The Consuls of the Vicariate by Brian Kittrell Page B

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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    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