The Consuls of the Vicariate by Brian Kittrell

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.”
    Valyrie toyed with her salad, removing unwanted bits from the pile. I’ve never understood why rich people like onions on everything .
    “Perhaps I shall never understand it. I would think a nation as strong in the faith as Falacore would impress Azura’s teachings upon the Zyvdredi,” Jurgen said.
    Griffinwold gave a dismissive nod. “It seems strange, does it not? I’ve been told that the Zyvdredi maintain their old ways, and the Falacorans can do little to change that, no matter how much they try. Besides, sometimes I think their King Elson keeps up the relationship only to have his hand in everything within his reach.”
    “One day, perhaps.” Jurgen sipped from his cup. “But, as you were saying…”
    “Yes, the matter at hand,” Griffinwold said, snatching a fresh roll from the basket as soon as it landed on the table. “It would seem you mean to stand between the Grand Vicar and his army. You make dangerous enemies, Aldric.”
    “The church was never meant to fight wars of conquest. I feel this entire situation has gone too