Brian Kittrell - The Consuls of the Vicariate

“You will not,” Laedron said quickly. “You’ve already gotten yourself in enough trouble.”

“Who will, then? You can’t let him do this on his own.”

“It already carries a narrow chance of success if he’s goes by himself,” Laedron said. “I doubt she would believe a total of three of the few Dawn Knights left in town would be willing to defect.”

“Laedron’s right, but I still don’t want Caleb going alone.” Piers returned to stand beside his chair. “Brice could go with him, but only to observe the happenings. I cannot do this myself, for she may be able to recognize me.”

Laedron huffed, then threw up his hands. “All right. Just don’t get yourself hurt out there. Should she attack, bring word of it here. Do not act alone.”

“Agreed.” Brice slapped Caleb on the back. “Ready for another adventure?”

Caleb nodded, but he didn’t seem excited.

“Then it’s settled.” Laedron turned to Jurgen. “What will you do?”

“I am still having trouble believing what I’ve heard. It’s difficult for me to believe that Genevieve Forane would have ill intent toward me. That’s not like her.”

“Explain, please.”

“When I was still a member of the consulship, she was kind to me, to everyone with whom she had dealings. She aided me in every way, in everything I ever asked of her. It simply does not make sense.”

“Perhaps she found someone else in power. You did say you were supposed to be the Grand Vicar,” Laedron said. “She may have been paying homage to the prince to get close to the king.”

Jurgen gave him a long stare.

“Pardon the expression. I only meant to demonstrate the point.”

“I don’t believe it was that way. Believe me when I say that I think something has changed. That letter read nothing like the Genevieve Forane I knew before I left. Something’s changed.”

“Either way, she’s placed herself on the other side of a fine line. We must consider her to be the enemy.”

Jurgen threw up his hands. “Fine, then. I cannot argue based upon what we’ve been presented.”

“So, what will you do?”

“Tomorrow, I’ll go to the consulship to claim my seat.” Jurgen took a deep breath. “I want something from you, though.”

Laedron appeared to be confused. “What could you possibly need from me?”

“To go with me. To watch over us whilst we’re inside the Ancient Quarter and the Vicariate.”

“Impossible.”

Hearing the word cross Laedron’s lips gave Brice a strange feeling. Lae’s never said impossible before. What has gotten into him?

Jurgen shook his head. “Not impossible.”

“Then how?”

“The militia commander, Dalton Greathis. If I were to write a recommendation, you would be hired on without reservation.”

“Hired on? You mean the guard, don’t you? The militia?” Marac asked, displaying a dumbfounded expression.

“Yes, my young friend.”

“Won’t they figure us out, though? We’re not from here-not by far. Why would they believe us?”

Jurgen grinned. “I’ve known Master Greathis for years-from my church duties and in personal life-and a recommendation from me would get you in the door. So long as you don’t say anything foolish, few questions would be asked. Besides, Heraldans are descendants of the original Midlander settlers-Sorbians and Cael’Brillanders. You look like them for the most part. Anyone who might recognize you would likely dismiss any suspicions if you were wearing guard’s clothing.”

Marac gazed at Laedron, who was rubbing his chin as if deep in thought. “You can’t be considering this.”

“Why not?” Laedron asked. “What better things have we to do?”

“Eliminating Tristan, for one, and taking care of Vicar Forane might be a good start.” Marac fixed his eyes on Jurgen. “Right?”

Laedron nodded. “Those are all our goals, Marac, but Jurgen has work to do before we can accomplish any of it. We can’t just march into the Vicariate and slay them both.”

“He’s right,” Jurgen said. “I have work to do, and I’m not convinced Vicar Forane is the enemy.”

“Not convinced?” Brice got to his feet. “What, do you not believe me?” It seems nobody believes me. Seems as though no one takes me seriously around here.

“It’s not that, not by far.” Jurgen walked to his side and patted him on the shoulder. “She may be influenced or otherwise forced to act in this manner. I only mean for us to wait until we can verify where she stands.”

Nodding, Brice lowered himself into the chair. “Very well.” He turned to Laedron. “So, you and Marac will be parading as guards. Caleb and I will meet Vicar Forane, and Jurgen and Valyrie are going to the consulship.”

“That’s about the size of it,” Jurgen said. “I think we should send someone to the Ancient Quarter wellspring each night to keep in contact and coordinate our efforts.”

“Agreed.” Laedron took a sip from the cup before him. “May the Creator aid us in our mission.”

Valyrie heard a knock on the door, and her eyes flicked open. Her dreams had kept her in twilight the entire night, somewhere between being asleep and a groggy consciousness. She could still hear her father’s tortured screams, leaving her with a sick feeling. Since her father’s death, she could barely recall or remember the finer details of what had passed. In that moment, her life had changed forever.

Even the low light of the lantern caused her to squint, and the haze of suddenly waking blurred her vision. “Just a moment.” She covered her nightclothes with a long robe and opened the door.

Jurgen stood dressed in his priestly garb. “I thought we might get an early start. In truth, I’d much prefer to be there before Tristan arrives. It may make his dreadful gaze easier to bear.”

Her eyesight finally returned to normal, and she could see the darkened halls past him. “What’s the hour?”

“One, maybe two hours before dawn. I’ll wait in the common room.” He turned and walked away, and Valyrie closed the door.

Though she wanted to give parting words to the others, she decided simply to pack her things and leave. After dressing, she met Jurgen in the common room, and they departed the headquarters.

Upon passing a familiar street, she said, “We’re not far from the inn.”

Jurgen glanced at her, then returned his gaze to the road ahead. “Yes, no more than two or three blocks.”

She wondered how long it would be before her uncle got word of her father’s passing. I hope he doesn’t find me when he does. The man’s never liked me. I’d surely find myself given up as a ward of the church . Her thoughts drove her to miss her father even more. She knew he would have never allowed that to happen, but he was gone.

Jurgen led her along the familiar boulevard, which opened to the view of the Ancient Quarter. Before Jurgen had returned, she would often visit the ancient structures and dream up stories of people and places long ago, and when she told her father her tales, he took it harshly. Quit fooling around, girl , he would say. You’re wasting your time. Learn a trade, do it well, and get hired with a noble family with sizable wealth.

As they passed the rich mansions, she smiled. Like that one, Father? she mused, observing a seneschal holding a cumbersome ledger while being chastised by his employer, a well-dressed noblewoman who had probably never lifted a finger to do her own work. That would have been a better choice?

Jurgen entered the portcullis of the Ancient Quarter first, and he quickened his pace. The familiar gray and tan stones seemed more vibrant inside the Ancient Quarter, as if washed and maintained on a regular basis.