Victor of Tucson

“What it boils down to,” Victor sighed, closing the “command book,” the Farscribe book he shared with Rellia, Borrius, and Lam, “is that we need more information. I think I need to speak to Victoria.”

“Isn’t it odd? Her name? I’ve never heard one like it before I met you.” Valla and he sat together in his library. Victor had set up his travel home inside the courtyard, much as he had in the first keep they’d conquered. They still hadn’t “conquered” this keep, but, for all intents and purposes, the Ninth and the Naghelli were in control despite the fact that a massive horde of undead surrounded them.

“It’s definitely a name you could hear in my home world, same with Eric and Hector.” He looked at Valla, watching how she pressed her lips together and clenched her fist. She was stressed, and he wasn’t sure he should add any more detail, but he also wanted to be honest with her. “She said our meeting was ‘fated’ when she learned my name. I think she’s full of shit, that she was just struggling with things to say to keep me from killing her. Still, it’s weird that our names are so similar. I want to get some answers from her. Are you ready?”

“Of course.” Valla stood, her chair clattering on the hardwoods as it slid back.

“You okay?”

“I think I’d like a little more time between near-death experiences, but other than that, I’m fine.”

“Yeah . . .” Victor let his response trail off as she turned to walk toward the front door. He sighed, straightened his clean shirt—they’d taken a few minutes to wash up and change clothes—and ran a hand in front of his wyrm-scale vest, sealing it shut. That done, he followed after her. She was waiting for him in the courtyard, looking up at the walls, watching the activity there. The soldiers were thick on the parapets, and it looked like they were taking shots at the undead outside.

Before they’d gone into his house to communicate with Borrius and Rellia, Victor had watched from the parapets as the undead horde stopped and gathered outside of easy bow-shot range. They were so thick and tightly pressed together that a few zombies would inevitably stumble out of the formation—if you could call it that—and meander a bit closer. The soldiers were making a sport of trying to kill them from range. He didn’t mind, and it seemed Sarl didn’t either. It kept the troops entertained, and if they killed a few of the undead in the process, well, that meant fewer enemies to deal with down the road.

“Still at it?”

“Yes. I wonder if we shouldn’t get more serious about it.” Valla reached up, resting one slender-fingered hand at her throat, gently fidgeting with the choker Victor had given her. She was clearly deep in thought, picturing something, but she shook it off and looked up at him. “Should we put together some larger attacks?”

“Yeah. Definitely. Not yet, though. Let’s get some information out of Victoria. Come on.” Victor turned to the steps leading into the keep, and when he’d reached the top, he looked at the sergeant on duty and asked, “Where are they holding the . . . lady who was here?”

“Inside, sir. Second level—the western tower. Guards are posted outside the door.”

“Thanks.” Victor stepped inside. He’d only looked around the keep briefly before going into his travel home, but it was a very utilitarian, if impressively designed, structure. The smooth black stones of the exterior continued inside, rising to arched ceilings illuminated by windows and lamps, all glassed with blue and red stained crystal. The tinted lighting made the shadows strange and mysterious and gave the dark stone more depth. Just beyond the door was a great hall, and at its center was a hovering, slowly rotating stone just like the one in the other keep. Victor figured he’d need to interact with it to officially “claim” the keep.

Borrius and Rellia had agreed that he should wait. They were at odds, though, on what they should be doing in the meantime. Borrius wanted to hold his position. He’d found a valley just south of the other keep where he’d set up a massive ambush, hoping to catch Hector’s troops as they rushed to retake the first keep. Rellia thought they should scout out the next territory to the south, get into position, and attack when Victor claimed this place. They’d all agreed to hold off on a decision until Victor had interrogated Victoria.

He climbed the stairs leading to the second level and followed the directions of posted guards to the hallway leading to the tower stairs. Two Naghelli stood outside the doors, darkly cowled, their faces so shadowed that Victor couldn’t see their eyes. His earlier curiosity came to the fore, and he asked, “Are those cowls significant?”

“Aye, Lord,” said the one on the left in a lilting soprano, startling him with its clarity, “they’re heavily warded to protect us against Mind Energy.”

“Do you all have them?”

“No, Lord,” said the other guard, “a few of us have the Mage Hunter class and, as such, were outfitted with gear to help us in our profession.”

“Outfitted by?”

“Belikot, Lord,” said the first guard, her voice hushed, likely still nervous about uttering her old master’s name aloud. Victor frowned, not pleased to be reminded that some of his best troops were once the bloodthirsty servants of a madman bent on world domination. He contemplated telling the two Naghelli to stop calling him “lord” but decided he had bigger fish to fry. Part of him also, he might admit with some guilt, wanted them to harbor as much respect and deference toward him as possible; he thought it might hinder thoughts of rebellion from forming in their minds.

“The prisoner is above?”

“Aye, Lord, with three guards.”

Victor gestured to the door, and the female guard hurried to pull it open for him. It swung silently on hinges that fit into the stonework as though grown from it. He started through but paused and looked at the solid, hardwood door and the hinges again. “Were the doors here already, or did our engineers make them?”

“They were here, Lord.”

Victor nodded and started up the narrow steps, winding his way to the top with Valla’s boots clicking on the stones behind him. They’d passed a couple of doorways when Valla spoke up, “You didn’t stop them calling you lord.”

“You noticed?” Victor glanced back at her with a crooked smile. “Can you guess why?”

“You . . . want their respect.”

“Yeah, but not for egotistical reasons.”

“No, I didn’t mean that. Some of our fear, the other commanders, has rubbed off on you. You have doubts about the Naghelli and want them to fear betraying you.”

“You can read me like a book, huh?”

“I think I’m learning to know you fairly well.” Her voice carried a hint of amusement, and Victor wondered if a double entendre was mixed in there.

He changed the subject. “You noticed this keep seems newer than the other?”

“It seems that way, but it could be just as old with better preservation magic.”

“Oh. Good point.” Victor stepped onto a broad landing at the top of the stairs, and when he looked to his left, he saw two more cowled Naghelli. He stepped toward them. “Where’s your third?”

“Within, Lord. One of us has eyes on the prisoner at all times.”

“Good.” Victor nodded to the door. “Any problems? I’m going in.”

“No problems, Lord. She’s not uttered a word.” He turned to the tower, twisted a large, silver key in the latch, and then began to open the door.

“The key was here?”

“Aye. In the door.”

“Huh.” Victor stepped into the room, squinting against the bright light. The room was circular and clearly occupied the entire top of the tower. Pale blue stained-glass panels, bonded with strips of melted silver, filled alcoves in every wall, and the sunlight coming in was, thus, tinted and seemed to draw out hints of blue in the dark stones of the floor and vaulted ceiling. The only furniture in the room was a plush, straight-backed wooden chair at the center where Victoria sat. A Naghelli, who’d been standing in front of the door, turned to bow as Victor and Valla stepped into the room.

“You can wait outside.” Victor nodded to the guard.

“Aye, Lord.” The slight figure hurried past him, and Victor caught a whiff of something like cinnamon on the air stirred by her passage. Every time he started to think he was getting to know the peoples of this world along with their customs, he found more unanswered questions. He pushed the thought aside and regarded Victoria. She sat with a straight back, her dark, multi-layered, silky dress and skirts hiding most of her body; only her pale neck, face, and hands were exposed to the light. She tracked his movement with her pale blue eyes, never once glancing at Valla, who also stepped into the room, closing the door with a satisfying, well-oiled click behind her.

“I’m glad you didn’t try to influence my soldiers.” When she didn’t reply but only watched him, unblinking, Victor added, “You may speak.”

“I’m not a fool, nor do I wish my existence to end this day. You brought me to the brink of true death, and I’ll not soon forget the feeling.”

“Hmm.” Victor stood in front of Victoria, rubbing at the rough stubble on his chin, staring at her while Valla walked in a slow circle around the room, looking out the windows, then back at the woman, then up at Victor. She never said anything, but he knew she was thinking, taking things in.

“Hmm?” Victoria dared to echo after a few moments of silence.

“I was thinking about that term—true death. What do you mean, exactly? Are you undead?”

“No sense hiding it, is there? I’m sure you’ve Death Casters in your army who will be able to confirm your suspicions. Where I come from, if you’re not undead, you’re a slave, a meal, or fodder for the army. If we’re honest, even if you’re undead, you’re likely one of those things anyway.”

“Where you come from?” Victor arched an eyebrow, trying to imagine a world like she described. It wasn’t that hard for him; hadn’t he seen movies and played games with similar premises? He supposed it would be horrible in person, but hearing about it was just as abstract as those fictions.

“Dark Ember.” She winced as she spoke, and then, gasping, she said, “If you want me to tell you more, Lord Victor, you’ll need to sever my connection to Prince Hector. I’ll die if I try to tell you anything of consequence.”

Victor looked at Valla and raised an eyebrow. It took her a moment to realize he was waiting for her to say something; she’d been staring at Victoria’s face. “I don’t know.” Her eyes said she wished she could help more, but she had no experience with this sort of magic. Victor had an idea; he’d dealt with a tether tying Belikot to his phylactery and to Thayla. Still, he wasn’t exactly sure how he was supposed to help Victoria.

“What do I need to do?”

“You’ll need . . .” Again, she winced and coughed, and dark flecks of nearly-black blood touched her faded pink lips. She looked up at the ceiling, avoiding Victor’s gaze, and said, through a throat that sounded strained and constricted, “If someone were to attempt to sever a tether of control between a Death Caster and his thrall, he or she would need to open their inner eye to the Energy. When they found the thread stretching away, they’d need to focus their will upon it and break it with a knife of their own Energy.” She squeezed her eyes shut and looked down, trembling, and Victor saw heavy, dark droplets leaking from the corners of her eyes, leaving long red tracks on her chalk-white cheeks. Was she weeping blood?

“Watch me,” he said to Valla, then he turned his mind inward, focusing himself by looking at his Core. His four orbs of Energy pulsed and throbbed, full of power and potential, and he found it easy to calm his breathing and steady himself as he observed them. That done, he followed his pathways out of his body, taking the short route through his lungs and marveling at the smoldering magma in his breath Core as his mind’s eye traveled past. Then his “inner” eye was seeing outward, and he regarded Victoria before him, a thin, wavering, pale-blue ribbon stretching from the top of her head to the north-facing window.

The ribbon fluttered as though caught in a breeze. Every so often, he could see a flash of brighter blue Energy traversing it, and he wondered what that was—just a bit of Energy that refreshed the spell from time to time? Information from Prince Hector to his thrall? The other way around? Could he see what Victor was doing? Victor didn’t like that idea. He took two strides to close the distance, and then he reached out with his hand, cupping the ethereal ribbon. He couldn’t feel it with his flesh, but he felt the tingle of the cold Energy as it penetrated it, touching the pathways beneath.

Without a second thought, Victor yanked a heavy tendril of inspiration-attuned Energy out of his Core and pulled it through his pathways to his hand. He wasn’t sure how to form the flowing Energy into a knife, but he had another idea. Focusing his will, he bent the bright, pulsing rope of his Energy around the pale, shimmering blue ribbon of the tether, and then he drew it tight. Victoria gasped and began to seize, shaking and shuddering. “Hold her,” he growled as he focused his will, tightening his inspiration-attuned Energy, aiming to strangle and sever the tether.

“She’s frothing at the mouth!” Valla cried, but Victor couldn’t look down to see her struggles. He was too focused, straining with everything he had to constrict his rope of Energy around the tether. He grew frustrated and angry as it resisted him, and he released his nearly ever-present hold on his aura, growling with his frustration as he bore down on his efforts. Still, the tether resisted him, and Victor, worried that his captive would die or be damaged beyond healing, reached into his Core and pulled out thick bands of his other three Energy types, stretching them out through his pathways where he wound them around the tether next to his original strand.

The baleful red rope of rage, the dread-inducing coil of fear, and the glimmering, sparking ribbon of glory joined his inspiration-attuned Energy, and Victor pulled them all tight with a grunt and a headache-inducing effort of will. A keening wail burst from Victoria, and Valla cried out as she fought to hold the undead woman still. Victor focused on his task, watching as the tether went from pale to dark blue to black and then crumbled into motes of ash, utterly destroyed. He sighed heavily and let his Core retract his Energy. When he opened his eyes, he found Valla sitting on the polished black stone flooring with Victoria lying, insensate, in her lap.

“Is she . . .”

“Not dead. Well, not totally dead.” Valla frowned, and Victor could tell she wanted to drop the woman, to stand up and maybe wash her hands. Victoria’s chin and throat were drenched in dark blood, as were her cheeks and ears; she’d been bleeding profusely, it seemed.

“Do healing potions work on undead?”

“I don’t know . . .” Valla gingerly laid her palm over Victoria’s brow, one of the few places unstained by her blood. “She’s cold, but I can feel her breathing. Why do the undead breathe?”

“Good question.”

With a soft groan and a wheezing cough, Victoria opened her bloodshot eyes and struggled to sit on her own. Valla helped her, pushing her off her lap so she sat, legs sprawled out with her dark dress covering them in front of her. After a few minutes of wheezing breathing, she cleared her throat and said, “There are undead, and then there are undead, Lord Victor. My body still breathes and flows with blood, though more sluggishly than yours.”

“Did I free you?”

“Yes, but far more slowly and torturously than I’d hoped. Why didn’t you simply sever the tether? You strangled it to death! All the while, Hector tried to pull my spirit through it.”

“Be grateful, witch!” Valla growled, and Victoria jerked to look over her shoulder at her.

“My apologies, Lady.” She put a hand on the cushioned chair, struggling to stand up, but her arm was too shaky, and she fell back to the ground. “I should, indeed, be grateful. Not I nor any of Prince Hector’s Barons could have severed that tether.”

“Here.” Victor held out a hand, and when she took it in her cold fingers, he pulled her to her feet. “Sit down.” He nodded to the chair. Valla hopped up before Victor could offer her a hand. “Well? Can you answer all of my questions now?”

“All that I know the answers to, aye.” She wiped at the blood around her mouth with the back of her long, black sleeve. “Would a bath be possible? Perhaps when you’re done with my questions?”

“If we don’t decide to execute you.” Valla stood behind Victoria, and for the first time in a while, Victor noticed her cat-like canines as she growled the threat. She’d leaned close and spoke into Victoria’s right ear.

“Ah . . .” Victoria’s eyes widened, and she looked from Victor toward Valla, but the Sword Dancer had noiselessly stepped back and was on her other side. Victoria looked back to Victor and nodded. “Of course. I might say, I do hope you’ll find mercy in your hearts . . .”

“Let’s not get bogged down with emotion right now.” Victor squatted before the undead woman and began his questioning, “Tell me what these lands were like when Prince Hector’s army arrived. Were there any defenders? Natives, I mean? People living in these keeps?”

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