Brian Kittrell - The Consuls of the Vicariate

War rages across the Bloodmyr Isles after a sneak attack by Heraldan forces against the Morcaine Mage Academy of Sorbia. Duke Hadrian Fenric, a skilled Sorbian general and the king’s brother, makes preparations to invade the Heraldan Theocracy. On opposite ends of the archipelago, Falacoran and Sorbian ships blockade enemy ports, trade routes, and supply lines. Meanwhile, Grand Vicar Tristan IV, willing to do anything to bring the faithful nations under one banner, draws the reigns taut and vies for more power over the Heraldan world.

Sorbia stands alone against a coalition constituted by the Heraldan Theocracy and the kingdoms of Falacore, Lasoron, and Albiad, but one would be a fool to doubt the Sorbians’ pride, strength, or resolve. Reeling like a beast against the slash of a sword, King Xavier II of Sorbia orders his armies and ships to show his enemies that his orange and black colors will fly forever over the Midlands.

The rest of the world can only wait for the outcome of the conflict, a fight that is sure to change the course of history. If the Sorbians succeed, the Heraldan church and the Holy Land would face complete destruction, but if the Heraldans win, Tristan IV would see to it that both the Sorbians and their precious sorcerers are wiped out of existence. Magic, freedom, and sacred traditions hang in the balance, and to the victor go the spoils.

Asimple five-candle chandelier dangled from the ceiling. With the sunlight and the candle flames, the room was illuminated just enough for Laedron to see without straining. The Shimmering Dawn crest hung above the door, and Laedron remembered the first time he’d seen it at the Westmarch keep. Westmarch , he mused. That was once the biggest city I’d ever visited, and now I find myself deep in the enemy’s homeland, far away from my old oak and gentle shores.

Marac and Brice, his old friends, sat gathered with Jurgen, Piers, and Caleb, his new allies, all of them prepared to discuss their next move. He glanced at Valyrie at his side, then he turned to Piers when he heard the scraping of wood against stone.

“Let us determine our next course of action. What, pray tell, is your plan, Sorcerer?” Piers asked.

Though the title instilled an awkward feeling, Laedron felt a measure of validation in being addressed in such a way. “We’ve been on the road for quite some time now. I would first like to hear of the situation at present.”

“Situation?” Piers asked.

“Yes, the war and its participants. New happenings.”

Piers nodded. “Falacore has naturally sided with the church, for their ties run long and deep. We’ve heard troubling news from our agents in Albiad and Lasoron. Their inability to join in the war is good for us, but the fact they cannot is interesting.”

“Lasoron and Albiad? Remind me of where those are.”

“The Lasoronians inhabit the lands northeast of here, just beyond the Sea of Pillars. The nation isn’t much unlike Cael’Bril-vast grasslands and forests, gentle rivers, and the occasional fortress citadel. Albiad, on the other hand, is a hilly country with mountains throughout its interior. Both of them share the same problem, though-the Almatheren.”

“The swamplands, right?”

“Indeed. Even strong and able adventurers go there never to return. The Almatheren Swamp is a place where the dead walk.”

Laedron’s jaw dropped. “The dead walk?”

“Surely you’ve heard the stories of Vrolosh and the Great War. Well, I can say to you that it didn’t end with him. The taint of Necromancy remains on the swamplands and devours those who wander there.”

“I don’t understand. The Lasoronians and Albiadines are sending their armies into the swamps?” Laedron asked.

Piers took a swig from his cup. “No, not quite. From what our agents tell us, they have been keeping their armies in Darkwatch and Southwatch. The dead are emerging from the wetlands.”

“But why?”

“It happens every once in a while, when too many fools have lost their lives in that dreadful place. Overpopulation, that sort of thing. But Lasoron and Albiad must be more than a little concerned to hold their armies back at a time like this. Even the Grand Vicar, who happens to be a Lasoronian, cannot convince them to send aid.” Piers paused. “Enough of that, though. There are more pressing matters at hand. What did you have in mind for us?”

“We intend to replace Tristan IV with the priest Jurgen.”

“Difficult, to say the least.” Piers scratched the long scar besmirching his forehead. “Have you any thoughts as to making that a reality?”

Jurgen leaned forward and cleared his throat. “I still have connections in the consulship, and as I’ve paid my penance, I am allowed to return to the chamber.”

“What do you mean by that?” Laedron asked. “For what did you owe penance?”

Jurgen grinned. “When the Drakars came, I questioned their legitimacy to sit on the council, for they had no proper proof of their identity. The day after I levied my concerns to the other consuls, they produced the evidence, but I had my doubts as to its integrity.”

“You thought they fabricated the proof?” Marac asked.

“In a way, yes. The other consuls would hear nothing of it, and when the Drakars came to power, I was punished. They exiled me to Balfan and gave me charge of the tiny church where you found me.”

Laedron stared at him with curiosity. “What I don’t understand is how you came in contact with the Shimmering Dawn, much less became an ally in this war.”

“The complexities of a life well-lived, I should say.” Jurgen sipped from his cup, then returned it to the table. “I first met Meklan Draive during a mission trip to Sorbia. I was tasked with uplifting the people following an unfortunate series of famines throughout the region, and the Shimmering Dawn was an important Heraldan order in those days.

“We struck up a friendship of sorts right away, and even though the Dawn Knights eventually broke from the church, we continued to exchange correspondence. When I informed Meklan of my being sent away from the consulship, he was quite concerned, and my last letter to him indicated how unhappy I was with the Drakars and how I longed to be free of their persecution. It had become clear to me that I was an obstacle to Andolis and his want for destroying the Circle, but thankfully, my friendship with the Shimmering Dawn was never revealed.”

“Did he respond to your last message?” Laedron asked.

“Not in a letter. He sent a young mage and some of his knights.” His lips curled into a smile.

“Why did the knights break from the church?”

“The consulship has made many decrees regarding their dislike of spellcraft, and since its inception, the Shimmering Dawn has been known to be supportive of mages. It was not until recently, with the consecration of Tristan IV, that the church finally acted upon its feelings. No, this war has been in the making for quite some time, and the Drakars were the spark that ignited the flame.”

“The order is more than just supportive of mages,” Marac said. “We have a number within the order itself.”