still alive.”

Marac closed his eyes and sighed. “I wish I could be as brave as you.”

Laedron was speechless. Marac never seemed to be afraid, no matter what they had faced. Laedron had often wished that he was as fearless and brash as his friend.

“In time,” Laedron said, “these feelings will go away. What happened to Mikal was horrible, and we should always remember it, but we can’t go through life dwelling on it. We have to forge ahead and get through it together, brother.”

“You’ve never faltered, Lae. You’ve led us through thick and thin-”

“And I was just afraid as everybody else, maybe more. When we were young, do you remember Calvert telling us stories about the great warriors and adventurers?”

With a tear welling in his eye, Marac bobbed his head.

“How they were always brave and never backed down? How they fought with their dying breaths if needed? When they were hurt, they laughed at death and mocked the enemy?”

Marac bobbed his head again.

“That’s us, Marac. A few hundred years from now, they’ll tell stories of Marac Reven, of Laedron Telpist, and of Brice Warren-how they fought bravely and never backed down, how they laughed at pain and spat upon the enemy, no matter how daunting. For now, we have to live it, and the living part isn’t so easy. The tales tell us what we should aspire to be, not what we must be when we begin the journey.”

Marac wiped his face. “All right. Let’s see what Forane has to say about all of this. I’m tired of feeling around in the dark.”

They met Greathis in his office, where Forane lay on the floor, gagged and bound in chains. She seemed more like prey caught in a trap than the horrible monster her letters portrayed. Surely she must be putting up an act .

Greathis pawed through the confiscated items spread across his desk. “A black rod, letters to someone named ‘D’ about assassinating Vicar Jurgen, and other suspect materials. We have been busy, haven’t we?”

He received a grumble in reply.

“Remove her muzzle so we might hear what she has to say for herself,” Greathis said, gesturing at the woman on the floor. Marac obliged.

“You’ll never get away with this, Greathis,” Forane snarled. “Employing a mage in your militia? You’ll join me at the gallows.”

“We’ll deal with that issue when it comes up. If it comes up, I should say. For now, I have some questions for you.”

She smiled. “Ask, but don’t expect me to answer.”

“Why would you conspire to kill Vicar Jurgen?”

“Me? I would never do such a thing.”

“Come now. No need to waste our time with these games.”

“Who’s playing games? I know nothing.”

“Shall I read an excerpt of your correspondence, woman? ‘Instruct him to keep a lookout for the priest Jurgen and tell him you will pay tenfold if he would see fit to do away with that problem for us.’ Who was this mercenary?”

“We already know that,” Laedron said. “His name was Lester, and he was a member of the Shimmering Dawn.”

Forane turned her head. “And how do you know that?”

“You met with one of our informants near the bell tower the other night. You offered him payment if he would do away with Jurgen.”

“You seem to have all the answers already,” Forane said. “What do you need from me?”

Laedron produced the black sack and emptied the onyx stones into his hand. “For starters, you could tell me what these are for.”

She laughed and turned her head. “I’ll never tell you.”

Greathis peered at the stones. “She doesn’t have to tell. I know what they are.”

Forane gazed at Greathis with apparent surprise.

Laedron said, “We found them on one of the mages in black. What can you tell us about them?”

“A tool of Necromancers, I’m afraid. Have you ever heard the story of Vrolosh?”

Laedron exhaled heavily. “Several times.”

“Then you should know what they are.”

“They were never mentioned.”

“It would seem the Falacorans kept the story intact while some of the details fell through the cracks in more distant reaches,” Greathis said. “Long ago, Azura stood against Vrolosh, Master Necromancer and servant of Syril. Vrolosh and Syril agreed that Vrolosh would be given even greater power in exchange for new souls. A deal with a demon.

Syril imparted the knowledge of creating these stones, known as soulstones, in order to ease Vrolosh’s task. The souls would be captured in these and given to his master in darkness, presumably for eternal torment.”

Greathis paused. “The passage of the original story goes like this:

And into the stones Vrolosh cast their souls,

To trap and bind them in shards of darkest night.

For the master, always the master-Syril, the prince of hate. ”

Laedron felt a little sick, realizing that the stones giving off a faint light contained the essences of dead men. “Those mages were collecting souls for Syril?”

Greathis shrugged. “Perhaps, but likely not. A lesser known part of the tale tells of how Vrolosh disobeyed Syril, instead choosing to use the power of the stones for his own ends. That, as some would believe, is what made it possible for Azura to defeat Vrolosh at the end of the Great War. Vrolosh’s arrogance and thirst for new heights of power made Syril turn his back on the Necromancer.”

“What are they used for now?” Laedron brought his hand close to Forane’s face. “Some kind of dark ritual?”