Brian Kittrell - The Consuls of the Vicariate

“Agreed,” Brice said. “I’ll see you two a little later.”

“Where are you going now?” Laedron asked.

Brice tugged on his hair. “I saw a barber on the way back, and my hair’s getting long enough to irritate me. I’ll return shortly.”

Left alone with Marac, Laedron grinned. “Well, I suppose it’s just us again.”

“Just like old times,” Marac replied.

“Do you think things will ever get back to normal?”

“To normal? Sure,” Marac said, opening the door to his room. “The same? Not in a hundred years. I hope this war woke the church up to what can happen if they’re careless.”

“So long as Jurgen’s there, I have faith that they’ll do well.” Laedron closed the door once he was in Marac’s quarters.

“You believe in him, eh?”

“Of all the priests I’ve met, though there haven’t been many, I think Jurgen’s the best of the breed. Kind, well-meaning, and wise.”

“The other vicars, weren’t they well-intentioned?”

“Not really, not in the same way. They meant well only for their own country, their own prosperity. Jurgen’s view is more centered on helping everyone and living in peace.”

“If that’s the case, I agree with him. I could live the rest of my days without seeing another battlefield.” Marac took off his belt and leaned the sword in the corner. “I hope I won’t need that for quite some time to come. In fact, if I never had to wield that weapon in anger again, I could die a happy man.”

“You mean the fight at the palace?”

“That too, but the battle to the north was far more vicious, far larger in scale. I don’t regret joining the Shimmering Dawn now, no matter how much I’ve mourned Mikal.”

“Did you see anyone we knew?”

“Only Fenric. The others’ faces blended to a blur. Too many to remember each one.” Marac shook his head. “So many of them died while I watched. It was horrible.”

“There’s little that I can say to make it any easier to bear.”

“You don’t have to say anything, Lae. We’ve stopped it before it could claim anyone else.”

“I never thanked you for what you did for me, for bringing me back.”

“I had to.” Marac folded his arms and sat on the edge of the bed. “I couldn’t bear it, Lae. I had to do something. I couldn’t sit there and watch you die.”

“What are you saying?”

Marac cleared his throat. “I threatened Jurgen. I told him we wouldn’t help anymore unless he brought you back. Now, you’re… I don’t even know what to call it, and Jurgen is filled with regret.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine, Marac.” Laedron sat beside him. “Though the act itself is questionable, I would have no hesitation in saving any of you the same way.”

“And go against the Creator? The Fates?”

“If the Creator would look down upon me for saving you, then the Creator is someone in whom I would not want to believe. The Creator is life and mercy. I can’t believe that a god symbolic of all of those things would be angered with someone trying to prevent the destruction of life.”

“Yes, but we’re not gods. Life remains in the hands of the divine, not us.”

“Does it?”

Marac gave him a confused look, and Laedron added, “If we possess the tools and ability to stop it, does it still remain in the hands of the divine? Or are we to disregard the things we know so as not to irritate deities who cannot keep secrets?”

“Cannot keep secrets? What do you mean?”

“The source of magic.” Laedron stood and began pacing. “Magic was taught to the Uxidin by the Creator. Then, when Midlanders came to these shores, the Uxidin shared that knowledge with the early settlers. If the Creator didn’t want us to know, She should never have given us the gift of spells.”

“So, returning the dead to life and making immortals is a wonderful thing? I suppose you could cure the entire world of death before you’re done.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. Everything must be done in moderation, for things taken to excess throw off the balance.”

“I don’t know if I can agree with you, Lae. Who gets to decide who lives and who dies, then?”

“No one, Marac. We don’t decide the Fates, but we can change what we are empowered to change. Given the chance, would you not take the opportunity to live forever?”

“What sort of question is that? No, I wouldn’t choose that, and I’m sorry if that’s what Jurgen’s spell has done to you.”

“You look forward to growing old? To dying?”

“It’s the way of things. If the Creator made us, we are destined to pass away, one way or another. Using your reasoning, the Creator would have made us all immortal if that was the original intent.”

“But we’ve been given a way around it by Her hand-magic.”

“Please, Lae, forget this line of thinking.” Marac stood and grabbed Laedron’s shoulder. “I want no part of it.”

Laedron, seeing the fright in Marac’s eyes, gave him a grin. “Very well, friend. I’ll leave it alone.”

“Now,” Marac said, with a relieved sigh. “Why don’t we see if we can find some supplies for our trip? The gold alone should be plenty to get what we need.”

Laedron nodded. “Lead the way.”

Another sleepless night passed, but Laedron was forced to spend it alone. Valyrie, apparently wanting her privacy that night, had remained in her room the rest of the evening, coming out only to get food from the main hall, then returning as quickly as she had emerged. He and Marac had found and purchased supplies for their trip, then had separated the provisions into backpacks of equal weight. Afterward, Marac volunteered to retrieve their clothes for the ceremony, and Laedron decided to see if he could sleep.

Laedron got up from the bed and assumed that his sleep would never return, having spent an hour or more staring at the ceiling. With that in mind, he went over to the desk and pulled out one of his Zyvdredi tomes. Might as well make the best use of my time. If I’m not going to sleep ever again, there’s no telling how much I could learn compared to others.

After reading the book and practicing a few of the incantations, Laedron stood, walked over to the window, and peered across the city. How long had it taken to read that book? Without impatience, tiring, or the light of the day outside, he had little concept of time. The constant rested feeling had diluted his ability to measure the time it took to perform the simple act of reading a book.

Returning to the desk, he eyed the other spellbooks. Does time matter to me anymore? Am I truly immortal?Perhaps, but perhaps not. Like a starving man with a newfound bounty, Laedron devoured the material, reading book after book and taking time to practice each spell-except the big, spectacular ones. By the time the dawn’s rays pierced the window, he had finished reading every spell in his tomes.

“Creator,” he whispered, noticing the light of the morning. Every bit of what he had read through the night was fresh in his mind, and he even believed he might be able to locate the tome and page of each spell without considerable trouble. What’s happening to me? The speed at which I read has been dramatically increased, and I can recall all of it without a second thought?

A knock on the door broke his concentration.

“We’d better start getting ready for the day’s events,” Marac said, handing Laedron the garments Manny had fitted for him.

“Thank you.” Laedron took the clothes. “Be ready in a flash.”

A flash, he mused, closing the door. By what would I judge it? He undressed and put on the clothes, taking time in front of the mirror to ensure everything was in its place. Then he joined Marac and Brice in the hallway.