Victor of Tucson

Victor soon realized he’d been missing out when it came to weapons practice; he’d had access to Kethelket ever since the battle on the plains with the Ridonne, and he’d squandered that time. The Naghelli prince was a dervish with his blades, easily outclassing Victor’s other sparring partners. He was faster, more versatile, and somehow just as strong as Polo. With Midnight, Valla’s skill level was described as “epic,” but Kethelket soon showed Victor that she had much to learn. He had a way of moving those twin blades of his, one always seeking an opening while the other parried or redirected Victor’s attacks.

The man was clearly at an epic level with the sword, and had Victor not recently had a breakthrough of his own, he figured Kethelket would have had to hold back considerably. As it was, though, Victor found himself stretching himself to new heights, finding the rhythm of combat that rarely came to him during a practice session. Usually, he had to be dancing the killing dance, the all-out, full-contact frenzy of combat that came to him when the stakes were high, and he was pushed to his limits on the battlefield. With Kethelket as his partner, Victor began to find that rhythm and began to feel the changes in himself since his skill had broken through to the epic tier.

As he wove Lifedrinker in and out of clashes with the Naghelli, using her size, power, and his near-absurd ability to move her about in lightning-fast cleaves that cut the air in whooshes and snaps, he began to enter a battle trance that excluded the rest of the world. Kethelket seemed similarly engrossed, his face serene, his body flowing with his movements, his swords like extensions of his arms. He and Victor were similar in size and reach, and though they both knew the match would be different if Victor released his Shape Self spell and let himself stretch to his full potential, that wasn’t the point—they were trying to work on their weapon skill, and having Victor dominate the contest with size and overwhelming power wouldn’t serve either of them in that regard.

A Globe of Insight hung over them, feeding their creativity, pushing their already brilliant weapon work to the limit, and, as they clashed, soldiers began to gather, their faces slack-jawed in wonderment to see the skills on display. Later, sergeants and lieutenants would report that many soldiers had breakthroughs of their own simply by observing the two masters at work. While Victor and Kethelket danced, moving about their corner of the yard, pushing, retreating, circling, all the while weaving their weapons in an elaborate contest of feints, parries, slashes, thrusts, and cleaves, something extraordinary began to happen.

At first, Victor didn’t realize it was happening, but eventually, he became aware of his cuts extending beyond the physical dimensions of his blade. Lifedrinker was mindful of the friendly nature of their bout, so she hadn’t burst into smoldering orange heat; her silvery edge was cool in the air as she cleaved the wind, but something new was happening. Her blade was limned with a shimmering, ghostlike edge that extended outward a hand’s breadth from her metal and even further from the top and bottom. That blade of force cut the air like a laser, creating tiny concussions in her wake as the air hurried to fill in the gaps she sliced.

Kethelket’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening, and Victor’s axe became harder and harder to counter. He seemed to begin to struggle to get his swords into position fast enough to match the blurring speed of Lifedrinker’s ghost edge, and when he did, his parries were rebuffed, and he had to hustle to move with the force to compensate for the extra speed and power of Victor’s attacks. To his credit, he maintained his defensive dance for several long minutes before his constant giving of ground began to wear him down, and he finally backpedaled out of the “circle” of their contest and, with a flourishing salute, said, “I yield.”

Victor, a huge smile plastered to his face, was almost startled at the end of their dance. Lifedrinker hummed in his hands, light as a feather, eager to keep going, but he brought her around in a weaving cut, slicing the air between him and Kethelket, then let her hang from one hand as he, chest heaving with the healthy exertion of their efforts, said, “What a match! Thank you, Kethelket!”

Before Kethelket could respond, the soldiers who’d gathered in the courtyard, both on the flagstones and up on the parapets, began to clap and cheer, whistling and shouting their excitement. As the noise died down, Kethelket stepped closer to Victor and said, “You were manifesting a paragon.”

“The what?”

“The Paragon of the Axe. The essential spirit of it. It was projecting forth from your fabulous weapon, there.” He nodded to Lifedrinker, still hanging from his hand. “I could feel Gevel and Uthac strain to deflect it; I fear that had you been intent on harm, you may have shattered one or both of them. Certainly, you could have done some damage.” Kethelket spun both of his swords in his wrists, then held them up, scrutinizing their blades. “They’re fine, however. I thank you.”

“I didn’t even know . . .”

“Few can manifest a paragon of a weapon at will. I, well, what I know is only through the lips of old masters; I’ve seen the Paragon of the Sword a time or two, but not in my own hands. My first master, Inderiga, brought it forth during her duel with Queen Aledra. I was just a boy, but the memory is burned in my mind.” Kethelket shook his head and smiled at Victor. “A time long gone, my friend. Thank you for this wonderful exercise; I feel I’ve gained some ground in my mastery of the sword for the first time in a long, long while.”

“Are you kidding me?” Victor’s voice was light with the pleasure of good, rich fun. “I’ve never had such a good match. I’ve only felt that . . . I don’t know what to call it. Trance? I’ve only felt that connected to the axe, to my fighting, a couple of times, and that was when everything was on the line, like, I was near death. I have a feat, Desperate Grace, that sometimes kicks in, and in our match just now, I felt even faster and smoother than it makes me. Shit, I don’t think I’ve ever seen that paragon before. That’s the right word? Paragon?”

“Yes!” Kethelket looked around, taking in the crowd of observing, listening soldiers. He raised his voice so others might hear, “You all witnessed something rare today! Your Legate manifested the Paragon of the Axe. Mark this moment well in your minds; you’ll be telling your grandchildren about it!” If he hadn’t had enough cheering directed his way, those words pushed Victor’s love for attention to the limit, and he cleared his throat, chuckling and shaking his head a bit sheepishly.

“All right, everyone. Show’s over. Get back to your duties.” The soldiers began to disperse, but Victor knew there weren’t really all that many “duties” to get to; the outpost was overcrowded with troops, and two-thirds of them were free of active obligations. Thinking of obligations, he realized he’d lost track of time while sparring. Glancing at the sky, searching for the sun’s position, he wondered what time it was. He looked back to Kethelket. “Wonder if Borrius is close.”

“Aye, the army approaches.” Victor had begun to turn toward the gate, but he gave Kethelket a second glance, narrowing his eyes.

“How can you tell?”

Kethelket pointed to the parapets where a pair of his Naghelli stood talking quietly. “I saw Cheksi arrive. She’s part of the main group of my people, one of those I’d left in the pass.”

Victor nodded and reached up to connect Lifedrinker to her harness. “Speaking of your people, I’ve hardly seen Vellia. Is she well?”

“Aye.” Kethelket nodded, stroking his chin. “Well, but busy. I’ve given her most of the responsibility for governing our people. She’s constantly dealing with disagreements and making decisions I’d rather not be troubled with.”

Victor chuckled. “Smart.” He led the way over to the stoop outside his travel home, and the two sat there, drinking water from containers they each produced from their storage rings, and waited for the madness of the main army to arrive. The opposite of Victor’s expectations came to bear, however, as a messenger arrived, calling the fifth cohort out of the keep and out to the field where the army was setting up an encampment. As half the soldiers in the garrison filed out, things became a lot calmer in the courtyard, that is, until Borrius and Rellia arrived with their retainers.

When Victor saw Darro, he remembered Edeya and wondered how the young Ghelli was doing. With luck, the racial advancement was a potent one, and she’d be out for a while yet, perhaps days more. Still, he wanted to look in on her and resolved to do so after he’d spoken to the commanders about his plan. Lam, Valla, and Sarl came out of keep to greet Rellia and Borrius and arrived at the front of Victor’s home at nearly the same time. “Greetings,” Borrius called from the saddle of his vidanii, sliding down to allow one of the staffers to lead it away.

“Borrius, it’s good to see you.” Victor stood from the step, and Kethelket followed on his heels. He took a minute to shake hands with Borrius and Rellia. Then he gestured to the jade travel home. “Shall we?”

“Don’t you want to show them the map in the keep?” Valla stepped forward and pulled her mother into a brief hug. Rellia responded warmly, a look of surprise on her face; such affection wasn’t something Victor had often seen between them.

“I do, I do, but it’s easy enough to describe for now. We have a lot to discuss, and that room isn’t exactly comfortable. Let’s go sit around my table; I bet Tribune Borrius could use a drink after that ride.”

“Indeed!” Borrius nodded enthusiastically. The ride down from the pass to the outpost keep was a short, easy one, but the older man was happy to behave as though he’d had to battle for every inch of land between the two places.

Soon enough, the commanders of the army were sitting around Victor’s table, and Victor had included Kethelket in that number, though he only held the rank of captain. He’d grown to value the man’s opinion and experience, and Kethelket held a unique position as the leader of an entire culture. Additionally, he invited Sarl because he had the firmest grip on the logistics of the previous night’s battles and the garrison of the outpost.

He began the meeting by describing, for Rellia and Borrius, the previous day’s encounters with the undead. The retelling of their fight with Baron Eric and his reavers took a while; Borrius and Rellia had many questions and interrupted the account several times. After that, Victor tried to hurry through the fight with the reaver army as they attempted to crush the fifth cohort, aiding the animalistic great wolf army. Borrius, of course, wouldn’t allow the story to unfold without interruptions.

“So, they were using their superior mobility to turn our maneuver against us! They wanted to slay the fifth and then perhaps catch the ninth outside the keep, destroying them as well?”

“I believe that was their hope, aye,” Sarl said. “I’m embarrassed to say I was so fearful of such a maneuver that I argued with our Legate about whether we should rush to the aid of the fifth.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of!” Borrius growled, slapping a hand on the table. “Every good Legate needs clever commanders who aren’t afraid to speak up! Your reasoning was sound, but it seems none of us quite understood Victor’s ability to catch and, single-handedly, distract and delay an entire army.”

“Delay, sure, but not beat. I owe the Ninth and the Naghelli for my life.”

“Well said.” Rellia nodded to Victor.

Victor could see Sarl start to open his mouth, perhaps to object, to try to expound on Victor’s exploits, but he spoke first, “So, now you’re mostly up to speed. We beat three of the invaders’ armies yesterday: the undead horde, the reavers, and the great wolf ‘cavalry.’ I believe we caught Prince Hector unprepared. It seems he’s had little resistance here in the Marches, and his armies are spread out, holding various ‘points of conquest.’ I want to move quickly to the next. I want to keep our momentum."

“And you know this how?” Borrius frowned, sipping his chilled wine.

“I don’t know it, exactly, but I have a feeling. My every instinct is saying to keep pushing, to keep him on his back foot until we knock his ass down.”

“This isn’t a duel, Victor.” Borrius shook his head. “You can’t treat a general with many armies at his disposal the same way you would a brawler in the arena.” Kethelket snorted, and Borrius turned to him. “Something to say, Prince?” His use of the title came out as a sneer, and Victor frowned at the older man; he hadn’t acted so petty in the past. Was he upset about something? He wondered if the one-time legate was upset that he’d missed all the action so far.

“I do.” Kethelket cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. Victor thought it looked like he wanted to stand up. He settled for leaning forward, gripping the tabletop with both hands as he glared from Borrius to Rellia to Lam and then back to Borrius. “This man beside me led us to victory not once but four times yesterday. He fought a great monster that called itself a vampyr, and then he, against the arguments of myself and Captain Sarl, rushed to save the fifth cohort. He nearly died and wouldn’t have come nearly so close to defeat had we rushed forth with our troops as soon as he suggested it. Instead, we chose caution.” Victor liked how he was saying “we” in support of Sarl, even though he’d flown out with his Naghelli almost immediately.

Kethelket paused for a moment, then he continued, “His instincts were spot on. He knew the fifth was in trouble. He knew the right move was an aggressive response. He’s a natural-born fighter, sure, but he’s also a natural leader. If he says the right move now is to push our advantage, to drive on to the next target, I will be there with my people.”

Victor saw Rellia nodding and knew he had her vote, but clever as she was, she didn’t speak up. She looked at Borrius and waited, perhaps hoping, perhaps betting that he’d read the room, see the tide changing, and row with it rather than against it. Victor knew he could bulldoze the situation, especially with Rellia’s support, but he followed her lead, holding his tongue, waiting to see if Borrius would come to the correct conclusion. If the old commander came to see things his way, he’d be a lot more helpful than if Victor had to cow him by flexing his rank.

Borrius looked at Kethelket for a long moment, then sighed and shrugged. “I, too, would have held the army in place, just as Sarl argued. It was the right, conservative move, one that any Legion commander would make. Being baited out of the keep and then, potentially, turned on by the larger, more mobile force could have been disastrous. I appreciate that Victor, our Legate Primus, didn’t force Sarl to march immediately but compromised, offering the solution of scouting out the situation. Still, it cost him dearly, nearly cost us our champion. Perhaps a bit more trust in our leader’s instincts is in order. I’ve been wrong to rely on my Imperial training several times on this campaign.”

“So?” Lam asked after a pregnant pause in the conversation. “What’s your order, Victor?”

“I’ll take the Naghelli and the Ninth to the west, into that forest, and we’ll take the conquest point there. I’m sure there is one. Meanwhile, Borrius and Rellia will lead the bulk of the army straight south where, if I’m not wrong, Prince Hector is going to be amassing more of his armies in a plan to come here to crush us. I’ll strike first, and when he sees that we’ve conquered yet another territory, he’ll either split his force or hurry northward, hoping to recapture this outpost while we’re occupied to the west. You’ll fall upon his forces from a fortified ambush.”

“So, we won’t march all the way south but lay in wait?” Rellia clarified.

“Right. You’ll find a good choke point near the edge of the land we’ve conquered and lay in wait.”

“You’re certain you can conquer another outpost with just the Ninth?” Borrius asked, though his head was nodding, his eyes distant, perhaps picturing an imaginary map.

“The Ninth and the Naghelli.” Victor amended.

“Might I suggest leaving some of my people with Borrius to act as scouts? They are able to hide and have excellent mobility.”

“Thank you, Kethelket, that won’t be . . .” Borrius started to say, but Victor cut him off.

“Borrius, if you have to cut down a tree, would you turn down the use of a saw just because you held your favorite hammer?”

“I . . . no, Legate.” He turned to Kethelket and nodded. “Some of your people would be well-received by my captains.”

“All right.” Victor turned to Kethelket. “Can you send some troops out scouting now? Try to find a good ambush site to the south and begin scouting out the forest that lies in the mist to the west. I’d like to leave as soon as possible. Sarl, how quickly can the ninth be ready?”

“We’ll be ready in a day, sir. Thanks to the Farscribe books, Borrius and Rellia brought reservists to fill our ranks, and we’re at full strength; I just need to integrate the new troops with their units.”

“Sounds good. If you study the map in the keep—we’ll adjourn soon, and you all can check it out—you’ll see that the contested area is about ten times the size of what we control here on the northern edge. There’s no way Hector will be able to gather all his forces or a significant number of them from the various areas he’s holding within a day. Not without using portals or something, but I don’t think he can do that. The Baron we killed, the leader of the reavers, suggested that the mindless undead horde was here ‘holding’ these lands for him while he gathered his forces from their home world.”

“Which would imply some travel time was required.” Rellia nodded.

“I’d like to come with you this time, Victor.” Lam leaned forward earnestly, and Victor could see that old hunger in her eyes, that look he’d seen so many times back in the mines. It sparked a similar one in him, a desire for exploration, growth, and glory. Perhaps Lam was more like him than he’d ever noticed before.

“Of course, Lam. We’ll go into that forest and mess up some undead pendejos.”

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