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Authors: Brian Kittrell

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BOOK: The Consuls of the Vicariate
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“We’ve seen most of the Ancient Quarter, and I’d rather go somewhere a bit more secular, to tell you the truth.”

“Secular?”

“To get away from the religious themes for a time.” Laedron started walking. “The city’s covered with symbols of Azura, but there must be somewhere that doesn’t exist as a tribute to her.”

“We
are
in the capital of the Heraldan Theocracy. It may be difficult to find what you seek.”

“The university wasn’t bad, only a few Azuran Stars here and there. How about the seaside?”

“The city doesn’t extend all the way to the sea, but the channel runs along the north end. Want to try there?”

“It’s worth taking a look.” Laedron turned onto a boulevard leading north.

They crested the last hilltop before the Heraldan Channel, and Laedron could see a number of masts rising above the roofs lining the water. “Seems the blockade’s been lifted.”

“How can you tell?”

Laedron pointed at the masts in the distance. “The flags. I recognize the Cael’Brilland banner, but not the others. I do know they don’t belong to the theocracy, though.”

“Well, you know what they say.”

“What’s that?”

“Where there’s a Cael’brillander, keep a watch on the keg.” Marac laughed.

“Are you sure? I could have sworn I heard that before, but it was said about a Reven.”

Marac poked him. “Ah, Lae… they’d be right about that, too.”

« Table of Contents
← Chapter Twenty
|
Chapter Twenty-Two →

 

 

The Lives We Lead

 

 

B
rice followed the boulevard to the Ancient Quarter, taking note of the spectacles he saw along the way. The people had already begun their peace celebrations, and the entire city seemed to boast a pleasant, happy aura. Jubilant relief showed in the faces of every man, woman, and child he passed. Every cart was full of goods and the merchants handed out baked rolls at no cost to anyone who wanted one, including Brice. When he reached the entrance to the Ancient Quarter, he tossed a couple of the rolls into a bush, unable to stuff any more into his stomach.

Arriving at the former residence of Vicar Forane, he spotted a militia guard standing post at the front door. “Have you seen Collette?”

“Who?” The guard swayed a bit, probably from an ache in his feet after standing guard for quite some time. “I don’t know any Collette.”

“The servant girl who resided here,” Brice said. “What has become of her?”

“Ah, yes. You may want to speak with Commander Wilkans outside the gate.” The guard pointed at the portcullis behind Brice. “I remember mention of a girl, but I don’t know where she went. I only know that she’s not here.”

Brice turned and walked to the nearby militia headquarters. After passing through the front entry, he ascended to the third floor and knocked on the heavy wooden door still bearing Master Greathis’s name.

“Come in,” a muffled voice said.

Opening the door, Brice glanced at the boxes and crates all over the room. “Master Wilkans?”

“Yes. Come, have a seat.”

Brice sat in one of the two empty chairs in front of the desk. “Moving things around?”

“Master Greathis’s things. I’m preparing them for shipment back to his relatives in Falacore.”

“I won’t waste your time, then. I seek Forane’s servant girl. Her name is Collette.”

“And what, pray tell, for? She’s suffered greatly at Forane’s hands, and I’m not inclined to let anyone trouble her any further.”

“I want to thank her for what she’s done. She was just as important as the rest of us in revealing Forane’s plans and stopping the Drakars.” Brice tried to think of something better because Wilkans looked unconvinced. “I won’t cause her any suffering. I swear it.”

“You’re a friend of that sorcerer fellow, aren’t you?” Wilkans asked, narrowing his eyes. “Yes, you were here just the other night helping us. Very well.” Wilkans leaned forward and scribbled on a scrap of paper, then handed the paper to Brice. “Go on the boulevard west of the Ancient Quarter and take your third right. There you shall find House Steadfahl.”

“House Steadfahl?”

“Aye, a manor house, and you will have trouble missing the sight of it. She comes from a wealthy, influential family. Pity that her father passed while she was imprisoned in Forane’s house. Double the torture in my mind.”

“Thank you,” Brice said, rising and heading for the door.

 

* * *

 

Brice found the mansion with little difficulty. The house consisted of two wings attached by a great hall through the center which ran parallel to the street. Two massive chimneys stood at the far ends, and smoke billowed out from them. He stood at the wrought iron gate and tried to summon his courage.
It won’t get any easier than right now
.
What’s the worst she can do?

The creaking of the gate set his nerves on edge, heightening his anxiety. He only hoped that he could reach the front door before anyone saw him from one of the second-story windows. Relieved at reaching the awning without any apparent notice of his arrival, Brice rapped on the door. He quickly groomed his hair, then spit in his hand and used it to wipe away any dirt he might have had on his face.

Brice threw his hands back down to his sides when the door opened. “Evening, sire. Might I speak with Collette of Steadfahl?”

The butler, his nose fixed permanently in the air, asked, “And what business have you with her?”

I’ve come all this way and gone through all this trouble to be stopped by a man wearing a tight suit and wielding a snobby accent?
Brice considered whether he should be polite and ask again, or if he should demand her presence and state in a clear and loud voice that he wouldn’t be insulted by the likes of a butler.

Before he could decide on how to respond, Collette appeared at the bannister above the butler and said, “Let him in. He’s no trouble.”

No trouble? I guess that’s better than ‘an unbearable pain.’
The butler stood aside, and Brice entered the house.

Collette was dressed in all the finery of a young noble. She wore a dress made from silk or some equally fine material, gold and silver jewelry, and sparkling shoes that drew Brice’s eye. “Miss Steadfahl—”

“After what has passed, call me Collette, but I don’t know what to call you.”

Thinking back, Brice realized that he’d never told her his name. “Brice Warren of Reven’s Landing.”

“That will be all, Percy.” The butler bowed, and Collette descended the stairs. “Reven’s Landing, you say? I can’t say that I’ve ever heard of it.”

“It’s a small village in the west of Sorbia.”

She smiled. “A week ago, revealing such would have landed you in a jail to rot.”

“Then, I guess I’d better be glad it’s not a week ago. I only came to thank you for what you did.”

“You thanked me already.”

“Yes, but we were in quite a hurry. I just wanted to tell you that before I leave, and I wanted you to know that we all—Sorbians, Heraldans, Falacorans, and all the rest—appreciate the favor you did for us.”

“Think nothing of it. You did a service for me, so we’re even.”

“For you?”

“Yes, of course. You got me out of that house, out of the clutches of that terrible woman. I’m free again because of you and your friends.”

“Then, we’re even.”

“What will you do now?” Collette asked.

“We must go to Lasoron.”

“You just said that you’re from Sorbia. Why Lasoron? Won’t you return home?”

“One of our party has some unanswered questions, and he seems to think the answers are there.”

“Then I wish you luck in your journey,” she said, turning to the stairs. “I appreciate your stopping by.”

“That’s it?”

She looked back. “What do you mean?”

“No favor? Not even a kiss?” Brice stared at the floor. “I was always told that knights were supposed to get things like that.”

She put her hands on her hips. “You’re a knight?”

He bobbed his head, and she turned back to him. She ran her fingers through his hair, and he closed his eyes in anticipation of a kiss.

“Ouch!” He reeled from the slap.

“There. Now you have something to take with you on your journey.”

“Did you have to hit me so hard?” He rubbed the side of his face.

BOOK: The Consuls of the Vicariate
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