Victor of Tucson

“You can’t do it here!” Valla gestured around the forest, at the mists pushing against the light of his banner like it was some kind of palpable barrier.

“I’m not going all the way back to the keep. Besides, the Ninth will be here soon, and you know Borrius and the others are expecting us to take this keep sooner rather than later. They can’t keep up an ambush position forever. Who knows when some undead scout or scrying magic will reveal them? We need to capitalize on the invaders’ urgency, their need to get back what we’ve taken.” He saw she wasn’t happy, looking into his eyes with doubt in hers. “I’ve got you and all these Naghelli to watch over me. I’ll summon my coyotes, too.”

As Valla frowned and folded her arms over her chest, Kethelket spoke up, “Will your banner persist while your spirit walks?”

“I don’t know. Maybe not. My totems can think for themselves, but the banner . . .” Victor searched for the right words, “It kind of needs me to concentrate on keeping it around.”

“Aye. I have a spell or two that require concentration.” He nodded and turned to Valla. “My kin have slain any undead within a mile of this location. The mists don’t bother us much; our eyes see through most of the obscuring magics. We’ll see that nothing bothers Victor.”

“Are you sure?” Valla wasn’t speaking to Kethelket; her eyes were boring into Victor’s. He reached out, resting a hand on her shoulder, running a thumb gently along her neck, brushing the soft, stray hairs hanging down beneath the rim of her shiny helmet. Kethelket pointedly turned away, ostensibly to observe the positions of his scouts.

“I’m sure, Valla. We talked about this. Something in me feels the challenge these ghostly assholes are presenting. They took Kethelket’s men and hung them from the keep’s walls. I can’t turn away from that.” His words were soft, meant for Valla, but he saw Kethelket’s shoulders stiffen. He hoped he hadn’t offended the man. Valla’s helm had a nose guard and angular slits for her eyes, making them look perpetually angry, but her mouth was exposed, and a soft smile curled her lips as she shook her head in resignation. Victor wanted to kiss those lips but knew their helms would clash long before his mouth could find hers.

“There’s no way you and Uvu would let anything happen to me, anyway.” Victor loosened Lifedrinker from her harness, holding her in both hands, crossways over his lap as he sat down on the damp mulch, back to a huge tree. He concentrated briefly, summoning his coyotes with a surge of inspiration-attuned Energy. “Good boys,” he said and wondered if they were all boys. They were aspects of his spirit, so he assumed they were, but he’d never made the effort to examine them all that closely. A chuckle escaped him at the random thought.

“Something’s funny?”

“Nah, just thinking about my coyotes.” Victor watched them as they took shape from the white-gold mist his spell called into being. They yipped and whined, pacing around, sniffing at the Naghelli, and taking up positions in a loose circle around Victor and the tree he leaned against.

“Fascinating creatures.” Kethelket knelt next to the closest coyote and stared at it, his dark, depthless eyes peering into its bright, shining ones. “Like large boyii hounds, but those sounds they make; it’s like they speak to each other.”

“They’re bigger than normal coyotes. I put a lot of Energy into their summoning.”

“It’s the same ability that allows you to create that steed of yours and the great bear?”

“Yeah.”

“Amazing. I’ve never heard of a Spirit Caster with such talent. It puts our contest of weapons in a different light. How would I fare should you unleash these loyal guardians while we matched blades?” He shook his head, sighing as he stood up, making the rhetorical nature of his question evident.

Victor replied, nonetheless, “Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got some abilities you held back while we sparred.”

“Thank you.” He bowed briefly and then turned to face the mists, drawing his blades, ready to take up his guard. Victor admired that he didn’t try to push the comparison of their abilities further. He could have protested, pointing out that Victor could go Berserk or turn his banner or spirit affinities against him. Instead, he took the compliment and let the matter drop.

He turned to Valla and smiled again. “All right. I’m heading out. See you soon.” He closed his eyes and began to form the pattern for his Spirit Walk spell, but he’d only just started to pull some Energy into it when he felt Valla’s hot breath on his lips, and then she pressed her mouth hungrily against his, and he kissed her for a long moment. When she finally pulled back, and he opened his eyes, he saw she’d taken her helmet off in a rush, her teal hair hanging loose and wild.

“Hurry back,” she said, then she stood, pressed her helmet back onto her head, and whipped Midnight out of her sheath. Victor smiled and closed his eyes again. He had a warm spot in his chest as he cast his Spirit Walk.

When he stood up, he still clutched Lifedrinker, but she was different—her dark, polished haft was brighter than ever with the starry motes that lurked within, and her blade shone with ghostly light. If Victor were guessing, he’d say it was her spirit, more evident in this realm than in the land of the living. He looked around, heartened to have her close, and saw that the twilit Spirit Plane was darker, more foreboding, and ominous than in other places he’d walked. The trees had persisted across planes, and their great, dark canopies blocked out the brilliant starfield usually visible on Victor’s Spirit Walks and, adding to that gloom, was the mist that had somehow persisted in this realm.

“Fucking Death Casters.” Victor’s words were a growl as he stared into the fog, twisting his hands on Lifedrinker’s haft. “All right, chica, let’s go find out what these ghosts are made of.”

I hunger for your foes, Victor! When will you share your spirit with me?

“Oh, yeah, well,” Victor was caught by surprise by her sharp, lilting, but vehement words. “It’s been a busy few days. Maybe we can try it here, huh? Let’s see what we’re up against first.”

She didn’t respond with words, but he felt her emotion, transferred through the axe's haft, straight to his heart—eager anticipation, acceptance, trust.

Victor turned toward the west, wondering how stealthy he should try to be. He’d never tried to sneak around on the Spirit Plane before. He walked boldly, probably too boldly, and never feared what he’d encounter. Did he need to worry about scaring the ghosts off? They were defending a location; if they ran off, wasn’t that a win for him? Was he worried that he might draw too many of them? Victor couldn’t find any sense of caution in his heart. He was on Fanwath; the spirits knew him there. Who were these invaders to come into the Spirit Plane where he’d hugged Old Mother goodbye and act like they owned the place?

Victor growled, twisting his hands on Lifedrinker’s haft again, and then he did what he wanted to do; he cast Iron Berserk and summoned his glorious banner. As he exploded in size and his banner’s light burst around him, he lifted Lifedrinker into the air and screamed his challenge into the shadowy, twilit forest. His voice echoed through the trees, leaves fell, and the mist rolled away from his light, seeming to retreat from his roar. Victor began to stomp through the forest.

He held Lifedrinker in his right hand, her ghostly edge bright in the darkness. His eyes smoldered with the red heat of his rage affinity as he prowled forward, the mist pulling back before his light and very slowly, almost reluctantly falling back in behind him as he passed through the woods. Victor's long strides were quick to deliver him to the keep. He hadn’t gotten a good description of the place from Kethelket, so he couldn’t compare its appearance on the Spirit Plane to what his Naghelli friends had seen. However, he imagined it must be vastly different because he couldn’t believe they wouldn’t have described it if they’d seen anything like what his eyes beheld.

Black, bus-sized stones stood vertically at the base of the round walls. Atop them ran a ring of horizontal stones of the same size, and then another row of vertically aligned blocks, and so on. The circular keep rose a thousand feet into the starry sky of the Spirit Plane. Victor stood at the edge of the trees, looking out over the faintly luminescent grassy clearing at the massive keep and wondering how he was supposed to assault the ghosts within. Growling, he stalked into the open and began to walk in a wide circle around the walls, looking for a gate. “If I can’t find a pinché gate, I’m going to climb that son of a bitch.”

As he walked through the wavy, knee-high grass, he heard a faint whistling and looked up toward it, only to see a dozen bright bolts of Energy rippling through the air toward him. He broke into a jog and watched over his shoulder as the magical missiles struck the grassy turf, sending up ghostly white flames that did no harm to the environment. He didn’t think the bolts would be so harmless if they touched him; they gave off a chill he could feel in the bones of his spirit body. He picked up his pace as he heard more whistling in the air, and he wondered how long it would take the shooters to figure out they had to lead him a little in order to pelt him with those spells.

Rather than take chances, as he scanned the walls for a gateway, he began to zig and zag, cutting left, right, and even leaping periodically. The keep was enormous, at least here on the Spirit Plane, and it took him several minutes to make his way halfway around it, even as he jogged and leaped. When he’d seen no sign of a gate or doorway after covering more than half the perimeter, Victor’s frustration began to mount. He glanced at the wall, squinting in the dim, silvery light, trying to determine how hard it would be to climb. “Doesn’t look that bad,” he grumbled. He felt a pulse of encouragement from Lifedrinker, and that was all he needed.

With a burst of speed, he sprinted toward the wall, bunched his massive, powerful legs, and launched himself with a Titanic Leap toward the wall. He’d timed his jump well; Victor had just hit the apex when the wall came within grasping range. “Sorry, beautiful!” he cried as he aimed Lifedrinker for a seam in the giant black stones. Her silvery head burst into molten glory as she smoked through the air and buried her blade between the monolithic stones in a shower of sharp, black chips.

Of course, being an axe, her wedge shape was perfect to lodge her firmly in place, and Victor held onto her handle as his body smashed into the hard stones. Hanging there, Lifedrinker’s blade creaking and the stones cracking further, tiny crumbles falling down the wall, he wondered what his plan was. The gap between stones was too thin to jamb his fingers between. How would he climb it? When he looked away, up and down the wall, he found his answer. The stones, side by side, were nearly seamlessly lined up. Lifedrinker could find the gap, but his fingers couldn’t. The tiers, though, one atop the other, were offset by half a foot or so; the tall circular keep grew ever-so-slightly narrower with each level.

Victor grunted and wriggled Lifedrinker’s haft until she slipped free, and he fell—two feet to the tiny ledge atop the tier below him. He hooked Lifedrinker into her harness as he pressed his body against the wall, arms spread wide. His toes in their boots worked heroically, holding him there, fifty feet or more above the ground. Victor craned his neck to look up, gauging the next ledge’s height, then he bent his knees and exploded upward. He didn’t activate Titanic Leap, but he still soared up enough to grasp the next ledge with his fingertips. Grunting, he pulled himself up. The only tricky part was leaning forward so he didn’t topple as he got his feet underneath him.

Victor looked side to side. The curved wall of the keep stretched away in either direction, disappearing in the fog. Then he craned his neck and looked up toward the top of the towering, impossibly high wall. Again, the smooth obsidian wall disappeared in thick fog. It hadn’t seemed foggy from the ground, and he wondered if some sort of twisted enchantment was at work, messing with his perspective. “Huh.” He rolled his neck side to side, eliciting loud pops, and then he jumped up to the next ledge. “Let’s see how high this fucker is.”

#

Valla watched Victor’s still form. He seemed serene, untroubled, sitting there against the tree. His eyes were closed, but his dark brow was unfurrowed, his hands at ease on Lifedrinker in his lap. When he’d first gone into the Spirit Plane, she’d felt the surge of Energy, then a short time later, a much greater surge, and she knew he was casting spells in that other realm, a place that was a complete mystery to her. She couldn’t quite understand how Victor could be here yet travel about in that other place.

She’d known of people with spirit Cores, Spirit Casters, everyone called them, but she’d always thought they did things like make love potions, help troubled children, or cause problems—berserkers, fear casters, and the like. She’d never known about Spirit Walks. In a way, it gave her comfort; if Victor’s spirit was on the loose, moving about in some parallel world, didn’t that mean there was proof that further lives were possible? She’d begun to believe so, and she knew Victor did. She’d tried to show him as much when she’d said they’d find happiness together in the next life, if not this one. She found the idea romantic and, judging by his amorous response, so did Victor.

“I knew he was a powerful Spirit Caster,” Kethelket’s voice broke her from her musing, and she, perhaps a little guiltily, jerked her gaze away from Victor’s face, “but I had no real idea, I think. I shouldn’t be surprised; Belikot was formidable on the Spirit Plane, a dangerous man indeed with his knowledge of breaching the veil and dominating the spirits he pulled through. Still, Victor slew him, so I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s willing to rush forth and do battle with those ‘ghosts,’ as he termed them. A fitting name, I think.” He squatted, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at Victor.

“Why?” Valla found the ancient Naghelli fascinating. He had something interesting to say about nearly any topic, and his skill with those swords was inspiring; she could see he knew things she didn’t, even with Midnight in her hands. She wasn’t surprised he’d achieved the epic rank.

“Ghost. It’s a word we use to describe one who moves without sound, unseen, a killer who can send your spirit out of this world with a silent touch. It was a title given out by our queen in the old world. Only a handful ever walked the face of Kthella at any given time.”

“Kthella? The Ghelli home world?”

“Aye, and we Naghelli, don’t forget.”

“Of course.” Valla nodded. She knew as much, of course, but she hadn’t heard the name of that particular home world in a long, long while—not since she’d studied with the myriad tutors Rellia had saddled with her, perhaps. “So, you think those spirits, the ones who killed your men, are like those ghosts? I think it makes sense.” Valla looked at Victor again, her heart swelling and fluttering in her chest as she stared at his strong brow, angular nose, and sharp jawline. As she thought of her youth and all that came with it, she realized she felt like that again, like she was a girl, sent off to the Legion, spending time with young men who weren’t in some way related to Rellia for the first time. Victor had woken something in her heart that she’d let go dormant, and it frightened her.

“He’s a master of spirits. Even his banner is doom to the undead. We’re lucky to have him in the battle.”

“Yes.” Valla watched as Kethelket stood and turned, scanning the forest in a slow circle. His soldiers were all around them, hidden in the trees, behind trunks, and even in the fog. They were silent, efficient fighters, and she knew most of them were many times her age, with experience she could only begin to comprehend. Knowing that, her chest swelled with pride a little, knowing she was a match for any of them, save maybe Kethelket. Victor was right; she’d vastly improved in the time she’d known him. Of course, Tes was the main reason, but she’d never have met Tes if she hadn’t been following him.

“I’ll go speak with Sarl, check on his cohort, and see that they’re ready to charge.”

“Good.” Valla nodded and watched him move off to the east, where the Ninth was encamped near the edge of the fog. Too many of Sarl’s troops were affected by the strange malaise the mist caused for him to have them stand ready, idle, in the forest. Instead, he’d set them in a ready position close by, prepared to charge when the word came down. She let her mind wander, trying to picture how things would go. Victor would find and kill or at least get an understanding of the spirit guardians on the walls of the keep. He’d return, and then they’d attack? She wasn’t sure how things would go at that point. Perhaps he’d find he couldn’t affect the “ghosts,” even from the Spirit Plane.

“Ware!” Kethelket cried, interrupting her reverie, charging toward her from around a trio of trees grown so close together that their canopies were intertwined. At almost the same time, Victor’s ghostly coyotes broke into yips and howls and grew restless, coming closer to Victor and pacing in little circles, eyes focused outward, watching the mists.

“My scouts are engaged. Undead have come in great numbers; they swarm this way. I sent word to Sarl, but in this darkness and the mist . . .” Valla didn’t need him to finish the thought—they were on their own, at least for a while.

Valla whipped Midnight out of her sheath and put her back to Victor, standing between two coyotes. “Which direction?” she called.

She heard Kethelket’s swords ring as he pulled them free. She glanced at him and watched as he put his back to her on the other side of Victor, “All.”

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