The Consuls of the Vicariate amob-2 Read online

“Don’t. I have no time for flattery or games, young man.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “Nothing as of yet. I have something else in mind to take care of him. If we are unsuccessful, I will contact you again-here, two nights hence.”

  “Might I ask what you intend to do?”

  “It’s none of your concern. Worry only for yourself. Should we succeed tomorrow night, I shall pay you the other half of the money owed to Lester. If not, it will be up to you to earn it.”

  Brice heard the flap of a cloak, then footsteps growing distant. He peeked over the stone wall of the well to see Caleb exiting the courtyard. He waited until he thought it was safe to leave, then walked back to the Shimmering Dawn.

  Forane’s plotting deep and wide. We must warn them somehow. Reaching the last street before the headquarters, Brice took one last look around to see if he’d been followed, then he entered the building and heard Caleb relaying the essential details of his conversation with Forane to Piers.

  “She didn’t say where or how?” Piers asked.

  Caleb shrugged. “No, she wouldn’t reveal it. I can only assume it will be wherever Vicar Jurgen is tomorrow night.”

  “We should expect any possibility.” Piers ran his fingers through his hair. “With Lester’s failure, they could have anything in mind and may have little regard for subtlety or stealth.”

  Caleb folded his arms. “How do you think they will come for him?”

  “When dealing with the theocracy, there are a number of possibilities. Anything, Caleb. Anything at all.”

  “Should we shadow Jurgen?” Brice asked. “You know, to keep an eye on him?”

  “No, impossible,” Piers said. “Forane has seen Caleb’s face, and she would likely see you two in the district. If they were to attack, you two couldn’t be seen helping Jurgen. No, we must contact Laedron and Marac; his safety will be theirs to handle.”

  Brice took a seat across from Piers. “And I thought breaking into houses was dangerous.”

  “We’re not out of the fire yet, not by any means.” Piers took a quill and scrawled a message on a piece of parchment. “I shall prepare a missive for our friends. Brice, you will take it to them.”

  “Where?”

  Piers rolled the scroll, wrapped it with a red ribbon, and dripped some wax for a seal. “To the militia headquarters. The red brick building near the Ancient Quarter.”

  “That’s what that was?” Brice took the missive. “Right. I’ll be back.”

  “Good. Hurry back, but you must make sure you aren’t followed. The stakes are high in this game. The same goes for you, Caleb. I shall devise how we will handle the vicar.”

  7

  An Army in the Holy Land

  After waking and dressing, Valyrie found Jurgen seated at the dining table.

  “Good morning,” Jurgen said, turning to her when she came into the kitchen. “I thought you’d never wake.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “You jest, Vicar. I’ve risen well before the rest of Azura.”

  “Come, have some of this. I fetched it from the mid-market just before dawn.”

  She thought fondly of the mid-market, a series of stands just outside the gate of the Ancient Quarter where one could acquire the freshest produce and dairy if the buyer came early enough. “Smells wonderful.”

  “One of my favorite recipes,” Jurgen said, then put the plate before an empty seat and offered her the chair. “Apple bellies.”

  “What’s an apple belly?”

  “A dash of cinnamon and sugar, a spoonful of butter, all wrapped up in sweet dough and twisted at the end. Oh, and the slices of peeled apple at the center, I can’t forget to mention those.”

  “But why the name?”

  Jurgen smiled, lifting his pastry by the twists at either end. “See how it dips low, like the belly of a pig?”

  Nodding, she took a bite and savored the rich flavors. The taste reminded her of the apple cobblers she’d enjoyed on numerous occasions at the inn, but more buttery.

  Having already finished most of his by the time she had started, Jurgen waited until the last bite passed her lips. “You seem troubled.”

  “My dreams trouble me. I can think of nothing but the dagger which pierced my father’s heart.”

  “The nightmares will fade in time. I have them myself, but I keep faith.”

  She dipped her head, swallowing the last bit of her breakfast. “Do you think we’ll make any headway today?”

  Jurgen frowned. “You say that as if we’ve done nothing. Blocking Andolis from becoming Protector was an important step.”

  Andolis. Tristan IV. “He still rules. Though he does not possess the title, he remains in power, right?”

  “Indeed, but the powers of a Protector are sweeping and total. As Grand Vicar, he suffers some restrictions. Only through small steps can we hope to make a change, and the first was yesterday. Today, we continue along the path. We can do nothing more.”

  She leaned back to take the pressure off her full stomach. “I fear for the future, near and far away. If we don’t do something soon, the war will claim more and more.”

  “I know, and I share your concern. Come now to the consulship; we’ll make no progress sitting here.” He slipped on his ceremonial garb and led the way out the door.

  * * *

  She sat at Jurgen’s side, and again the drums roared throughout the chamber as the Grand Vicar made his entrance. Valyrie glanced at him, and then she stared at the onyx ring on his finger. The pulsing, shimmering glow didn’t come from the sun or the candles and torches ringing the auditorium. The stone itself glowed with an unnatural light. How can that be?

  “Brothers and sisters,” Tristan said, then waited until the assembly grew silent. “I must apologize for my hasty exit yesterday. The stress of how best to serve our most holy church has weighed heavily on my mind of late, and the path is unclear at times. I spent the night in my private chapel praying that Azura would guide my hand, and I believe I have come to a solution.

  “Vicar Jurgen is correct. Anointing a Protector will do us little good in these times, and we have yet to exhaust all of our options.”

  Valyrie did her best to keep her face from telling her feelings of confusion and doubt at his words.

  Tristan opened his hand to Jurgen. “You were right, my brother. Rise and be recognized.”

  Jurgen stood, then bowed to the other vicars. A light applause echoed throughout the room. Valyrie could tell by the looks on the vicars’ faces that they were just as bewildered as she.

  Tristan turned to the assembly. “Azura has shown us through her actions that even in the most dire of times, we must demonstrate our restraint and faith. Consuls, I yield to Vicar Forane, who has news for us from Balfan.”

  “Thank you, Grand Vicar.” Forane emerged from the sea of consuls, and Valyrie was able to match a face to the voice she had heard the previous day. “It has come to my attention by way of a messenger that we are now under siege. The Arcanist ships we refitted for battle were unable to break the blockade, and Sorbian troops…” She lowered her head for a moment. “Forgive me, for this news may be difficult to bear. Soldiers from Sorbia have landed and surrounded Balfan in the night.”

  Valyrie felt fear tainting the once-serene halls of the Vicariate. The vicars gasped and muttered profanities. Even Jurgen, who she had thought unshakable, seemed to be uneasy.

  “Those are the facts,” Forane continued. “The city isn’t expected to resist for long since they haven’t any walls or a force capable of repelling the enemy.”

  “Master Greathis,” Tristan said, sitting on the throne. “Pray tell, how long we can expect to hold out?”

  When she heard heavy footsteps, Valyrie turned to view Master Greathis. He was adorned in Falacoran armor and spoke with the throaty, dense accent of that country. “A few months, I should say.” Greathis walked to the center of the chamber just below the Grand Vicar’s perch. “The militia can keep them out for som
e time, but we won’t last forever, and we won’t force out or dislodge a professional army.”

  Tristan quickly rose to his feet. “Then, we must raise an army of our own.”

  “We cannot,” Jurgen said, standing. “The procurement of soldiers is not the church’s business.”

  “You would see us destroyed, our hallowed ground trampled underfoot of the invaders, our great cities lying wasted?” Tristan asked. “The enemy has now come to our gates, Jurgen, and we must do something about it!”

  Jurgen cleared his throat. “Can we not negotiate? Make a compromise with the Sorbians?”

  “Negotiate with the aggressor?” Tristan asked. “Why would they speak with us? The way I see it, their plan goes quite well for them. They have declared war and invaded us, and they are making progress.”

  Valyrie recalled Laedron’s story of the attack at the Sorbian mage academy. The Grand Vicar lies, or he does not know the truth. Gustav… Andolis must know the actions of his own brother.

  “And who would we recruit for our fledgling army, Your Holiness?”

  “Well, people from the city. They would have no problem coming to the defense of their homes.”

  Jurgen walked from behind his desk. “Yes, the young ones of our own capital. The untrained children, strangers to battle and war. They would be slaughtered outright, and that would be an atrocity, one committed by us, not our enemies.”

  “Then what else is there, Vicar Jurgen? I’m all ears for a solution.”

  Jurgen rubbed his chin, standing in the center of the hundred or more people in the consulship, all of them silent and still. Valyrie likened him to a defenseless animal in a cage surrounded by hungry hunters preparing to make a kill.

  “Tell them, Your Grace,” Valyrie said, standing. “Tell them of what we discussed earlier of your service as an emissary.” She tried her best to conceal the lie with a concerned tone.

  Jurgen eyed her for a moment. “Yes. I had discussed the option with my clerk earlier.”

  “Well, tell us more of this great plan,” Tristan said.

  “Your Holiness, if it pleases the consulship, I could go to Balfan and negotiate with the Sorbian commander to get them to leave our lands peacefully.”

  Tristan stood and shook his head. “The only thing they would accept is surrender. We both know that.”

  “Perhaps, but perhaps not. A nation such as Sorbia does not rise to its status by being barbaric and unreasonable to compromise.” Jurgen clasped his hands. “I feel such a course would be better than sacrificing our inexperienced young men to the jaws of war.”

  “It can’t be permitted,” Forane said, walking onto the main floor across from Jurgen. “Azura stood on the battlefield against insurmountable odds once, and now we must follow her example. Send the defilers to the hells where they belong!”

  “Forane and I are in agreement.” Tristan returned to the throne. “I request a vote on the question, Chamberlain. All those who would be in favor of raising an army to defend our most holy church, respond ‘yes.’ Those who would oppose, and see us destroyed outright, respond ‘no.’”

  Jurgen sighed, then returned to his desk. “We, of course, will respond with ‘no,’” he whispered to Valyrie.

  The chamberlains collected the votes with the same efficiency as the previous day. The room became silent while the chief chamberlain counted and tallied the votes.

  Eventually, the chamberlain stood. “By the grace of Azura, we congregate to do her will in all things. It is the will of the consuls that an army not be raised.”

  Unlike with the last vote, the chamber remained silent with the announcement.

  Tristan stood with disappointment riddling his face. “Thus is the will of the consuls. Tell me, Chamberlain, the count in favor and of those against.”

  “Half of the assembly plus one dissent the question, Your Holiness,” the man said, then took his seat.

  “It would seem half of you-plus one-would see our church destroyed. To see it annihilated by the invaders, to see our precious cities in upheaval and our people enslaved. Very well.” Tristan put his hands on the iron rail and leaned toward the consuls. “If this body is unable to do what is needed, I shall act on my own. I shall raise the army we so desperately need.”

  Jurgen shot out of his chair. “It cannot be! You have no authority to override this body’s will, Andolis.” His words were received with shouts from the gallery expressing disdain for Tristan.

  “Enough!” the Grand Vicar shouted. “If none of you have the strength to see this done, I must preserve us.”

  “You have no power to act on our behalf, especially not when we’ve said no.” Jurgen pointed at Tristan. “You have no right.”

  “I am Tristan IV, Grand Vicar of the Heraldan church. Sworn to uphold and defend the church in all matters, chosen to lead us in accordance with Azura’s teachings and to protect that legacy. Do not presume to tell me what is and what is not in my power, Vicar Jurgen. I shall see us through the night and into the morning, with or without your help.” Tristan turned and walked toward the exit.

  Jurgen called out, “Wait, Your Holiness.”

  Tristan paused, then turned to look at Jurgen. “What need have you for me?”

  “A compromise.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Instead of an army, we could increase the size of the militia. That would serve our goals, would it not? Provide better protection for the city when the siege comes?”

  “That won’t remove the Sorbians from our shores,” Tristan said. “You and I both know that.”

  “Perhaps not, but it would help keep them at bay. If we begin training new men now, we would stand a better chance to resist the invasion when it reaches our gates.”

  “Fine, then.” Tristan returned to the throne. “Chamberlain, the question shall be to the raising of more militia for our defense. An answer of ‘yes’ will… let’s say, double the current number of guardians.”

  Jurgen returned to his desk. “Our answer will be ‘yes.’” Valyrie scribbled the vote on a scrap of parchment and handed it to a passing chamberlain.

  Once the votes had been collected and tallied, the chamberlain announced, “By the grace of Azura, we congregate to do her will in all things. It is the will of the consuls that the militia shall be doubled.”

  Valyrie stood, joining Jurgen and the other vicars in applause. For the first time, Tristan cracked a slight smile and almost gleamed with kindness. I wonder if that goodly smile is truly benevolent.

  “We’ve done good works here today, Vicars,” Tristan said. “We shall now adjourn for the remainder of today. Master Greathis, execute the will of your consuls and find men willing and able to defend our holy church.”

  “Your Holiness!” Greathis snapped to attention, then left the chamber.

  “It will only be a matter of time before he has his army,” Jurgen whispered. “The church is endangered, but the vicars aren’t quite ready to commit to the idea of a standing army.”

  Valyrie leaned close to him. “Surely you can stop that.”

  “Who is to say that I would want to stop it? If things were to worsen, even I could change my mind. Though the Drakars have perpetrated wrongs, I would still not see Sorbian troops looting and burning our sacred places.”

  “Maybe you should meet with the Sorbian general without Tristan’s knowledge.” She stopped abruptly and lowered her head when a group of vicars passed. “They might listen to you.”

  “And if they don’t? I would be labeled a traitor publicly, and if I were captured, Tristan would never ransom me back after the trouble I’ve given him.”

  Valyrie shook her head. “I wish we could go to the guard with this. It seems Master Greathis could easily solve the problem.”

  “Though I’ve known Greathis to be neutral, I cannot maintain an expectation of anyone based upon my experience. After all, Forane is much different since the last time I saw her. No, we must act with the utmost caution. We must assum
e all are potential enemies unless otherwise proven.”

  Valyrie looked up saw a group of vicars standing before them.

  “Vicar Griffinwold,” Jurgen said, dipping his head to the eldest amongst them. The man, judging by his robes and jewelry, seemed equal in both age and status to Jurgen.

  “Winfred,” Griffinwold responded, and Valyrie likened his accent to that of a Falacoran, but sharper and with an aristocratic bent. Lasoronian, perhaps? “We’ve known one another too long for that, Aldric.”

  Aldric? Valyrie had never heard Vicar Jurgen’s first name. Not even her father had referred to him so informally.

  “How might I help you gentlemen?” Jurgen asked, eying the two standing with Griffinwold.

  “Causing quite the disturbance, are we?” Griffinwold asked. “It would seem you are drawing battle lines with His Holiness.”

  “I only do what I feel is right and proper, what I feel Azura would will.”

  Griffinwold smiled. “Indeed. I was just remarking to Vicars Tumolt and Carrenhold about the spectacles demonstrated before us, and we began thinking that perhaps Vicar Jurgen might care to join us for our midday meal?”

  “I would be delighted to join you. Could my clerk come along?” Jurgen asked.

  Griffinwold displayed a broad grin. “So long as she shares our disdain for the current situation.”

  “It is safe to say that she does.”

  “Good.” Griffinwold gestured toward the grand entryway. “Let us go. I know a quiet place where we can speak.”

  * * *

  The sign outside the establishment stated, “The Refined Palate,” and from the moment Valyrie entered, her eyes and nose were assaulted with all manner of delectable sights and smells. Having not eaten much since her father’s passing, her body responded strongly to the offerings of the tiny restaurant.

  “A shame this place doesn’t see the kind of business befitting of its quality,” Griffinwold said, taking a seat at one of the large, empty tables.

  “I’ve always understood the food comes at a price here.” Jurgen sat next to him and offered Valyrie a chair at his side. “A price not all are willing to bear.”