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 assume 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.”
Griffinwold waved at the serving maiden. “Bring us a feast to rival that of the palace, and as quick as you can. I starve!”
“So, you dislike the current circumstances?” Jurgen asked once the maiden left to fetch the order. “I’ve been discontent since I heard rumors of priests training in miracles of an offensive nature-battle spells, as mages would call them.”
“What sane man could like them? If we train as mages, are we not mages ourselves, the very thing we hope to avoid? Though I am Lasoronian, I do not follow blindly, a behavior many of my Falacoran allies failed to unlearn after the War of the Eagles.”
“The War of the Eagles, yes, and the Zyvdredi influences. I’ve never truly understood the relationship between Falacore and Zyvdred, Winfred. It seems… complex.” Jurgen grinned at the serving maiden when she brought a round of drinks.
“Zyvdred, yes. It has long been a protectorate of Falacore, a place whose mystery is surpassed only by the strangeness of its inhabitants. In the black mountains, they practice old rituals and even older magic, and they rarely pass their borders for anything other than trade. Little is known about what goes on deep within that country, but the Falacoran monarchy maintains close ties. The only certainty is that strange beasts and men live in those isolated reaches, and few dare to venture there.”