Victor of Tucson

Book 6: Chapter 40: A Need for Clarity

The air in the spherical chamber was moist and warm, and Victor hated breathing it into his lungs. Nonetheless, he walked in and let his gaze drift over the rune-inscribed walls, floors, and ceiling. With nothing else to focus on, he stepped toward the body in the silver chair and the crystal globe suspended above it. Victor had seen plenty of undead, and though they often looked much like a corpse, much like the body before him, they always had some sort of aura, an Energy that gave their deathly aspect some palpable vitality. This body was inert, of that he was certain.

Was it Dunstan? Victor found himself asking the question repeatedly as he took in the frail, withered form. He supposed it could be. This is what the man might have looked like sans his transformation into a wampyr. How would he ever know? Even if he could test DNA, he didn’t have a sample from the previous monster before it was reduced to ash and left buried in the depths of the catacombs. “The crown,” he muttered. It was the only real clue he had—that and the hole where the corpse’s heart should be. Why would nothing but the key to this chamber remain in the ashes of the wampyr? The crown hadn’t been there; it was here.

With dread sending a chill down his spine, he lifted a hand toward the weird, crudely inscribed stone circle. The artifact certainly didn’t match the aesthetic of the silver sphere. Its stone material was one thing, but its sharp, angular runes were also at odds with the elaborate, fanciful text scribed on every square inch of the sphere. When his flesh touched the stone, his mind flashed with images of Dunstan’s wampyr form wearing it, looming large with lustful red eyes. He couldn’t tell if it was just his memory jumping to recollections of his battle or if the crown really projected them.

It was cold to the touch but thrummed with Energy, a powerful artifact indeed. “But what do you do?” Victor whispered, running his fingertips along the rough, sharp runes. Was it alive? Did a spirit dwell within? Did he dare try to bond with it? Victor had undoubtedly done some impulsive things in his day, but the idea seemed like madness, even to him; there was no hurry here, no reason he had to make a breakthrough with this strange, ancient-seeming artifact. No, he decided, it was better to wait and have someone with more knowledge evaluate the thing first. In any case, he was careful with it. He lifted it from the desiccated scalp, leaving behind imprinted gray flesh and wisps of white, dead hair.

Victor found a leather strap in one of his rings and tied it around the heavy crown, hooking it to his belt so it dangled near his hip. On the off chance that it was alive, he didn’t want to risk damaging the spirit within by putting it into a dimensional container. Victor studied the naked, withered corpse for another moment, then gripped it by the shoulder and dragged it off the metal chair. He took it to the doorway and threw it out of the room to crumple against the stone wall beyond. He didn’t know what this silver room was for, but he wouldn’t leave that thing in there. He had a vague notion that the sphere was meant to reanimate the dead wampyr somehow, and he didn’t want to leave any possibility that it might have some crazy potential to bring Dunstan’s spirit back to the body and restore him with vigor.

He studied the room carefully one more time, and, not seeing anything else of note, he backed out and swung the door shut. He grabbed the key and twisted it counterclockwise to relock the door, and when it had completed its full circuit, Victor felt some give as though he could continue twisting it. “Hmm,” he muttered and turned the key further to the left, eliciting one more click out of it. The silver metal flashed brightly with Energy, and then the key was yanked out of his hand as the door, and the room to which it was attached, began to shrink rapidly. It was so fast and flared so brightly that when Victor’s vision cleared, he was stunned to see the key, still attached to the jeweled chain, sitting in the center of the original stone-walled room of the tower.

Stepping toward it, Victor saw, upon closer inspection, that the key no longer ended in its original four prongs but had a small round, silver ball at that end—the room. It had shrunk down to the size of a large marble. Victor picked it up and looked over his shoulder at his big bear totem, apparently asleep with its gigantic head on its front paws. Shrugging, he hung the chain and key over his head and stuffed them down inside his armor, another object he’d need someone with the proper talents to identify.

“Lord Victor!” Nia’s voice came to him from beyond his giant, sleeping companion.

“Yeah?” He waved a hand at his bear, releasing the creature from this realm.

As he strode through the mist left behind, Nia called out again, unaware that he was mere steps from her, “Some of your people are at the gate!”

“That’s good! Do me a favor and burn this corpse while I go see who it is.” When Victor mounted the steps, he saw another soldier leaning forward, hands on knees, trying to regain his breath. “Did you sprint all the way up here?”

“Aye, Lord.”

“Thanks!” Victor waved as he bounded down the steps, leaving Nia and the other soldier watching him with wide eyes. He was in the courtyard in less than a minute, jogging toward the inner gate, then across the bailey to the big curtain wall. He hollered, “Open up!” as he drew near. He slowed as he entered the gatehouse tunnel, standing under hundreds of tons of stone and the murder holes above his head. Somewhere within, he heard the windlass creak, and then the massive gate bar lifted up and away from the gates. As soon as it was clear, Victor grabbed the handle and pulled the right half open.

He'd barely pulled it halfway before an armor-clad woman with a shiny helm and bright teal eyes smashed into him, hugging him with a ferocity that made Victor laugh as he stumbled back against the wall. “I missed you too!”

“Idiot! For days, we’ve been marching, and for days, I’ve been dreading what I’d find. You couldn’t send word?”

“Edeya has my book!”

“What about these soldiers you conscripted?”

“I only just got here! I’ve been unconscious for most of that time!” Victor’s laugh had faded, and he spoke soothingly, still squeezing Valla close. “I’m sorry, okay, but I’m glad you’re here. Come on, let’s go inside, and I’ll fill you in.” He’d been leaning slightly down, speaking into the side of Valla’s helm, and when he looked up, he saw Kethelket, Lam, and Edeya waiting in the gateway. “Hi, everyone! It’s great to see you all. You especially, Kethelket; I wasn’t sure you made it out, but I had a feeling you had.” He smiled down at Valla again, then turned and motioned for everyone to follow him. “It’s good that you all didn’t attack. I mean, I’m glad you waited at the gate and didn’t kill any of our new soldiers.”

“Well, your banner was flying, and we could tell you claimed the keep, so it would have been madness to assault it without checking what had happened.” Valla entwined her fingers in his while she spoke, and they led the way through the gatehouse.

As they walked, Kethelket spoke, raising his voice to be heard from behind Edeya and Lam, “Victor, we fought free quickly, my kin and I. I want you to know that most of my rescued brothers and sisters wanted to rush to your aid, but I wouldn’t allow it. They were wounded, stripped of their gear, and many foes were left between us and you. Taking stock, I remembered your words and felt it prudent to bring them to safety. Tell me, though, how came you to the soldiers patrolling the walls above?”

“It’s a long story.” Victor slowed in the baily so that Kethelket could walk beside him. “Let me see if I can give you a brief version—I killed Dunstan deep underground after a pretty good fight. Due to some impulsiveness on my part, I ended up losing consciousness for a handful of days. When I found my way out of the depths and back to the keep, all the wampyrs were dead, even those I hadn’t killed with my axe. Dunstan’s true followers died when he died. Some of his soldiers, more thralls than true believers, who hadn’t yet grown into fully undead creatures, regained their humanity. I mean, they returned to their true selves, their living bodies, and healthy spirits.” Victor guided the others through the inner gatehouse.

“I gave them the option to flee to the north, seeking their freedom in the lands beyond the pass, or to join us in the destruction of these undead invaders. Not a single one of them opted to flee, and they all swore loyalty to me.” He glanced over his shoulder at the faces of the others, expecting objections, but they were surprisingly calm and introspective. “Kethelket, the survivors gathered all the treasure and gear they could find from the dead wampyrs. I bet your people’s things are among them.”

“Thank you.” He nodded, but his eyes were distant. “I’m pleased that you’ve given these people a chance to redeem themselves. I know what it means to serve an evil master.”

Victor frowned, wondering how far he should go with the thought that had struck him. Should he voice it? Too late to pull it back, his mouth started almost of its own accord, “That’s good, Kethelket, but keep in mind that these people were raised like cattle, enslaved by the vampiric asshole who owned the lands where they lived. They didn’t want to join his army, and they definitely didn’t want his ‘gift.’ I wish I could do more for them than give them a chance to kill more of the monsters from their home world, but it’s the best I could do.”

“Understood, Victor. Sir.” The tone in his voice almost made Victor regret his words, but he felt it was an important distinction. These people had no redeeming to do; they had vengeance to seek. He felt Valla’s hand tighten on his and let the matter drop. He had Kethelket’s support, and that’s what mattered.

“Anyway, I claimed the keep, and I took the treasures the System doled out. After I have them identified, if I don’t need them, I’ll either put them in the campaign store or gift them to people.”

“Well deserved.” Lam clapped him on the shoulder as they stepped into the courtyard. Many of the former thralls were present, watching to see the leaders of the army they’d be joining, perhaps wondering if someone would talk Victor out of his decision to welcome them. He hated the idea that they had to worry about their future, that they didn’t feel secure in their place.

“Edeya, I have work for you.”

“I’m ready!” She stepped forward, and Victor was once again struck by the beautiful changes in her appearance due to her new bloodline. Her wings were dazzling, and she just seemed so much more . . . everything—confident, powerful, capable. It all added up to a weight of presence that just hadn’t been there before.

“First, where’s Sarl?”

“With the Ninth, ready to rush to our rescue should we need it.”

“Lam, can you go ahead and give him the all-clear? Have him get his soldiers in here, and let’s set up some duty rotations.”

“Well,” Lam looked around, sighing heavily, perhaps annoyed that she’d been the one selected to play messenger girl. “On my way. Save a drink for me; I want to hear about your battles!”

“I'll wait for you!” Victor laughed, watching her turn and launch herself into the sky. “Edeya, come over here. I want you to meet Agnes.” Victor walked over to where Agnes still sat with her two assistants, going through equipment and jewels, many of which must have been dimensional containers. Valla and Kethelket kept pace, clearly interested in what he’d have Edeya do. “Edeya, this is Agnes, and she’s been cataloging not only these items but also the soldiers who swore fealty to me. I want you to look at her notes and help with the process. Can you do that for me?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Thank you.” Victor made eye contact with Agnes and added, “Edeya is a very old friend as well as a high-ranking lieutenant in our army. Understood?”

“Aye, Lord.” Agnes stood up straight, eyes on Edeya, waiting for her to come forward and take charge of the process. Victor nodded and led Kethelket and Valla away from the group, leaving them to their work. When they stood relatively alone near the stairs leading into the keep, he turned to Valla. “Is it too much to hope that you brought my travel home?”

“I did. After we claimed Black Keep, we marched, and I brought it with us, not knowing if we’d return.”

“You claimed it? Good! What about Borrius and Rellia?”

“They’ve claimed Rust Keep and are now besieging the southernmost outpost. They’re calling it High Keep because it sits high in a pass that controls access to the south beyond these contested lands. The legion has it surrounded, having left garrisons in Old Keep and Rust Keep, but are waiting on word of you and the Ninth before committing to an attack. Additionally, they have eyes on the two citadels that guard access to Hector’s base of operations—the walled town that sits atop the mountain beneath the green star.”

“Damn! They’ve been busy. So, we’ve locked down four of the five outposts? Any word from the pass? Are our people doing well? Any word from the Empire?”

“Let’s expand your house and go within before we speak further. Briefly, though, our people in the northern pass are well. I believe Edeya has correspondence for you from Thayla.” Valla dug around in her belt pouch and pulled out the little jade rectangle of his travel home. “I’m glad you gave me permissions with this.”

“Yeah, me too, but I guess it would’ve been safe in Black Keep. You all left a garrison?” Victor moved further toward the corner of the courtyard, looking for a good spot to set the house down.

“Of course! Kethelket left nearly a hundred of his people, those who needed rest, and Sarl left fifty of his soldiers behind.

Victor grunted, setting the jade down and activating it. As it thumped and jumped around, he backed up. “It’s good I got us another hundred soldiers here, then.”

Valla opened her mouth to say something but seemed to change her mind, looking around the courtyard. “Let’s get inside,” she said instead, nodding to Victor’s fully-expanded travel home.

“Right.” He stepped up to the door, pulling it open. Pausing, he glanced back toward the gate to see if the Ninth was making their way inside yet but didn’t see any activity. Victor was a little worried about how the troops would respond to the new recruits, but he could trust Sarl to maintain order, couldn’t he? Growling with annoyance, he said, “Hang on a minute.” He looked down at Valla and met her eyes. “Are you wanting to get me inside so you can try to talk me out of adding these folks to our army?”

“Not exactly, but couldn’t we discuss . . .”

“Nah, this isn’t going to work like this. I need to talk to everyone. I think there’s a need for some clarity about these people. Kethelket, will you please fly out and meet Sarl and Lam? I’d like the cohort assembled in the bailey. I have words for everyone.”

Kethelket looked at Victor, his dark eyes narrowing as understanding clicked in his mind. “Of course, Victor. Consider it done.” With that, he spread his wings; they fluttered, and he streaked up and over the inner wall.

“What’s going on, Victor?” Valla’s voice was hushed, subdued.

“I love you, Valla, but the prejudices and traditions of Fanwath rub me the wrong way sometimes. I need to make a few things very clear to the soldiers and officers about our new soldiers and about how things will be going forward.”

Valla stepped back, her mouth closed, lips in a straight line, and Victor could tell she felt rebuked. It wasn’t what he’d wanted, but he didn’t want to go into the privacy of his house and have her start in on him about how he couldn’t trust all of the former thralls. He didn’t want to hear it because he wouldn’t agree but also because he wanted to have a sliver of fantasy in his mind that she wouldn’t do that. “As you say. I’ll take my place with the troops.” She turned stiffly and began to walk away, but Victor took another step and reached down to grab her hand.

“I feel like you missed the first part of what I said. I love you, Valla. Come on, stand by my side and hear my words. I’ll listen to you afterward if you have objections, okay? I promise.”

She glanced up at him and quickly glanced down, perhaps not wanting him to see the moisture in her eyes. She nodded, though, and squeezed his hand back, so he took the win. Striding to the center of the inner courtyard, Victor raised his voice and shouted, “Perry, Nia, Agnes, and every other survivor of Dunstan and his wampyrs, get down here and line up!” As the former thralls nearby scurried to obey his command, Victor walked up to Edeya. “Put that stuff on hold a minute. We need to have a bit of a briefing out in the bailey. Would you mind going to stand with Lam and Sarl?”

“On my way, sir!” Edeya winked at him, letting him know her old self was still in there, as she fluttered her new wings and lifted into the air, showering him and Valla with beautiful, blue motes of Energy. Victor turned to see most of the new soldiers already forming ranks in the courtyard, many of them watching Edeya fly away with wonder in their eyes. He imagined such a sight wasn’t something they might witness in a dark, undead world.

“Listen up, soldiers!” Victor said, turning and holding Valla’s hand aloft. “This is Valla ap’Yensha, the Tribune Primus of our army, and if that doesn’t mean much to you, you need to be aware that she’s the third highest-ranking officer in the entire legion.” The former thralls weren’t disciplined in the way that ordinary soldiers were—they’d been controlled by fear and magic their entire lives. Still, they stood still and straight, gazing at Valla with wonder and admiration plain in their eyes, and Victor felt Valla tighten her grip when she looked into their faces.

She gave his hand one more squeeze, then let go and, lifting her voice to be heard, she said, “I’m very pleased to meet you all, and I’m pleased that you’re joining our cause. I have much to learn about your kind and each of you, but you can believe that if your Legate Primus here,” she nodded to Victor, “has vouched for you, then everyone in this army will respect you.”

Victor felt his grin growing wide as she spoke. “That’s right. Now, form a single file line and follow me into the bailey. Your brothers and sisters at arms need to meet you, and I have some words of introduction for all to hear.”