The Consuls of the Vicariate amob-2 Page 10

  “I don’t know,” she said, shaking with fear and pain. “They might’ve fallen.”

  “No matter. We have to get out of here.” Jurgen helped her to the stairs. When they had made it halfway down, the top of the house exploded in a firestorm. He ran, almost lifting her off the ground as he pulled her behind him, and burst through the door into the street.

  She stared at the man in black, his eyes seemingly full of rage upon seeing them emerge from the burning structure. Losing no time, Valyrie grabbed Jurgen’s hand and ran toward the closest portcullis leading out of the Ancient Quarter.

  She spotted two militia guards running up a narrow lane, and she didn’t stop running until she reached them. “Mage…” Leaning over, she rested her hands on her knees and tried to catch her breath. “A man in black attacking-”

  “Val,” one of the guards said.

  She squinted. “Lae?”

  Laedron took her hand. “Attacked you? Creator! You look like you’ve been through the hells.”

  “I’ll be fine, but one of the militia fights with him still. You’ve got to stop him.”

  Laedron turned to Jurgen. “Return to headquarters with Valyrie. We’ll take care of this one. Tell Piers what has passed here and have him send help.”

  She took Laedron in an embrace. “Be careful. We’ll see you back at the chapel.”

  The hug seemed to last an eternity, the safety of Laedron’s arms filling her with a warmth she hadn’t felt for a long time. Clearing his throat, Laedron returned her to Jurgen’s side, then took off with Marac toward the west gate.

  10

  Crossing Wands

  Laedron peered through the entry into the Ancient Quarter with a heavy heart. He recalled how powerful Gustav had been, and he only hoped that he had a chance at fighting the mage who was somewhere beyond. Then, he caught sight of a man in black rushing toward them, probably in pursuit of Jurgen and Valyrie.

  The man stopped a hundred paces away and stared at Laedron and Marac, seeming to study them as they approached. Laedron paused after passing the portcullis and reached into his boot.

  “No,” Marac said, readying his shield. “You can’t.”

  “We stand no chance otherwise.” Laedron drew Ismerelda’s scepter.

  “Houses ablaze ahead,” the man yelled, starting toward them again. “Several men dead, and a madman slashing about. I must leave this crazed place.”

  “Not so fast.” Laedron held up his rod. “The houses may be on fire, but we’ll handle that in due time. The madman of whom you speak is you, Sorcerer, and we shall deal with you now!”

  “Deal with me?” The man chuckled, then raised his wand. “Since you’ve made it clear that you know what I am, why don’t you simply let me pass? We’ll forget the matter, and you’ll live.”

  The man must not have noticed what Laedron held, and Laedron decided to use that to his advantage. If he doesn’t know I’m a mage, he might not notice a ward spell on Marac’s shield. Laedron whispered an incantation under his breath, concentrating on the ruby set in the scepter. Marac’s shield glowed dimly with a silver vibrancy not unlike the color of its paint, and Laedron moved to stand behind him. Pushing Marac forward, he maintained the spell, and Marac continued at a steady pace and drew his sword.

  The man in black sighed. “Another group of militia who don’t know a good deal when they hear one, it would seem. Very well. Only a bit of time wasted.”

  The sorcerer flicked his wand while speaking a spell, and a lightning bolt flashed across the open ground, squarely striking Marac’s shield. Marac faltered for a moment, but pushed forward again once he had recovered.

  “Wooden shield? That’s fine. How about a little fire?” the man shouted, raising his wand once more. With the utterance of some words, a ray of flames shot from the end of the man’s wand and crashed into Marac’s shield. Though Laedron could feel the heat warming his flesh, he kept his concentration strong. A loss of focus will mean my death and Marac’s. I won’t let my friends down again!

  “What’s this?” The man sounded nervous. “Unaffected? Impossible!”

  His head aching, Laedron released the spell and stepped out from behind Marac. “No, not impossible, not when magic is involved.”

  “You… what do you know of magic?”

  “Enough.” Laedron flicked his wrist and shouted an incantation before the man in black could react. A swirling black and red stream of energy struck the man’s hand, causing him to drop his wand.

  “Another sorcerer? How can this be?” The man grasped his wand hand and winced. “How can this be?”

  “You shall have plenty of time to think about the answer to that question in jail.”

  The man laughed and reached for his fallen wand, but Laedron quickly cast again, shattering it.

  “No, no more spells,” Laedron said. “You’re coming with us.”

  “What is the meaning of this?” a voice shouted from Laedron’s right. “What are you doing?”

  Laedron glanced in the direction of the voice, then closed his eyes, regretting that he had displayed the rod in public. He had become the focus of a squad of militia who had happened upon his flank. He was unable to keep the cold chills from racing up and down his spine, the fear of being half a world away from his home and fully exposed before those who would see his kind dead.

  On his knees, the man in black raised his face to the sky and cackled. Even though the man surely knew he was condemned to death, he seemed to take pleasure in the fact that he wouldn’t be alone on the gallows. Hatred and anger welled up inside Laedron, and he counted the guards, considering for a moment if he could defeat them all.

  “Drop it,” Marac said, tapping Laedron on the hand with the flat of his blade. “Put the thing down and come peacefully with us.”

  Good, Marac. At least one of us stands a chance of getting out of here alive. Laedron put his scepter on the ground and held his hands outstretched at his sides.

  “They’re in it together,” the other sorcerer started before taking Marac’s boot to the face.

  “Enough out of you, fiend.” Marac picked up the rod, and the guards approached. “We’ll take them to the headquarters. Master Greathis will surely want to question them.”

  An older militia man, a sergeant, if Laedron remembered the insignia correctly, stepped out in front of the others. “What has happened here?”

  “I came upon these two quibbling in the street, then this one…” Marac pointed at Laedron. “… shot a spell at that one. I’m glad you showed up when you did, for I might have been killed.”

  “What’s this business about you two being ‘in it together?’” the sergeant asked.

  Marac shook his head. “I knew this one when I joined, but I didn’t know he meddled in the dark arts. Had I known that, I would’ve gone to Greathis much sooner.”

  The sergeant narrowed his eyes. “I see. We’ll let Master Greathis sort this out.” He turned to the squad and pointed at the other sorcerer. “Pick that up and bring it along.”

  * * *

  His hands bound in chains, Laedron fell to his knees in Greathis’s office. The guards threw the man in black down beside him, and Marac stood to Laedron’s left. I might as well get used to living in chains if I survive this. It would seem the only thing I can do well is get captured. Greathis sat quietly behind his desk.

  “We caught these two sorcerers in the Ancient Quarter,” the sergeant said.

  “Leave us,” Greathis replied with a harsh tone. Laedron figured the tone was directed more at him because Master Greathis hadn’t looked at anyone else.

  The sergeant left and closed the heavy oak door behind him. The room remained silent for what seemed an eternity.

  Greathis studied the man in black. “What’s your name?”

  The man laughed.

  “Tell me your name.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because,” Greathis said, standing and walking around the desk, “if you do not, you’ll r
ot in prison until you do.”

  “If you even knew the people I work for, you’d know how empty your words are. Put me in your prison, but I’ll be out before dawn.”

  Greathis turned to the door. “Wilkans!”

  Sergeant Wilkans opened the door. “Commander?”

  “Lock him up, and go under heavy guard. Search him well before leaving him alone, then bring all of his possessions-clothes, wands, everything-to me.”

  “Yes, Master.” Wilkans dragged the man from the room.

  “Perhaps some time in the stockade will loosen his tongue.” Greathis sat on the edge of his desk. “I already know your name, so we can skip the introductions and move straight into the matter at hand.”

  Laedron nodded.

  “What in the hells is going on?” Greathis asked. His tone was kinder than the one he’d used with the man in black.

  “We heard the whistle coming from the Ancient Quarter, and we made haste. Jurgen is a friend of ours, and we wanted to make sure no harm had come to him.”

  Greathis’s right eye twitched. “Go on.”

  “Just before the west gate, we ran into Jurgen and his clerk, and they told us of the chaos. We went forward and met that man-the sorcerer-inside the Ancient Quarter. He tried to lie, but we saw through it. We engaged him and stopped him then and there.”

  “Engaged him. You mean with magic, right?”

  Laedron closed his eyes and slowly bobbed his head. “We had no other choice but to-”

  “No other choice?” Greathis slammed his fist on the desk. “As if everyone goes around playing with wands and magic? As if it’s something innate and natural to do? Do you realize where you are, boy?”

  “I know how it must look, Master, but-”

  “How it must look? A recruit wearing my colors and throwing spells into the night? ‘Ole Greathis has lost it,’ they’ll say. ‘He let a mage into his little regiment. Jeopardized the whole of the theocracy, he has.’ You’ve made me into a laughing stock!”

  Marac stepped forward. “Few saw us, Master Greathis, and those who did were mostly running away and screaming.”

  “And you! Don’t think you’re out of trouble in the least. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just as guilty as this one.” Greathis took a deep breath. “To think, my militia has been infiltrated by a mage. Azura! You’re not Sorbian. Tell me you’re not.”

  Laedron dipped his head.

  Greathis let out an angry growl. “I can’t believe it.” Greathis gave Laedron a puzzled look. “Why would Jurgen send you to me or even help you? You’re blackmailing him, aren’t you? Turned our dear priest into a spy for your dastardly cause? No, no… a forgery. You forged the letter to gain my trust, didn’t you?”

  “He came willingly,” Laedron said, frustrated at the accusations. “And he aided us without threats or bribery.”

  “Why, Sorcerer? If I may call you that, or would you prefer Sorbian dog? Why would Jurgen assist you against us?”

  “We share the same goal.”

  “And that is?”

  “To end the war.”

  “Why would a Sorbian be interested in ending a war that the Sorbians started in the first place?”

  Laedron stared into Greathis’s eyes. The man exhibited disbelief and wonder, not what Laedron would expect to see from someone helping the Drakars. “We didn’t start the war. This war began with an attack on the Morcaine Mage Academy, a sneak attack perpetrated by Gustav Drakar and a band of your militia.”

  “You lie,” Greathis said in a dismissing manner. “All of my men have been here with me this entire time. They couldn’t be in two places at once.”

  Laedron shrugged. “Perhaps they only wore the uniforms of your men, then. Either way, the war was started by the Drakars, not by the Sorbians.”

  “This makes no sense to me. What you claim cannot be true.”

  “Can it not? Since we’ve joined your ranks, have we done anything other than help you? We found one of your men slain, caught his killer, and reported the incident to you. We stopped the one in the Ancient Quarter, too. Why would we do those things if we meant you harm?”

  “To get on my good side?”

  “Is that what you would expect of a sorcerer sent to infiltrate you? You can’t believe that.”

  “I don’t know what to believe,” Greathis said, folding his arms. “Where is Jurgen? I would hear this from his lips before drawing any conclusions.”

  “I can take you to him, but only you. No one else.”

  “Ah, yes, so you can lead me into a trap?”

  “If I wanted to kill you, I could have done that already,” Laedron said. “You won’t be harmed. I swear it.”

  “Well, if Jurgen trusts you, perhaps I can. You haven’t killed him yet, at any rate.” Greathis took a cloak from his chair and affixed it about his neck. “Lead on, Sorcerer, but no tricks. And the shackles stay on.”

  * * *

  Laedron led Greathis to the abandoned chapel. He took a deep breath, then opened the door and entered with Greathis following close behind. Once inside the common room, Laedron saw Jurgen and Valyrie seated at the large table, and Piers was treating Valyrie’s numerous cuts and scrapes.

  Piers glanced at Laedron, then did a double take and drew his sword. “You’ve brought him here?”

  “Shimmering Dawn!” Greathis shouted, reaching for his blade.

  “Wait, calm down.” Laedron waved his hands, the chains of his shackles jingling. “Just calm down. We’re here to talk things out, not to make trouble, right?”

  “You should have told me we were coming to the Shimmering Dawn-traitors, brigands, and thieves.” Greathis spit on the floor, then extended his hand to the priest. “Come, Jurgen. They shall hold you prisoner no longer.”

  “They do not hold me hostage, Dalton,” Jurgen said. “I am a guest of these traitors, brigands, and thieves, as you put it.”

  “A guest?”

  “Yes, of course.” Jurgen wiped his hands on a rag and approached Greathis. “By your presence here, I can only assume you’ve been told the truth. Ah, but I can tell by the look in your eye that you don’t believe it.”

  “What this sorcerer has said is impossible. It cannot be,” Greathis replied. “How can you be so quick to believe his lies?”

  “You never knew it, but I’ve maintained correspondence with the Shimmering Dawn of Sorbia for quite a long time. Don’t you see, Greathis? Training priests with miracles of war, outfitting vessels with weapons, hoarding supplies, and restricting our borders? The Drakars knew war was imminent, but they claimed the Sorbians were responsible. Meklan Draive sent this sorcerer and his knights to me for help, to aid them in ridding the world of one Gustav Drakar.”

  Greathis’s eyes widened. “You, Jurgen? You helped them kill the Grand Vicar’s brother?”

  “Draive wouldn’t have set his people on such a task without cause.” Jurgen sighed. “I helped them for my own purposes. I wanted to leave this land. I just wanted to get away after what the Drakars had done to me and to our people.”

  “And you thought it best to aid these assassins with their task? There’s no honor in that.”

  Brice and Caleb entered from one of the side rooms. Upon seeing Greathis, Caleb drew his sword, but Jurgen held up his hand and said, “No need for that. We’re only talking.”

  Caleb replaced his sword, but continued to eye Greathis warily.

  Jurgen continued, “You speak of honor? It was honorable to attack and kill innocent people in Morcaine? To start a war and keep an entire nation-our nation, Dalton-blinded by lies? No one wanted to believe me, but the Drakars are the poison in our cups. Now you see what they have done, but you do not believe it because you have been conditioned by their treachery for so long.”

  “What has gotten into you, Vicar? I’ve never heard you speak so forcefully,” Greathis said.

  Jurgen took a deep breath. “I apologize if my tone was harsh. Nearly being assassinated must have put me in a volatile state
. Tristan shall have to try harder next time.”

  “That’s a serious charge, Jurgen. Have you any evidence of that fact?”

  “We found letters.” Brice walked over and stood next to Jurgen. “In Vicar Forane’s house. They’ve been trying to kill him for quite some time.”

  Greathis extended his hand. “The letters, you have them?”

  “Sadly, no,” Brice replied. “So as not to draw suspicion, we left them there.”

  “Then my men shall readily find them upon a search of her residence, yes?”

  Brice nodded. “Of course. In her private office on the second floor.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me, Jurgen? Why the secrecy, the plotting?”

  “We didn’t know on which side of the fence you stood,” Jurgen said. “We had to be sure, and I’m glad that you’re willing to do what is right.”

  “This will have to be handled delicately.” Greathis closed his eyes and massaged his eyelids with his fingertips. “We will go to Forane, search her residence, and arrest her. You’d better hope the evidence is there.”

  “And Tristan?” Jurgen asked.

  “That will be up to you, Vicar. My men will escort you to the Vicariate on the morrow, and you will be allowed to present your charges to the consulship. Only by the will of the assembly can we detain a Grand Vicar, and I shall not impede upon the law. Without the law, we have nothing.”

  Jurgen took Greathis’s hand in a firm embrace. “Thank you, Dalton. You’ll be remembered as the man who saved the church from utter destruction.”

  “No, that honor belongs to you, sordid as the path may have been to get to this point. Remain here, and I shall send a detachment of guards for you.”

  Laedron held up his manacled hands. “Care to take these off?”

  Greathis produced a key. “Come to the headquarters within the hour and retrieve your things.”

  “I’d like to come with you to arrest Forane,” Laedron said.

  Greathis raised an eyebrow. “After all that has passed?”

  “Yes, if it’s the same to you. If she and her friends have been studying offensive spells, it’d be best if I came along.”