Brian Kittrell - The Consuls of the Vicariate

He sighed. “Some of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sorcerers, for the most part, believe in the Creator. We believe in the heavens and the hells, but not Azura-at least not in the same way the Heraldans do.” He walked to her side.

“For the most part?”

“Some don’t believe in any of it, and there are others who accept Syril as their master.”

“Syril?”

Laedron could feel her hate of the dark god seething through her words. “Yes. Those hungry for power and the ultimate knowledge of magic tend to, but I’ve never heard of anyone having their prayers answered by him. Except Vrolosh, perhaps.”

“And what are your desires, Mage?” She turned to face him. “You speak of that supreme power as if you wouldn’t mind its taste.”

He grinned. “Many paths lead to the heights of spectacular magic. Devoting oneself to Syril is but one, and to worship him is quite an undesirable activity to me.”

“Then how?”

“When my teacher was killed, I took possession of her spell books. Everything I need to complete my learning is in those books.” He drew the scepter from his boot, and her eyes immediately locked onto the large ruby. “I find magic easier by use of her rod, too.”

“I’ve never seen a ruby that big before, not even on the finger of a Grand Vicar.”

“Or the hand of a king, I’d say.” Laedron hid the scepter again. “Not that I’ve ever encountered a king.”

“You two coming?” Jurgen asked, poking his head through the limbs and bushes. “We wouldn’t want to be on the roads after dark.”

Laedron offered his arm to Valyrie, and she slipped her hand around his elbow, so he could help her up the incline. Once they reached the road, Jurgen led them west, but he walked slower than he had on the trip there. Not wanting to be recognized by any passersby, Laedron replaced the hood to obscure his face.

Laedron moved to his side. “Feeling all right?”

“Yes,” Jurgen replied in a haggard voice. “I was a few years younger the last time I walked this road.”

Laedron reached for the rod. “Want me to-”

“No, that will be quite all right, young man. No need to take any chances. You never know who might be watching.”

“Out here?” Laedron glanced at the trees and open fields around them.

“Especially out here, my boy. Never think you’re completely alone in this country lest you make the same mistakes I did.”

“What did you do, exactly? To get banished the way you were, I mean?”

Jurgen stepped to the side of the road and stopped beneath a shade tree. He eyed the trees before looking at Laedron. “Oh, it doesn’t matter now. Old news.”

“I’d like to know.”

“The Drakars were brought to the consulship, and we were told they were missionaries who had recently come from Darkwatch.”

“Darkwatch?”

“A small village far to the east of here. It lies on the eastern coast of Lasoron, and it remains a bastion against the defilers of the Almatheren Swamp.”

“What happened then?”

“Well, I didn’t believe them, and I certainly didn’t think we should be raising unknowns to the status of a consul, regardless of their deeds. I wasn’t alone.” Jurgen leaned against the tree. “We tried to block the exemplification, but we failed.”

“And when Andolis became Grand Vicar, he expelled you from the consulship?”

“Precisely. They sent me to live in Balfan and run the church there, and I had precise instructions not to meddle in affairs above my head any longer.”

Laedron grinned. “You don’t follow instructions very well, do you?”

“No, not very well at all,” Jurgen said, smiling.

“Will it be dangerous for us?” Valyrie asked.

“Don’t you worry, my dear.” Jurgen patted her arm. “If there’s any danger, I’ll be their target. Not you.”

“And you’re willing to take such risks?”

“I’m an old man. I’ve lived a full life, and I’ve done nothing but serve Azura the best I could. I have nothing to fear in this life or the next.”

“You’re a brave man.” Valyrie gave Jurgen a hug. “I wish I were as brave as you.”

“Nonsense. Your father was courageous. I’m just an old fool trying to put right what once was wrongly done.”

“Either way, I respect what you’re doing,” she said, pulling away from him. “If what Lae says is true, the Drakars must be stopped.”

“We shall give it our best efforts. For now, we have a long way to go, and we’ve lingered here long enough.” He returned to the highway, and Laedron and Valyrie followed.

* * *

Upon entering the Shimmering Dawn’s stronghold, Laedron wanted nothing more than to find a tub and soak in some cool water. He passed up the dining hall despite his hunger, entered the bathroom, and secured the door behind him. While cranking the handle on the water pump, he detected the faint odor of copper. Old pipes. I’m likely the first one to use the bath in weeks . An unused pot of soap confirmed his suspicion.

He cleaned his clothes with a simple spell, then plunged into the waiting water. Although he could clean himself with magic alone, he enjoyed relaxing in a bath. Not wanting to tarry in the tub the rest of the afternoon, Laedron bathed quickly, dressed, and joined Jurgen and Valyrie at the dining table.

Piers entered from the hallway coming from the private gardens, looked around the room, and sighed. “Looks like it’s going to be soup today.”

“Why do you say it like that?” Laedron asked.

Piers stirred the cauldron hanging in the fireplace. “Caleb and your friend still haven’t returned.”

“What were they doing?” The thought of having to save Brice and Caleb from some unnamed danger gave him an uneasy feeling. Such a rescue would be far more difficult in the heart of the Heraldan church.

“You know… the usual.”

“No, I don’t know. Perhaps you could explain.”

“Since your arrival, we’ve made plans to step up our operations, so to speak. They have gone to gather information from any reliable sources.”

“And who are these sources?” Laedron asked.

“One of the consuls this time.”

Jurgen raised an eyebrow. “You have a consul working with us?”

Piers smiled. “No, but we can acquire secrets all the same.”

Brice heard the door close down the hall. “They’re headed to the coast.”

“Good.” Caleb produced a thin bit of metal from a pouch on his belt. “We can get started. Ever handled a pick before?”

“No, but I was pretty good with a needle and thread back home.”

Caleb rolled his eyes. “Picking a lock’s a bit different from sewing. Pay close attention.” He took a lock in his hand, and Brice leaned over to see.

“Most Heraldan locks have keys that look like this.” Caleb held up a key in his other hand. “You turn this end, the bow, and insert the shank into the lock. The other end is called the bit, and the bit is what unlocks the mechanism.”

Brice noted the grooves of varying lengths cut into the bit. “Why is it shaped like that?”

“Inside the basic warded lock, you have blocks in place. If the key isn’t cut properly, you can’t turn it.” Caleb ran his fingernail through one of the slots. “You see?”

“I think so.” Brice stroked his chin. “How do you open the lock if you don’t have the key?”

“We’ll get to that.” Caleb waved his hand. “Do you understand how the key works?”

“Yeah, if the key doesn’t get blocked, the levers turn and the lock opens.”

“Good. Now, I’ll show you how to feel out a lock.” Caleb held up the pick, then slipped it into the lock. He closed his eyes while he slowly manipulated the pick with his fingertips. “All right. You try.”