Victor of Tucson

At the baron’s words, Victor pounced. His already smoldering rage flared like coals under a bellows, and, in his blood-red vision, he could focus on only one thing: the cowardly liar with the smoking, bleeding flesh before him. In the light of his banner, much of the baron’s supernatural vitality seemed to have fled, and when Victor fell upon him, he smashed his knee into his chin, sending him flopping back into the torn earth of the hilltop. He drove forward, crushing his prodigious bulk onto the baron’s midriff and hacking Lifedrinker at the vampyr’s neck with all his might. She was furious, her rage an echo of his own, and when her smoldering blade met the bent, chipped gorget at the baron’s throat, she bit clean through.

Lifedrinker knew what to do at that point, and she jerked in Victor’s hand, pulling deeper and deeper into the pale gray flesh while the baron bucked and screamed, trying to throw Victor off. Victor held onto his axe, pushing, aiding her in her desire to dig deeper and draw the Energy from his foe, but just as she’d sunk halfway through the sinewy neck, a massive form crashed into him, knocking him loose. Victor kept his grip on Lifedrinker, and as she pulled free of the baron’s neck, great gobs of black, viscous, jelly-like blood flew forth in her wake. The baron screamed and thrashed, rolling about, reaching up to squeeze his wounded neck in an odd caricature of a man choking himself.

Victor saw the baron’s throes as he slid on his back, another bulky vampyr driving him forward with thick arms around his waist. The creature was bigger than Eric. If Victor were guessing, he’d say it was Porter, the loyal giant. He was large, but Victor could tell from the force of his grasp that he was weaker than the baron, far weaker than he. Perhaps it was the light of his banner affecting the monster, but Victor had no trouble pulling on the creature’s bulky neck, driving him down and to the side, and pushing him off. As he did so, he smashed Lifedrinker several times at the gap where the vampyr’s shoulder armor met the plates covering his arm. She tore through the thin links of the joint, sliced the gray flesh, and burned through the sinews and cartilage.

When Victor stood up, he held Porter’s arm in one hand and Lifedrinker in the other. The huge vampyr screamed in outrage, thick, near-black blood pumping from his ripped shoulder as he scrabbled backward. Victor ignored him, scanning for the—hopefully—mortally wounded baron. He saw his friends fighting a defensive retreat down the hill's northern slope, the other five vampyrs pressing them with a brutal offensive. Victor wanted to help them, but he saw movement to the south, a dark form slithering downslope over the grass, and he pounced, unable to stifle his lust for a bloody victory and hoping his companions could hold out just a little longer.

He crashed to the ground just feet from the crawling form of the vampyr, and his banner’s light exposed the baron, no longer huge and gray and monstrous, but man-sized, bloody, and screaming with pain as Victor’s light burned his flesh. Victor felt the urgency of the situation and knew he was putting his friends—Valla!—at risk, so he was quick and efficient as he fell upon the wounded vampyr. He smashed Lifedrinker through an already bent and jagged backplate and buried her through the creature’s spine, halting his writhing retreat.

“Bastard! Spare me, and I will plead your case with Prince Hector.” A gurgle of black blood chased Eric’s words as he vomited onto the grass.

“Shut up.” Victor yanked Lifedrinker free, then grasped the man by the collar of his battered breastplate, flipping him onto his back. He lifted the axe high, aiming it at the side of Eric’s neck where she’d already started the work he was about to finish.

“You can’t stand against him, against the others . . .” the baron began to wheeze, but his words were cut short as Lifedrinker separated his head from his shoulders. Victor didn’t gloat or savor the glory of the kill. He snatched the body into one of his storage rings and turned, charging back toward Valla and the others. Where he’d left Porter, he saw only a black stain on the grass. He raced past it, scanning the northern downslope, and he didn’t have to look far. His friends were surrounded, beleaguered, losing . . .

Victor screamed with fury as he saw the giant woman, the one with the helm that hid all but her blood-red lips, lifting Edeya into the air, swinging her by one frail-looking ankle, smashing her with a wet thump into the ground. Victor’s Core emptied itself of rage, flooding his pathways, his muscles, and his brain with its hot fury. He cast Energy Charge, and as he streaked over the last twenty yards to the enormous woman, he lifted Lifedrinker high, bringing her down at the point of impact. Like a guided missile, she impacted the big woman at the crook of her neck and left shoulder. Lifedrinker screamed, and her voice was echoed by the ripping metal of the vampyr’s armor as she split the giant woman in twain, from shoulder to hip.

Hot blood showered the battlefield, and Victor roared his frustration, fury, and horror as an echo from his past floated through his mind, overlaying the battlefield—Yrella, dead, limp, the life gone from her eyes, as Victor watched on the sidelines. With desperation in his heart, Victor summoned his great bear, pumping the spell pattern with the mix of Energies needed to form courage. A cacophonous roar sounded, echoing over the hillside as the great bear burst into being. He was a mighty, wonderful creature with blonde-brown fur, enormous gleaming teeth and claws, and eyes that shone with red-gold reassurance.

In the light of his banner, Victor saw the bear fall upon one of the three vampyrs pressing Valla, crushing him to the ground and savaging him. The great creature engulfed his entire head with his jaws and began to rip and jerk his neck like a terrier with a rat. Victor prayed Valla could hold her own for a moment, hoped Sarl and Kethelket could double-team the other vampyr, and then he knelt by his broken, battered friend. Edeya was still. One of her arms was bent awkwardly, a shard of bloody bone piercing the flesh. Her face was a mottled mess of bruises and cuts, and as Victor pulled her battered lips apart to try to administer a potion, he saw that most of her front teeth were broken or missing.

“¡Que horrible, chica!” he cried, the rage fleeing his body as horror and fear replaced it. Had he lost her? Was Edeya dead? He tipped the potion between her bloody lips into her swollen mouth. The thick silver-blue liquid shimmered and sparked as it flowed over her torn, bloody gums, and he saw the cuts pull together, her flesh knitting. He took it as a good sign; would it heal a corpse? Relief began to wash over him as more of her swollen bruises faded, and the cuts on her cheeks and forehead stopped bleeding and scabbed over. He could hear the sounds of combat fading away to his left and, no longer afraid that his delay had inadvertently killed one of his oldest friends, Victor looked up.

His bear had ripped the head from the vampyr and was lumbering toward Valla, bearing down on one of the two she was defending against. Part of Victor wanted to leap up and run to her defense, but another part was stunned, admiring her grace as she slipped between their swords, lashing out with Midnight, giving far worse than she got. When his golden bear crashed into the tall vampyr on Valla’s left, smashing him to the ground with a roar, Valla switched gears, taking the offensive, and rapidly slashing and stabbing her last remaining opponent, beating her down until she got a clean opportunity for an overhead cleave, ripping Midnight through the woman’s neck.

Victor scanned for Sarl and Kethelket and saw them fighting further north, off to his right. They had one of the transformed vampyrs between them, huge and monstrous. They stabbed and slashed it, Kethelket applying three devastating wounds for every one of Sarl’s, but the creature kept healing, lashing out and screaming its fury. Victor grunted, standing up with Edeya still in his arms, and began to trudge toward them. He was no longer Berserk, but his banner still hung in the air behind him. With one more glance toward Valla and his bear, ensuring they would defeat their two opponents, he summoned Guapo.

He gently laid Edeya over the stallion’s shoulders, then hopped up behind her. As he trotted toward Sarl and Kethelket, he wondered why some vampyrs had transformed and others hadn’t. Were they not all able to do it? He didn’t bother hopping down from Guapo as he came close to the furious battle the two captains were waging against the huge creature. He watched, smiling grimly, as it screamed and began to smoke in the light of his banner, and then Sarl and Kethelket cut it to pieces. Just like the baron, this vampyr couldn’t seem to heal with his banner’s light shining upon it.

In moments, the fight was over, and Kethelket removed the head from the smoldering, bleeding creature. Victor nodded to him and then pointed to the keep where a unit of soldiers was charging through the gates, rushing toward the scene. “Get back. I’ll get Valla.”

“Aye. Is . . . is she alive?” Sarl pointed at Edeya, frowning as his dragonfly wings twitched in agitation.

“Yeah. Hurt bad but alive.” Victor whirled Guapo and galloped up the hill toward Valla. When he arrived, he found his bear lying in the bloody grass near another headless vampyr and Valla strolling toward him, wiping Midnight with an oiled swatch of leather.

“Is she . . .”

“Alive, but another healing potion might not hurt. Let’s get back to the keep.” He held down his hand, and Valla took it, hauling herself up behind him.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and said, “They’re coming.”

“The soldiers? Yeah, they saw us fighting . . .”

“No, the other army. Look. Listen.” She pointed to the north, and Victor saw it—a darker shadow rolling over the night-clad landscape. They were still a mile out, but it seemed like the vampyr’s entire army was charging. He clicked his tongue, and Guapo broke into a canter, smoothly running over the grassy hills toward the keep. Victor yelled at Sarl and Kethelket to hurry as he rode past, but he didn’t slow; he wanted to get Edeya inside, check her out, and maybe give her another potion. He needn’t have worried, in any case. Before they reached the gate, the air brightened, and he turned to see a braided ribbon of thick purple-gold Energy flowing toward the three of them atop Guapo.

“Ah, shit,” he had time to say before it hit him. Guapo had the good sense to stop his forward movement as Victor and his passengers were seized by a paroxysm of Energy and euphoria. He howled inadvertently as he flung his arms wide, absorbing the lion’s share of the river of Energy. Still, quite a bit flowed into Valla and Edeya, and he saw his diminutive friend’s bent arm straighten and her eyes pop open before the wave of victory blinded him momentarily. When he came back to himself, the System had words for him:

***Congratulations! You have achieved level 54 Battlemaster, gained 10 strength, 9 vitality, 4 agility, 4 dexterity, 3 will, and 3 intelligence.***

***Congratulations! You have learned the skill Titanic Leap – Improved.***

***Titanic Leap – Improved: Whenever your form reflects the aspect of your titanic bloodline, you will find that you are able to leap quickly and powerfully, covering distances seemingly implausible, even considering your tremendous size and power. Foes who wish to contain you will find their efforts stymied by your ability to burst free from most mundane bindings.***

“Victor, are you there?” Edeya said tremulously, her high, scratchy voice lisping oddly. She was still face-down on Guapo’s shoulders in front of him, so he put a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I’m here, chica.”

“I . . . I almost leveled, but the System said I need to advance my race.”

“As you should.” Valla leaned to the side, peering around Victor’s shoulder at the young Ghelli. “You need to regrow some teeth along with those wings.”

Edeya gasped, and, as she gently bounced with Guapo’s plodding steps, she slapped a hand to her mouth, probing for damage. “I don’t remember anything after we . . .” She got quiet for a minute, then said, “That big one, she stuck her sword in my side, then she grabbed me . . . that’s the last thing I can remember.”

Victor steered Guapo through the gates and shouted down to the lieutenants standing there, waiting for news, “Get ready! They’re charging, but I don’t know if they’ll try to scale the walls or if they can fucking fly or something. Be ready for anything; Captain Sarl will be here in a few seconds.” He and Valla hopped down, and then he reached up and helped Edeya slide off Guapo’s high shoulders. “It’s good you don’t remember.” He gently pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning her to look him in the eyes. “We need to toughen you up some more, or I’ll need to start making Valla do all my Farscribing.”

“That wouldn’t be my preference, Edeya, so please, go advance your race.”

“Here?” Edeya lisped, holding a hand in front of her mouth as her cheeks bloomed red.

“Yeah. We’re not going to lose this keep. Not if I can help it, and if we do have to retreat and you’re still out of it, I’ll carry you myself. Go find a quiet room, lock the door, and do it.” She hesitated, looking at the gate, at the walls, then back to Victor. He could see she wanted to protest, so he grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward the keep, giving her a gentle shove. “Now. It’s an order.”

“I don’t think she realizes how close she was.” Valla watched Edeya’s slight figure climbing the steps to the keep’s door.

“I thought I’d lost her. I thought I’d let another friend die.”

“Let?”

“Yeah. I chased that fucking baron and killed him instead of running to help you guys.”

“I’m glad you finished him. What scum! How could he betray the sanctity of parley like that?” Victor looked at Valla, surprised by her vehemence.

“That’s what you’re pissed about?”

“Among other things. Still, they’re all dead. They paid the price for their treachery . . .”

“Not all.” Victor sighed, shaking his head. “The biggest one. Porter? I took an arm from him, but he got away while I was finishing the baron.”

“Damn.” Valla frowned and turned back to the gate. “I was hoping that army would be leaderless.”

“Well, regardless of that dude getting away, I’m sure they left someone in charge of those troops. Someone must have ordered them to charge.”

“True.” Valla snapped her fingers. “The Farscribe book! I mean Edeya’s!” She turned and jogged after the Ghelli as Victor connected the dots—she wanted to see if Borrius had replied. She wanted to know if he was coming to flank their attackers.

“Come on, old man. We’re serving them up to you on a platter.” Victor turned to a stairway and stomped up to the parapet, intent on watching the enemies charge. He’d just reached the top when Sarl and Kethelket came through the gate. Victor had to admire the Naghelli for staying afoot, keeping Sarl company as they hurried back to the walls. He walked around the wall, toward the front, then stomped up the short steps to the higher section just above the gatehouse. From that vantage, he could see the southern hills clearly and the enemy forces flowing down their slopes.

None of the “reavers” were mounted, but they certainly moved quickly, somehow maintaining orderly lines as they ran. They seemed to effortlessly glide over the ground, holding a speed that was something close to a standard, mounted roladii. As they drew near, despite the dark, Victor could make out their individual shapes. He saw that every one of them wore shiny, black-enameled armor similar to the baron and his retinue. They ran in rows of fifty or so, each line capped with a standard bearer. It was hard to see the colors in the weird green illumination of the sky and the pale light of the moons, but it seemed the banners were deep red, stitched with a black fist under a crescent moon. He wondered if the symbol represented the now-dead baron or Prince Hector.

Victor could hear Sarl and his lieutenants shouting orders in the courtyard, and he saw soldiers running about madly, unloading and carrying munitions to archers lining up on the southern parapet. He pushed forward, making room for a row of them behind him, noting the humming Energy in their bows, primed to fire with the magic of their Class abilities. Even with the losses the Ninth suffered earlier that day, nearly six hundred defenders were in the keep. Did these thousand attackers think they could take the castle with such a garrison? Were they suicidal? He remembered Porter’s words to the baron, remembered how he’d seemed fiercely loyal. Perhaps he was suicidal. Perhaps the troops he was leading didn’t know what they faced.

“He responded!” Valla’s voice called from his left. He turned and looked at her, running toward him with Edeya’s Farscribe book clutched under one arm.

“Borrius?”

“Yes! He’s sent the fifth cohort, fully mounted. They’re swinging out to the east and will flank the attackers.”

“Shit. These guys don’t know what they’re in for if they attack the keep . . .” As he spoke, Victor watched the charging enemy come to a sudden halt. No horns blew, no drums sounded, but they all stopped running at nearly the same instant—an awesome exemplar of unit cohesion. They paused for a few seconds, and then, as though they’d heard every word Valla had just said, they turned to their right, the east, and began to run in that direction, every single one of them.

“Are they . . .” Valla trailed off, so Victor finished for her.

“Charging our reinforcements.” He turned, pushed his way to the parapet on the courtyard side, and shouted down, “Sarl! We have to get out there, or the fifth cohort is going to be wiped out!”

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