Victor of Tucson

Book 6: Chapter 50: Blowing Off Steam

“Hector? He’s a Death Caster, as pure of one as I’ve ever known; he doesn’t dabble in blood magic, nor does he feast on the life force of the living. He takes his power from beyond the veil, from the creatures he summons, and the dark pacts he makes. As for who he’s put in charge of the citadels, I couldn’t tell you. He didn’t share that information with me.”

Victor stared at Victoria as she spoke, unblinking, looking for any hint of subterfuge. He wasn’t good at reading lies, though, and he briefly wished Rellia was there with him. If anyone could read a liar, it was her, perhaps because of her life navigating the dishonest politics of the Ridonne Empire. He shifted in his chair, rubbed the stubble on his chin, and asked, “Isn’t it a little strange that you knew the other barons in the outposts but not the lords of these great castles?”

“I don’t know. Is it? Hector gathered us barons to talk about his strategy for expansion on many occasions, but never was any lord or lady of the citadels announced to us. He has his sycophants, his hangers-on. He has powerful guardians that follow him everywhere. It’s possible he’s given one of those people command of citadels as they’re quite close to his base, all things considered. Perhaps he simply has armies stationed within, led by one of his apprentices.”

“He has apprentices?”

“Of course! While you are a master of your spirit Core, weaving spells with anger, fear, and glory, he is a master of death-attuned Energy. Many come to him for tutelage. Even some of the great lords of Dark Ember send their young his way. Why do you think he was chosen to lead this invasion?”

Victor frowned, something bothering him. It took a minute for him to realize it was how she’d spoken about his Energy affinities. “What do you know of my spirit Core?”

“Hmm?” She leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “Well, you nearly killed me with it . . .”

“Wasn’t it strange to list off my affinities like that?” Victor leaned forward. Like an adult sitting before a child, he dwarfed her with his presence.

“I didn’t list them all . . .”

“You didn’t?”

“No! Is there a point to these questions, Victor? You’re making me uneasy.”

“Who’s been talking to you about my affinities?”

“Victor,” she swallowed nervously, running her tongue over her pale, dry lips, “you are the most powerful man I’ve ever met. Your soldiers and followers talk about you all the time; all I do is listen. You hold my fate in your hands, so of course, I listen.”

Victor glanced around the tent, straining his ears. “I can hear murmured voices here and there, but no conversations taking place nearby. Are your ears better than mine?”

“No! Lord Victor.” She paused, shaking her head, and Victor noticed the return of the honorific in her address. “I think I must have said something to upset you, and that wasn’t my intention. I traveled for weeks with this army from the Black Keep to the Sea Keep and then to this encampment. I’m sorry if I should have ignored the men talking as they marched. I’m sorry if I grew too comfortable chatting with the army's leaders. I didn’t intend to cause any trouble . . .”

“Forget it.” Victor had grown tired of the topic. He wasn’t even sure why he’d been bothered. Perhaps he simply didn’t like someone who’d been an enemy talking about his affinities like that. Her explanation made sense, though, and he supposed it was a strange thing to complain about. It wasn’t like he’d tried to hide his power when they’d fought, and he’d nearly killed her. “Tell me something useful, then. How many soldiers can Hector bring through his gateway? Is there a limit?”

“I don’t know the exact . . .”

Victor growled, interrupting her. “Make an educated guess.”

“He raised funds and soldiers by holding lotteries for the barons he’d take with him in the invasion. Karl and Eric were the first to claim their places; they led the initial invading armies, conquering most of the territory.” She sneered in contempt, her voice twisting into a snarl, “Small feat that it was—nothing was here to resist them!”

“Don’t get sidetracked.” Victor rolled his hand for her to continue.

“Dunstan, Faust, and I were part of Hector’s second wave. We were chosen to hold three of the keeps that Eric and Karl uncovered.”

“Faust?”

“The lord stationed in the keep your people have dubbed ‘Rust.’ He was of middling power—something of a savage. An upjumped ghoul, if you want me to get to the meat of the matter.”

“Huh. I guess I missed that detail from Borrius and Rellia.”

“Likely they didn’t know they’d slain a baron; as I said, he was a savage, barely capable of speech.”

“So, was there a third ‘wave’ of invaders?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Hector made it known from the early days that he’d be awarding five slots for other nobles to join in his invasion. I believe the System put limits on how many from our world could pass through the portal. He’s not helpless, though; he’s a powerful Death Caster, and his personal army is—was—enormous. The great horde you burned up in the forest was part of it, but he keeps his strongest soldiers close to hand.”

Victor leaned back in his chair and thought for a minute, mulling over her words. He didn’t see how lying to him would help her at this point, but he still felt like she was holding something back. It seemed strange that Hector would appoint barons to command the outposts but not the citadels. Could it be that Victoria simply didn’t know? It was apparent these death-worshipping invaders didn’t trust each other overly much, so perhaps Hector had kept her in the dark on purpose. Hadn’t he sent an assassin to the Black Keep to try to dispatch her after Victor severed their tether? “How do I destroy that veil star?” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the mist-shrouded mountain.

“If you slay Hector, it will be easy enough. If you try to extinguish it before his demise, you’ll have to battle with it on the Spirit Plane.”

“How about that? If I Spirit Walk now and make my way up that mountain, will I find Hector on that Plane? Could I end this invasion that way?”

“I wouldn’t advise it, Lord Victor. I fought you on the Spirit Plane, and you are, indeed, mighty in that realm. Hector is, too, and the veil star gives him great strength. If you ventured into its light and faced Hector with all of his apprentices, I think you’d lose.” She held up her hands as Victor’s scowl deepened, and his Quinametzin pride allowed a trickle of rage to slip into his pathways. “I mean no offense, Lord. In a fair fight, I’m sure you could beat Hector on this plane or any other.”

Victor forced himself to calm down, pushing that bristling part of himself back. Had that been his problem when she’d mentioned his affinities? Had his Quinametzin nature been offended to have someone he viewed as a prisoner talking about him? Was he simply going to have to keep a tighter grip on his pride and watch himself for inexplicable frustration with others? “All right. Tell me about Hector’s base. What’s inside that caldera?”

“I was last there months ago.” When Victor scowled, she hurriedly continued, “I’ll describe what I saw—a wide low wall and dozens of stone buildings built from basalt quarried in the depths of the ancient lava flows. He has a castle there, but it was built hastily by vassals. It’s no ancient keep with mighty walls. If you can bring your army past the citadels and into the caldera, I think you will be able to crush him.”

“This army?”

“Oh,” she licked her lips again, “I meant your entire army. I don’t doubt you may win with just this force, but I’ve heard talk of a much larger army en route; was I mistaken?”

“Does he have innocent people working or living up there? People who aren’t in his army?”

“With the restrictions on the portal, I don’t think he brought his slaves with him. I heard Eric and Dunstan talking about how Hector had promised them the first choice of natives to replace their thralls.”

“Uh-huh.” Victor stood and sent his chair back into his storage ring. “We’ll talk more later.”

“Thank you, Victor. By the way, I appreciate you allowing me to have this back.” She touched the silver bracelet on her wrist. It was set with a large, nearly pink pearl.

“I did?”

“Your lieutenant. The one with the blue wings? She said you gave her permission . . .”

“Oh yeah. I think I told her you could have any non-magical items back. You said they were heirlooms, yeah?”

“Yes! This was my mother’s.” She looked a little pathetic as she gently touched the bracelet, and Victor could appreciate wanting something to remember your mother by. As he felt his heart softening, he scowled and allowed some more rage into his pathways.

“You're welcome.” He turned and left before she could say anything more. “Keep a close eye on her,” he said to the guards as he walked by. Standing outside the tent, he scanned the area, wondering where Sarl was. He didn’t see him, but he saw Kethelket speaking to some Naghelli not too far away, so he approached the ancient prince.

When he saw him coming, Kethelket waved to Victor, dismissing his scouts. “Well, how was your meeting with the prisoner?”

“Not too enlightening, to be honest. More unsettling. I wish we had eyes on Hector’s town and his troops. Don’t take that the wrong way; I’m not hinting that I want to send your scouts in there. We can’t afford to throw lives away.”

“I’m not so sure it would be a death sentence . . .”

“No, Kethelket. If someone’s going to try to get eyes on that place, it’ll be me. Victoria gave me an idea, but I don’t think she meant to. If I could Spirit Walk up there . . .”

“Into the heart of a death caster’s territory? Victor, you’ve said, yourself, that Belikot was far weaker than even Hector’s barons. How strong do you think he is? It feels like an opportunity to spring a trap to me.”

Victor nodded, rubbing his chin and looking back at the tent where Victoria was being held. “You know, it really does, doesn’t it? She’s cunning, that one; do you think she mentioned something off-hand like that only to tempt my ego? Gah!” Victor shook his head and spat, a foul taste in his mouth. “I can’t wrap my head around it. Why would she try to trick me at this point? I had to break Hector’s tether on her and kill an assassin he sent her way. She’s seen us take one keep after another. Would she try to sabotage me somehow after all that? Still, I get a feeling . . .”

“Did she try to convince you to go up there via the Spirit Plane?”

“No. That’s the thing, she said what you said—told me not to go, that Hector would be too strong. My Quinametzin pride, though, it doesn’t like to back down from a challenge . . .”

“And you think she knows that? I think you give her too much credit. Take her words at face value, and don’t go up there, Victor. We’ll start our assault at dawn, yes? Let’s see how things go before we start taking drastic action.” He turned and gestured further into the camp. “If you’re wondering, I saw Valla setting your home up that way, just past the command tent.”

“Hah! Now I know what you’re doing—get me to speak to Valla, and she’ll surely talk me out of it, eh?” Victor clapped a massive hand on Kethelket’s shoulder, and the much older man chuckled.

“You give me too much credit! I was hoping thoughts of your lady love would send your blood pumping a different way . . .”

“Shit! You dirty dog!” Victor laughed. “Forget that, though. Let’s spar, huh? That’ll get my mind off these irritating thoughts.”

“How can I deny such a request?” Kethelket pointed to the western edge of the encampment. “We have some cleared space for drills over there. Shall we?”

Victor nodded, and the two men walked that way. He knew there were probably a dozen things he should do before taking the time to practice with his axe, but Victor had some pent-up frustration that he wanted to work out. He wanted to clear his head and try to see things in a new light, and the best way he knew how to do that was to exercise. He felt like he had to take advantage of the old sword master while he still could; who knew when they’d be parting ways again?

Victor felt like this campaign was drawing near the end, which meant he’d be moving on. He supposed he didn’t have to do so immediately. It might be nice to hang around in the Marches for a while to see how things shaped up. He could spend some weeks or months training with Kethelket and helping some of his other friends to make some gains before he left. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Wouldn’t it be interesting to see how Rellia and Borrius grew the colony? He, too, had lands to claim. Shouldn’t he build a house or something? He had the storage container holding the plans and materials for the hermitage. He could set that up before he left, maybe. Then there was Olivia to consider and the rest of the humans from their colony . . .

“How does this look?” Kethelket interrupted his thoughts, and Victor saw they stood in a wide-open gravel and dirt field outside the camp’s fortifications. Several other soldiers were scattered around the space, sparring or working on maneuvers, but he and the one-time prince stood in a large, empty area.

“Perfect.” Victor slipped Lifedrinker out of her harness and stretched his back and neck, limbering up.

“Are you going to stay that size?”

“You want me smaller?” He grinned. “Or bigger?”

“If you’re going to go big, perhaps I’ll need some teammates.” Kethelket let his eyes drift over the soldiers on the practice grounds. Victor shrugged, watching and waiting to see what the old sword master would decide. Kethelket lifted his fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle, waving to a group of four soldiers. When they stopped their sparring and looked up, he gestured for them to come over. They hurried to comply, all four jogging toward them and saluting Kethelket and Victor as they slid to a halt in the dusty gravel. Kethelket nodded to them and jerked his thumb at Victor. “We’ll practice fighting a much stronger opponent as a team today. Victor, sir, will you do us the honor?”

“Yeah, of course.” Victor smiled, then severed the connection to his Alter Self spell, sighing with pleasure as his full potential unlocked. He stretched to his near-ten-feet height, and his muscles rippled with renewed energy.

“Is that all?” a familiar voice called from behind him. Victor turned to see Chandri dropping down from the stone perimeter wall, crunching over the gravel with her long spear in her hands. She was painted for war, as usual, but she was also dressed for it, wearing a shiny steel helmet and breastplate that Victor hadn’t ever seen on her before. “I remember you being bigger when you went berserk!”

“Oh? You want me to berserk?”

“Seems only fair if six of us are going to fight you.” She circled Victor as she approached, moving near Kethelket. “You don’t mind if I help, sir?”

“Oh? Do you want to spar? I’m not sure we’ve met, yet you speak as though I should know you . . .”

“Kethelket, this is my old friend, Chandri.” Victor sighed and shook his head at her. “What are you doing? You don’t know the drills or formations the soldiers . . .”

“I’ve been practicing with the troops back at the pass. I know the maneuvers and formations. I won’t get in the way, sir.” She directed the last to Kethelket, and Victor frowned again. Was she trying to prove some kind of point?

“Chandri, are you . . .”

This time, she did speak to him, “I’m just trying to get better, sir. I’m officially enrolled in the ninth cohort. I joined up with the reserves. Captain Sarl placed me with the Red Boyii Unit.”

“That’s true, sir,” one of the other soldiers said, a tall Ardeni woman wearing brown, chitinous armor. “She’s in my brother’s unit.”

“Huh. Well,” Victor shrugged, “enough standing around wasting time. I need some exercise.” With that, he reached into his Core and summoned a thick rope of rage attuned Energy, casting Iron Berserk. As he exploded in size, he swapped Lifedrinker to his left hand and lunged forward, swiping at Chandri’s with his open right hand, sending her sprawling, tumbling through the gravel and dirt. He turned to the other soldiers and Kethelket, and he roared, his voice like a peel of thunder. Two of them nearly dropped their weapons in surprise. Not Kethelket, though; the old sword master burst into motion, moving like a gust of wind-blown smoke as he circled behind Victor, slashing at his hamstrings with his two named blades.

Victor laughed and rolled forward over one shoulder, shaking the earth and sending more soldiers stumbling. When he bounded to his feet, he saw Chandri was back up, wiping bloody dust from under her nose and off her chin. She scowled darkly, but he saw an eager gleam in her eyes as she charged at him with her spear. Victor laughed again, beckoning her and two other soldiers as they leaped forward, weapons lifted high.

He kept fighting with his open hand, using Lifedrinker only to defend himself, knocking away weapons or waving her about to give himself space. He laughed and laughed, slapping soldiers and friends left and right. It wasn’t a mean-spirited laugh, more one of pleasure and genuine joy seeing his much smaller allies get up again and again to come at him. When Kethelket landed a brutal cut to his calf and Victor stumbled, the soldiers cheered and renewed their efforts. Victor felt his cheeks stretch with joy as he tossed Lifedrinker aside and fell to his knees, grappling with them all.

He didn’t try to hurt anyone but wasn’t gentle, either. He sent them flying, tumbling, rolling, and flopping through dirt and gravel. He smacked them with his open palm, stunning them, bloodying them, but always showed it when they got a hit in, cutting him or saving one another with a heroic parry or attack. They carried on like that for at least an hour, and Kethelket gave Victor a dozen good cuts in the process. Victor didn’t care; his body was so sturdy and his healing so rapid that he hardly bled.

Some of the other soldiers landed hits on his armor or helm, mostly because Victor didn’t try to defend against those blows, and once Chandri capitalized on Victor’s distraction as he dodged away from a lightning combination by Kethelket and managed to drive her spear nearly four inches into his thigh. He wailed in mock agony, and Chandri laughed as the soldiers cheered. After everyone was scraped, bloodied, and filthy from repeated tumbles through the gravel, Victor held up his hand and shouted, “Enough, enough!”

“What?” Chandri cried, utterly covered in blood-caked dust. “We’re just starting to get the knack of it . . .”

“Hold on,” Victor said, rising from his knees to stand at his full, absurd height. He severed the connection to his Iron Berserk, then cast Alter Self, reducing himself to something more like seven feet tall. He stepped over and picked up Lifedrinker, then summoned his Globe of Inspiration. “That was a good warmup, but now I’d like to get in some weapon practice. I won’t use any abilities, and your team can attack me two at a time. Anytime one of you needs a rest, you must tap one of the onlookers’ shoulders, and then they can take your place.” He grinned and held Lifedrinker before himself in two hands. “Who’s first?”