Brian Kittrell - The Consuls of the Vicariate

Please, don’t die. Azura… Creator… whoever is listening, please, save my friend , Marac prayed, lifting Laedron by his other arm. “Be careful with him, but we must hurry. To the headquarters. Jurgen will know what to do.”

They lugged Laedron’s seemingly lifeless body through the streets with little more than surprised looks from passersby. Buildings burned, illuminating the night sky, and the total chaos gave no one time to ask questions or share concerns. Marac and Brice ended the race across town at the door of the Shimmering Dawn headquarters.

Marac burst through the door and yelled, “Jurgen! Help!”

Without delay, Jurgen and Valyrie joined them at the door and helped carry Laedron the rest of the way into the room.

“What happened?” Valyrie asked.

“Greathis decided we would take Andolis and the palace tonight,” Marac said.

Jurgen’s face twisted with confusion. “What? He told us-”

“I know what he said. After Forane’s confession, he decided we had to act quickly. He’s dead, Jurgen, Greathis and many of his men, and Laedron’s not far behind. Help him!”

Jurgen led them to Laedron’s room, and they laid him on the bed. The priest examined his body. “A great deal of damage has been done. If you value your friend’s life, you’ll leave me to my work.”

“I can’t leave him,” Marac said. “Not in a time such as this.”

Jurgen pressed his hand firmly against Marac’s chest. “You must give me time and space to work. Now go!”

He breathes still. Marac glanced at Laedron one last time, then begrudgingly walked out, and Brice and Valyrie joined him at the long dining table.

“After all we’ve done for him, Jurgen had better fix this.”

“What if he can’t?” Brice asked.

“He better find a way. I’m not losing Laedron now. No, not now. We finally accomplish what we’ve come here to do, and he dies? No, I won’t have it.”

“He’s hurt pretty-”

“Not another word,” Marac snarled. “That is a possibility I will not accept. Do you not understand? He will survive.”

Every crackle of the fire grated on Marac’s nerves, his temper rising with each second that passed without news. Staring at the closed door to Laedron’s room, he pondered what might be happening on the other side. Does a longer wait mean they’re getting good results?Or does the delay mean my friend has taken a turn for the worst? The uncertainty had a dual effect on his mind. Until someone came out and told him, he didn’t know whether Laedron was alive or dead, and although he preferred the former, the passage of time kept him from finding out the latter, leaving him with hope.

Few more precious, abrasive moments went by before the door slowly creaked open. Standing, Marac studied Jurgen’s worried face.

Jurgen continued to wipe his hands on a scrap of cloth, and his head turned downward when he seemed to notice Marac watching him.

“I-” Jurgen began, then paused. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Marac asked, wanting a better explanation. “What do you mean, ‘sorry?’”

“I’ve done what I can. I don’t see him lasting the night.” Jurgen reached out to take Marac in an embrace, but Marac pushed away his hands.

“Sorry?” Marac shot past Jurgen and into the room, then looked at his friend lying on the mattress, his life draining away with every tick of the clock. Lae. It cannot be. It can’t end this way. No! He fell to his knees next to the bed, gripping Laedron’s cool hand. He could tell little life remained in the body. Tears rained from his eyes like a torrent of floodwater, and he wailed with desperation. Brice turned away, and Valyrie gasped.

He wondered how he could continue forward without his friend at his side. They had come so far together, yet Laedron lay dying. He fell further into the depths of despair when he tried to imagine telling Laedron’s mother what had passed, that her only son had died trying to save a people who hated his kind. Laren. Creator! How can I explain to his sister, my love, what has happened? How can I tell her that her brother will never come back?

Putting his head on Laedron’s belly, Marac felt the brush of a velvet cloth on his forehead. He sat up and noticed the black cloth bag still tied to Laedron’s belt. Marac remembered what had happened in Pilgrim’s Rest-Brice’s resurrection. If Laedron could bring Brice back, Jurgen can stop Laedron’s death, for priests are gifted with healing magic. The stones. Augmentation, as Forane put it. There is a way!

He snatched the sack, stepped out of the room, and forcefully took hold of Jurgen’s arm.

Jurgen’s eyes were full of heartache and regret. “I’m sorry, Mar-”

“No, it cannot end this way.” Marac emptied the pouch into Jurgen’s hand, then held up a stone with an unnatural glimmer. “Take this. You shall undo this, Priest.”

“What?” Jurgen stared at the stone. “What do you mean? What is this?”

Marac tried to decide if he would lie or tell the truth. I can’t ask him to do this unless he knows full well what is involved. He must know the truth, but he will do what I ask just the same. “A soulstone, Jurgen. To instill full healing and restoration in his body, to bring him back from death’s door.”

“No. No, you cannot ask this of me.” Jurgen pushed Marac’s hand away. “Not even Azura would do as you ask. What you speak of is Necromancy, preventing a death that cannot be stopped.”

“I shall miss him as much as any of you,” Valyrie said. “But this isn’t right. No matter how much I want him to stay with us, what you ask is against everything Jurgen believes-what we all believe.”

“What I speak of is fairness!” Marac punched the nearby wall. “We’ve come hundreds-no, thousands-of miles because of a war your people started, and we stopped the murders of your militia, took care of the Drakars, and soon, we’ll end the war. Now, Vicar, it is time to repay your debt.”

“He was wrong to resurrect Brice,” Jurgen said, backing away. “Do you know what you ask? Meddling in the affairs of the Fates? Performing acts reserved for gods? He’s too far gone for me to prevent his passing, Marac Reven.”

“I care not. You owe everything to him, Jurgen. Take this stone.” Marac raised the onyx gem close to Jurgen’s face. “Keep him alive. Cast the spell, perform the miracle, whatever in the hells you want to call it, and repay him for everything he’s done for you.”

“And what soul might be contained within this gem?” Jurgen stared into it. “If there is a way to return that person to life, you would sacrifice this man or woman’s soul?”

“Do you suggest we find some empty vessels to house these souls? I know no other way to house a soul other than to find a body in which to place it.”

“Of course not.”

“Then, use this essence and return our friend. He doesn’t deserve to die here.”

“No, it cannot be-”

“Then, you shall receive no more help from us, Priest.” The sadness, the anger at Laedron’s impending death, and his newly formed contempt for Jurgen clouded his thoughts and heightened his anxiety. “You’ll be left to deal with the rest of this on your own.”

“We won’t help him?” Brice asked. “You can’t leave him to finish this on his own. None of this is his fault; he’s done nothing.”

“That’s precisely the point, Thimble,” Marac said. “His idleness is the problem. He can save Laedron here and now, but he refuses.”

“We still need your help,” Jurgen said. “We require the knowledge of your countrymen to secure a lasting peace.”

“Then, do what’s right. Make him better or see your country laid to waste. Those are your only choices.”