The Consuls of the Vicariate (9 page)

Sitting on the ornate throne, Grand Vicar Tristan IV gazed over the crowd until the drums stopped. “Vicars,” he said, then didn’t speak again until the room grew quiet. “We are at the precipice. All that we have worked toward is under threat of being undone. The Albiadines will not join us, and the Lasoronian claim they are stretched too thin across the swamps.”

The Almatheren Swamp?
She recalled the tales told by her father and others of the dangers and undead within those wetlands. The Vicar’s words were met with haughty sighs from the assembly.

“We must stand on our own against the Sorbian enemy, it would appear—well, with our only friends, the Falacorans.” Tristan clasped his hands.

Valyrie had seen a Falacoran once, a gruff man dressed in darkened armor adorned with studs and spikes. The Falacorans were known to be deeply religious and strong supporters of the Heraldan church. The Falacorans, strong, resilient warriors and craftsmen, were the church’s perfect ally—a military arm to protect it from those who would see it demolished. She briefly imagined the sketches of massive cathedrals and castles she had seen books, the structures rife with arches and steep roofs. Falacorans had both a preference and a need for high, angular architecture. It reflected strength and power and had the added benefit of keeping snow from gathering too thick in the colder months.

“Our blessed church cannot stand on its own. Even with the help of the Falacorans, we will see great difficulty in the coming days without tightening the reins. Sorbia is a strong, proud nation, and it is a safe haven for the heretical sorcerers. To once and for all rid ourselves of this dark menace, I propose to this consulship a measure to fight this war. I ask you all to confirm and anoint me Protector of the Faith.”

“No!” one of the other Vicars shouted amidst the gasps and whispers of the assembly. “We’ve governed ourselves for hundreds of years without one.”

“And during that time, we’ve seen no threats as serious,” Tristan said. “Is now not the time for strong, confident leadership?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then, we must do this, lest our holy land be ravaged by the heathens!”

Jurgen stood. “Vicar Aberlin is correct, Your Grace.”

Valyrie clenched her fists under the desk when the Grand Vicar turned their way. A look of surprise dominated his features at first, then he gave a stern glare. “Vicar Jurgen, we weren’t aware you would be joining us.”

“I’ve come with worry, Your Holiness, for I have heard rumors recently of trouble abroad.”

“You have heard correctly, Vicar. The witches of Sorbia threaten our very existence with their unjust war.”

Jurgen stood and walked onto the floor the way a performer would enter a stage, then turned to face the congregation. “Yes, an unjust war indeed. Of course, war is rarely justified.”

“Then join with me in doing what is right,” Tristan said.

“We must do what is right, yes. I cannot agree with you more, but declaring Your Holiness as Protector of the Faith seems a bit hasty. After all, we must remember our history. The last time this body did such a thing, the power wasn’t returned to its proper place once the threat was resolved.”

Tristan stood and cast off his cloak. “You dare question my loyalty to the church? To this assembly?”

Jurgen respectfully bowed toward the platform. “Your Holiness, I only mean to say that such steps are not necessary at this juncture.”

“Not necessary?” a woman shouted from the gallery. “The enemy is loose in our own country. Perhaps you didn’t know since you’ve been cloistered in Balfan this entire time, or have you been?”

Fishing
, Valyrie mused.
Be careful here, Jurgen
.

“I’ve heard the rumors, yes,” Jurgen said, apparently unwilling to divulge anything more. “And I give my condolences to His Holiness for the loss of his brother. May he rest with Azura.”

Tristan relaxed on the throne. “I thank you for your kind words, Vicar, but we are still no closer to a resolution on this matter. I call for a vote.”

“A vote, yes. What a magnificent idea, Your Holiness,” the woman said. Valyrie craned her neck, but she couldn’t see the woman.

“Agreed,” Jurgen said. “Whatever suits His Holiness and Vicar Forane shall suit me.”

Forane
. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

When Tristan clapped his hands, chamberlains approached, placing a sliver of parchment before each clerk.

What in the hells do I do with this?

Jurgen took a seat next to her and whispered, “Tristan will pose the question to the assembly, and we record our answer. The chief amongst the chamberlains will record the result and report his findings. The Grand Vicar is not allowed to vote unless it is tied.”

“What if they vote for it? What will we do?”

“Fret not. I take the worried looks from the majority of the consuls as a sign it shall fail. Regardless of the outcome, we will find a way.”

Tristan stood and leaned against the rail. “Here me now! Those in favor of my anointing to the status of Protector of the Faith, record ‘yes.’ Those who would oppose should record ‘no.’”

“We, of course, will say ‘no.’” Jurgen pointed at the scrap and the quill. “Write the response.”

After the chamberlains collected the votes, the chief went through each one. He then stood and walked to a podium near his seat. “By the grace of Azura, we congregate to do her will in all things. It is the will of the consuls that Grand Vicar Tristan IV not be anointed—”

The chamberlain’s voice was drowned with both the cheers and boos erupting throughout the gallery. Tristan stood and exited the chamber the way he had entered, apparently unwilling to face the crowd or speak another word that day. Jurgen chuckled under his breath, then dipped his head to Vicar Forane when she raced past them, heading for the main entrance.

“That went well,” Valyrie said, shaking her head.

Jurgen grinned. “We are fortunate it went that way, for I fear what might have come to pass if he’d succeeded.”

“Is it not dangerous, though? To anger him in such a way?”

“That’s the point, isn’t it? The last thing our faith should do is have us living in fear. If I put myself in danger, it is so others can be free of an iron grip.”

“Though you don’t think so, I still think you’re brave for doing this.”

“Brave?” Jurgen lowered his voice. “No, our Sorbian friends are brave. I am only doing what I should have done a long time ago.”

“Very well. You would know better than me,” Valyrie said.
I just hope all of this is worth it in the end
.

“Of course. Come. When the Grand Vicar departs, we are released for the day.”

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Chapter Six →

Militia Matters

A
nother day in the enemy’s homeland
. Laedron rose from the bed and donned his clothes.
Better get to it. One step, then the other.
He concealed his scepter and wand as best he could and went in search of his friends.

In the common room, he found Marac sharpening his sword at the dining table.

Laedron closed the door after entering. “I think it’s sharp enough, my friend.”

“Never sharp enough. The blade must be ready.” Marac slid the whetstone along the length of the edge. “I won’t be caught helpless again.”

“Being captured worked in our favor this time. No worries.”

“It could’ve turned out much differently.”

“But it didn’t.”

“But it could have,” Marac said sharply.

“Are you well?”

Marac let out a chuckle. “As well as can be expected. I’m deep in the enemy’s territory, but we play games of politics and intrigue.”

“Things must be handled with delicacy, Marac. I’d like nothing more than to rid this world of Andolis Drakar, but we must do so carefully if we’re to survive.”

“And how long must we wait? Weeks? Months? Or years, perhaps? How long will it take?”

Laedron put his hand on Marac’s shoulder. “No matter how long it takes, we must stay the course. This plan is the best chance for success.”

Marac lowered his head. “Very well.”

“Don’t worry.” Laedron patted him on the back. “We’ll see some action today, but first, I must make sure Jurgen and Valyrie are preparing themselves to leave.”

“They’ve left already.”

“They have?”

“You seem disappointed. I would’ve thought you’d be pleased they got to it.”

“Yes, but—”

Marac smiled. “You wanted to see the girl off, did you?”

“No. Well… yes. To wish them a safe journey.”

“It’s more than that. I can see it.”

Laedron took a seat next to him. “I… um…”

“Say no more. I already know how you feel.”

“How did you know?”

Marac leaned back in his chair, having finally laid the sword on the table. “I’ve known you for as long as I can remember. I’ve never seen you behave that way around other girls.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“To me, sure. I doubt she realizes it, though.”

Laedron folded his arms across his chest. “I feel horrible for her. She’s just lost her father, and now she’s wrapped up in our schemes.”