Victor of Tucson
Book 10: Chapter 45: Dire Circumstances

45 – Dire Circumstances

Resh A’kel sat before his tent, watching the commotion at the gates as those of Kynna’s champions who couldn’t fly came inside. Arona studied his expression, wondering what went through his mind as Kynna’s people fought and died daily while he sat there playing at being neutral. Unfortunately, his face gave her no clues to his thoughts; as always, his demeanor remained calm, his expression almost disinterested.

Arona looked over her shoulder to the Queensguard who’d accompanied her. “Stand here, prepare your ranged attacks, but do nothing unless I activate my shield. If he leaves peacefully, follow us to the gate, and ensure the passage is secured.”

The guardians—all tier-nine—saluted, and she descended the rampart steps to the courtyard. The beleaguered defenders were still clustered near the gates, talking as soldiers did after a battle—all bluster and relief. Not all, she supposed; she saw a few despairing faces—those who’d lost friends on the field, no doubt. She was spared having to confront her distaste for public speaking and platitudes when Bryn arrived, storming down another set of stairs with a dozen other defenders. She’d see those brave men and women into the palace and ensure they felt appreciated.

Arona hurried across the courtyard to the strange champion and his tent. When she drew near, he stood and bowed. “Lady Arona.”

“Resh A’kel, I would ask that you accompany me without. I have word from the queen, and it would be best if you prepared to depart.”

The man’s sharp, angled brow narrowed over his singular eye. “Has something occurred? I note the fighting ended earlier than usual today.” He gestured to the loose procession of defenders moving toward the palace and the awaiting staff and family, many of whom bore tokens of their love and appreciation—flowered wreathes, scarves, baked treats. The customs varied from kingdom to kingdom, and Kynna’s burgeoning empire spanned many cultures.

“Please, sir. Accompany me and I will answer all of your questions.” Arona didn’t give him a chance to question her further, turning on her heel and striding toward the gates. She hoped he’d follow and that there wouldn’t be any violence. She’d left a spot of light-attuned Energy back on the stairway beside the Queensguard. It was a window she could peer through, a simple spell that allowed her to know without turning her head if Resh would comply.

To her relief, he turned, touched something on his tent, sending it into storage, and then glided gracefully after her. The four portcullises inside the gate tunnel were still open, thanks to the defenders' recent withdrawal, but the gate was closed. When Arona reached it, the soldier on duty had to pull the chain to signal to the crew above in the gatehouse that she desired to pass through. While they waited for the enormous amber ore gates to part enough to slip through, Arona looked at Resh.

As always, his face betrayed no emotion, but he nodded when he saw her looking. “I’m not a fool. If you had good news for me, you wouldn’t make me leave the palace to hear it. I don’t know what hidden strategies your queen means to employ, but I wish she’d taken King Lund’s offer. I’ve wanted to fight against the Khalidaysians since this thing started.”

Arona nodded, gesturing to the opening between the gates, indicating he should precede her. As he stepped through, dwarfed by the eight-foot-thick metal gates, she followed, saying, “You may yet have a chance. We’ll see.”

Outside, on the blasted, scarred battlefield where the great fighters of Ruhn had been going at each other for nearly a week, Resh stopped and pointed to the figure standing two hundred yards distant. “What’s he doing?”

Arona frowned, surprised to see the dragon hadn’t moved since delivering Kynna’s “gift.” “I think he’s waiting to see your reaction.”

“My reaction?” Resh’s eye narrowed, and Arona, for the hundredth time, wondered how he’d lost the other one. She supposed it might not be missing—the platinum band made it impossible to know. “They’ve done something to King Lund.”

Arona nodded, smiling sadly. “I’m sorry, Resh. He delivered your king’s head a few minutes ago, when the fighting ceased.”

He looked past her to the partially open gate. “I heard the portcullis glide down behind us, and I began to wonder why your queen might suddenly fear me. She’s unsure where my loyalties will lie now that Bomar Lund doesn’t hold my leash.”

“She doesn’t know you.”

He nodded. His arm twitched, and with a flicker of silvery light, his long, liquid-looking sword was in his hand. “No, she doesn’t.” He turned toward the dragon champion, Dro Vah. “He knows me well enough, though. He stands there because he expects me to challenge him.”

“Will you?” Arona licked her lips and then hastily added, “Can you?”

“I’ve never fought him. I sat with him a time or two when Bomar attempted to parlay with the empress. Yes, I spent some weeks at Khaliday while he was there, and I saw Dro Vah bullying the local champions. I’ve never seen him play all of his cards, however. Still, he knows me. He knows I was in service to Bomar when he took the man’s head. Honor has its demands.” He stalked away from her, straight toward the shirtless, smirking champion from Khaliday.

Arona wanted to say something—to wish him luck or apologize—but her mouth was dry and she couldn’t find her voice. Of course, she wanted him to kill Dro Vah, but could he? Had she just aided in whatever greater manipulations were at play here? Was the man, calm and stoic, striding toward his doom?

To her surprise, Dro Vah summoned a pair of swords, short and curved. It surprised her because of his roar earlier; she’d half expected him to transform into a gigantic, reptilian monster and swallow Resh A’kel whole. That didn’t happen, nor did the two exchange insults. In fact, neither said a word before, in a flash of silvery light, Resh flickered through the air and engaged. His longsword rippled through the air, difficult to track, but Dro Vah was ready; a strange, chime-like ring echoed over the field as he blocked the blow.

Arona had to channel solar Energy into her pathways and cast a spell to boost her speed to observe the battle properly. Resh was grace incarnate, moving with such speed that his sword seemed to draw long, silvery lines through the air that persisted as it was rebuffed by Droh Vah, only to loop around and try again from another angle. They fought that way—frenzied and fast—longer than she could maintain her speed-enhancing spell, and she had to pause to let her Energy recover as the ringing chimes of their swords clashing continued to echo through the air.

To her unaided eyes, they were a blur, and occasionally, flashes of silver, purple, green, and red punctuated their battle. No doubt they were carefully throwing spells, attempting to break the stalemate of their blades. She refused to be left devoid of Energy, so she was still struggling to see what was happening when it suddenly stopped, and Resh A’kel fell back, his platinum battle gi torn and bloody. Arona saw, then, that he’d left a hand behind, and he seemed to struggle to put weight on his left leg.

Even so, he clutched his silvery longsword, one-handed, watching as Dro Vah, seemingly unscathed, strode after him. “Well fought, little one.” The dragon’s voice rumbled over the battlefield, and Arona, unwittingly, took two steps back into the narrow gap of the open gate.

Suddenly, the small swords were gone from Dro Vah’s hands, and an enormous, black-bladed greatsword appeared there. He held it high, chuckling darkly. “Soulreaper is hungry, and you’ll feed him well.”

To his credit, Resh A’kel didn’t cringe or shrink away, though even nearly two hundred yards distant, Arona could feel the baleful, hateful Energy pouring out of that dark weapon. The champion held his head high, and, as blood drizzled out of the sleeve of his gi, he held his silvery longsword high, ready to parry. Dro Vah had changed, though, and now he towered over the smaller man, and Arona couldn’t imagine Resh could parry that massive blade. Grinning maliciously, he heaved it back and down, carving a black streak through the air as he moved to execute the last fighter who might have stood a chance against him.

Something happened before that dark blade could smash through Resh’s guard and cleave him in half. A jagged, purple-edged rip in the fabric of reality appeared behind the smaller champion, and Dro Vah froze, mid-swing. As Arona watched, spellbound, three enormous, ebony claws slipped through the rip in the universe and curled around Resh A’kel, tugging him toward the dark void beyond. As he disappeared, a voice that turned Arona’s bones to water shattered the silence, “NOT YET.”

Arona fell, her mind reeling from the psionic blast that accompanied those words. When she recovered, she hastily looked up, only to see Dro Vah striding away, back toward the Khalidaysian encampment. Some thing had saved Resh A’kel’s life. Or had it? Was whatever had taken him better or worse than what Dro Vah had intended? She pulled herself to her feet and looked to the guard station. She had to clear her dry throat and swallow before she could bark, in her usual raspy voice, “Close it!”

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Victor was in his elevator, halfway down from his tower, when he felt the presence of something and heard the echo of its voice in his mind. He couldn’t make out the words, but they had the feel of a warning or a threat. Then, the feeling was gone, and his elevator came to a halt. Whatever it had been had been weighty—something like Azforath or the ivid queen. He was sure the message hadn’t been for him. It felt more like he’d overheard something meant for someone else, so he just added it to the list of things he needed to ask Kynna about.

He'd been a little surprised to find his quarters empty and unguarded. Not even Feist had been present at his door. A small voice in the back of his mind had begun to wonder if he was too late. Had everyone been killed or dragged away to prison? He didn’t think so, though. If Khaliday conquered Iron Mountain, they’d install a new puppet immediately; the duchy was too wealthy to leave ungoverned.

When he stepped out of the elevator into the marble-floored hall that made up its ground level, his thoughts were confirmed—people were living there. The space was reminiscent of a refugee camp. Beds and cots were set up in rows, some separated by dividers, but others entirely in the open. People sat around chatting. Children played games on the floor, and, overall, despite the fact that they were there to avoid being slaughtered by House Khaliday, the mood was almost festive.

As Victor walked through, quite a few people looked his way, and though they appeared to be interested in his presence, none seemed to recognize him. He’d stopped to look in the mirror, and he hadn’t changed all that much. His eyes were more golden than before, and his skin a bit more bronzed with an underlying luster that he imagined would have made most of Hollywood seethe with jealousy. His hair, soft to the touch, had a metallic sheen, and his teeth—his teeth were the most changed. They were sharp, and his canines were those of a predator.

While he’d been in the vault, he’d made himself smaller than before, though, and perhaps that was why no one reacted to him. He was a handsome, striking fellow, but he didn’t look like a titan. Maybe it was more than that; perhaps people had lost hope of him ever emerging. Perhaps they didn’t recognize him because they’d already mentally accepted that he was gone.

Whatever the case, as he made his way through the palace, it wasn’t until he came to the central hall, where many of his palace staff were busily trying to manage the overloaded populace, that a familiar voice said, “Your Grace?”

Victor turned to see Draj Haveshi, hollow-eyed and exhausted, standing at the head of a procession of pages and clerks, all of whom seemed equally overworked. “Draj! It’s good to see a familiar face. I see Kynna brought many guests.”

“Your Grace! You’ve returned!” He dropped the heavy book he’d been carrying, and it struck the marble with a resounding thud. At his outburst, people began to take notice of the scene and gather around. Victor heard their hushed exclamations—“It’s the duke!” “Victor—the champion!” “He’s back!” “I thought he was dead!” and a hundred others.

“Where’s Kynna?” Victor asked, eager to get moving before he was mobbed.

“Atop the Mountwatch Spire, Your Grace. Come, I’ll escort you!”

Victor looked down the crowded corridors, knowing he’d have to walk through a thousand people to get to the right set of stairs, and shook his head. “I’ll make my own way.” With that, he turned and strode down the immense central hall toward the front doors of the palace. People lined the hall—another camp for Kynna’s people. Tents and cots crowded the aisle, and people who were now aware of his presence crowded the way, stretching out hands, calling out greetings, and asking all manner of questions; chief among them was whether he was going to stop the attackers.

Victor reached into his aura and released his hold on his body’s potential a little, swelling in size so he stood head and shoulders above the tallest of those Rhunic people. It made it easier to proceed, though he didn’t shove people aside. He let them lay their hands on him as he went by. He even held his palms out, accepting their touch, knowing they’d been bereft of hope for too long.

When he reached the wide-open doors, he turned his back to the courtyard and faced the throng behind him. As a hush settled over the crowd, he raised his voice and shouted, “I am back, and yes, I’m going to fight!” The words had the desired effect. The crowd erupted in cheers as he turned and continued outside. Standing in the courtyard, he focused on the highest point in the perimeter wall and cast Tactical Reposition, instantly traversing the space between.

Standing on the wall, he turned to run his eyes over the many spires towering above his palace. The tallest was his, but there, near the front, was Mountwatch Spire. Victor glanced left and right, ensuring no one was standing too close, though some guards had noticed him and were hurrying his way, wide-eyed. He channeled Energy into his wings, launching himself into the air. As he soared, trailing billows of black smoke, he watched as the small figures atop the tower grew larger.

He saw Kynna immediately, her crystalline crown flickering with the sun’s light. Beside her was Arona, pale and beautiful, her sharp blue-eyed gaze already tracking his movement. The rest of the people were all Queensguard, staring at him, mouths agape. Victor soared higher than the tower, then streaked toward it, cancelling his wings as he grew near and landing, catlike, beside Kynna. “My Queen,” he said, smiling at her shocked expression.

He was expecting her to be happy to see him. He wasn’t expecting her to burst into tears and fling herself into his arms. He was wearing a simple, if finely made shirt, and when she pressed into him, he almost recoiled, worried she’d touch the void in his chest. He remembered, though, with a soft chuckle, that it was gone, and then he folded his arms around her and pulled her close. “I’m sorry I’m so late, Kynna. It took me time to process the treasure I consumed.”

He made eye contact with Arona and saw the relief on her face as she smiled at him. Still, he saw worry in her eyes, but before he could say anything, Kynna pulled back, straightening her crown and sniffing. “I’m just glad you’ve made it, Victor. We face dire circumstances.”

“Yeah?”

Arona cleared her throat, nodding. “They’ve amassed an army of steel seekers. They have around forty—”

“It used to be fifty!” Kynna interjected.

Arona nodded, reaching out to grasp the queen’s wrist. “That’s right. The queen’s defenders have battled valiantly every day for nearly a week, yet we’ve lost more than a hundred to claim those ten lives. Our champions grow weary, and morale is low.”

Kynna quickly added, “Worse, Matessa’s champion, the dragon, hasn’t even been helping them. None of our people can stand against him, Victor. He just slew Resh A’kel, one of the strongest of the champions employed by the great houses.”

“Well,” Arona said, stepping closer to the queen. “He didn’t quite slay him. Something pulled him through a rip in the universe.”

Victor’s eyebrows shot up. “Just now?”

Kynna nodded. “Yes, a few minutes before you arrived.”

“I think I felt it.” Victor rubbed his chin. “Why was Resh A’kel fighting for you?”

Arona shrugged. “I don’t think he was. He was fighting for his honor. It seems the dragon, Dro Vah, had a hand in the death of Bomar Lund, who was flirting with the idea of joining Kynna’s side in the war.”

Victor folded his arms, peering out over the blasted landscape of the battlefield. “Well, you’ve done an amazing job of holding them off. Everyone should be commended. It sounds like I’ve got around forty assholes and one dragon to defeat, huh?”

“Victor! No one—” Kynna began to say, but when Victor looked at her, something in his eyes stopped her words. “You’re different.”

He smiled, nodding. “I had a productive nap.”

Arona released the queen’s wrist and grasped Victor’s shoulder. “I can feel a difference in you. Will you tell us what—”

“My Queen!” one of the Queensguard said sharply, pointing toward the battlefield. Victor turned to watch as dozens of figures approached from the Khalidaysian encampment.

“They’re launching another assault,” Kynna said with a sigh. She raised her voice, commanding, “Alert Baroness Bryn to prepare the defenders!”

As one of the Queensguard hurried toward the stairwell, Victor called out, putting a little command into his voice, “Stop!” The woman practically slid on the stones as she hurried to comply. Victor turned to Kynna. “Let your defenders rest. I’ll meet these champions, myself.”

“I’ll join you—” Arona started to say.

At the same time, Kynna protested, “You can’t go alone!”

Victor waved them both to silence. “I’ll handle this.” He turned to observe the motley force approaching. They were all shapes and sizes—tall, squat, humanoid, and monstrous. He could barely get a feel for their power from such a distance, but their equipment and demeanor spoke volumes. These were powerful people, accustomed to victory. Some were gigantic, some were winged, some wore armor that made their features impossible to discern, and some were hardly clothed. He saw axes, swords, bows, and even companion animals—great wolves, birds of prey, and a creature that looked like a bear and rhino had borne a child.

He gestured toward the attackers. “They’ll assault the gate?”

“Yes, and destroy it handily if we don’t fight them!”

Victor nodded, smiling, as he began to don his armor. He summoned his impossibly heavy Aegis of Charyssor, chuckling as he easily lifted it, sliding his arms through the seam before sealing it around his torso. Next, he put on the crown of the Dark Colossus, and, stepping away to give himself a little more room, he pulled the Umbral Greaves of the Hollow over his light, linen pants. That done, he took off his comfortable leather slippers and donned his Terror-scale Boots.

Finally, as Kynna and Arona watched, he stuffed his hands into his Gauntlets of the Mountain’s Might and summoned Lifedrinker. Immediately, she hissed into his mind, “Is it time, Heart-mate? Will we slay your foes?”

Victor grinned savagely, watching the cluster of enemy champions approach, now only fifty yards or so from the gates. “It’s time, chica.” He looked at Arona and Kynna and winked. “Don’t worry, ladies. I’ve been dreaming about this kind of fight for a long time. This is the shit I live for.” With that, he bunched his legs and activated Titanic Leap, launching himself into the air.

He’d angled himself perfectly, and, as he began his descent, streaking toward the ground, he released his hold on his body’s potential and surged in size, expanding to his natural, nearly thirty-foot height. His body swelled with power, and he roared, holding Lifedrinker one-handed as he plummeted downward—tens of thousands of pounds of enchanted metal and titanic muscle and bone. As the Khalidaysian champions took note of him and blazed to life with magical shields and potent attacks, he laughed and screamed, “Ancestors! Watch me fight!”