Victor of Tucson-Chapter 35Book 10: : Tidings of War
35 – Tidings of War
When Victor awoke the next day, it was mid-morning, and he felt very rested. More importantly, though it still felt rather dreamlike, he remembered his time with Tes. Of course, if he were a cynic, he might wonder if his mind had invented the encounter—if he’d truly been dreaming and not “dream walking.” Victor was a romantic, though, and if ever there was a bane for a cynic’s take on the world, it was the romantic’s. In his heart, he was certain he’d been with Tes, certain she’d chosen to respect him almost as an equal, and certain they’d spent hours walking, chatting, and simply being together.
When he emerged from his cultivation chamber, he found Arona and Bryn waiting, sitting together at one of the workbenches, perched on tall stools. Bryn jumped up when he stepped into the room, and Arona chuckled and said, “I told you he was only sleeping.”
Bryn blushed a little, looking down. “I thought perhaps you’d already begun your battle with the curse.”
“No,” he said with a yawn, gently probing the tender flesh around the ball of void Energy. “I’ve yet to face this thing.”
Arona nodded, pointing to a polished wooden box on the workbench. “Well, it’s good you waited.”
Victor stretched his neck until it popped and walked over to stand beside her. “You found what you were looking for?”
Arona smiled, drumming her fingers on the box. “Yes! Two tinctures to improve will and a potent potion for a temporary boost.”
“I can’t believe you haven’t hit the ceiling on tinctures,” Bryn said, moving to stand on the other side of him. “I think I was still a teenager before they stopped affecting me enough to make them worthwhile.”
Arona clicked her tongue, chuckling. “Oh, I think, if you searched wide enough and spent enough money, you’d find a tincture that still had a significant effect.”
Bryn narrowed her eyes, glaring at the former Death Caster. “I did say worthwhile, yes? I don’t intend to spend my family’s fortune trying to eke out a few more points here and there.”
“Fair enough.” Arona nudged Victor. “Well? Open it!”
“Right.” He yawned again. “Take it easy, ladies! I just woke up!”
“You do seem particularly groggy this morning. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a state like this. Was it a good sleep, or were you tormented by…” Bryn trailed off, frowning awkwardly, like she felt as though she’d put her foot in her mouth.
“Relax.” Victor patted her shoulder. “I slept really well. Good dreams.” Smiling to himself, he opened the box, revealing two silver vials, stoppered with black wax, and a larger glass bottle containing lustrous golden liquid that sparkled and gleamed with an inner light.
“The two vials are the most potent will tinctures I could find. I’m sure the second one will have a much-reduced effect, but that’s all right. The potion is supposed to grant a tremendous boost that will last for up to an hour. I couldn’t get any more specifics.”
Victor picked up one of the small silver vials. “Should I drink these now?”
Arona’s blue, almost crystalline-looking eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “I don’t see a reason not to.”
“I’m curious,” Bryn added.
“All right.” Victor cracked the wax seal with his thumbnail and then pried the stopper out. A waft of vanilla with an acrid after-scent assaulted his nostrils. He tossed the contents into his mouth, swishing the liquid once before swallowing. It had the texture and vapors of an alcohol, and when it went down, it was sweet at first but fiery as he breathed. He coughed, chuckling as his eyes watered. “Potent.”
“Do you feel it?” Bryn asked.
“My stomach is hot and—” Victor closed his mouth as tendrils of fiery heat spread upward along his spine and then encased his skull. It was like getting a scalp massage from a fire elemental. Not truly—it wasn’t quite painful, but it was almost unpleasant as the spiderwebs of heat sank into his brain. He groaned, clenching his fists as mild convulsions racked him.
Arona looked at Bryn. “I’d say he’s feeling it.”
Bryn didn’t laugh or take the chance to tease Victor. She grasped his shoulder and steadied him. “You’ll be fine, Victor. We’re here.”
Perhaps shamed by Bryn’s compassion, Arona nodded, grasping one of his clenched fists in her much smaller hands. “The reaction is lessening already.”
She was right. The heat was fading, and his tremors were nearly gone. Victor opened watery eyes and coughed again. “Shit,” he said with a chuckle. “Honestly, now that the fire is fading, I’ve got a nice buzz. Probably pretty expensive to use these to get drunk, though.”
“And the effect?” Arona asked, her gaze intense.
“Right.” Victor called up his attributes on his status page:
Strength: ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm
680 (780)
Vitality:
957
Dexterity:
280 (445)
Agility:
303 (468)
Intelligence:
412
Will:
694
“Hey!” he laughed, clapping Arona on the shoulder, sending her stumbling off her stool. “Oof, sorry about that. Anyway, I gained twenty-one points!”
“That’s impressive,” Bryn opined. “These must have cost you dearly.”
Victor shook his head. “Didn’t cost me a thing.” He hastily grabbed Arona’s elbow, steadying her as she regained her stool. “Arona bought these for me.”
Bryn’s eyes widened further. “Oh? A good friend, indeed!”
Arona waved a hand dismissing the comment. “It’s nothing. I earned the beads fighting beside Victor, and you’ve no idea the debts I owe him.” She pointed to the box. “There’s no sense putting off the second tincture. If you waited for another racial advancement, it would be more potent, but you don’t have time for that.”
Victor burped, still feeling the inebriation brought on by the first vial, and shrugged. He picked up the second tincture, broke the seal, and tossed it back, coughing and thumping his fist on the workbench as the fire spread through him again. Either he was getting used to the effect, or it was, indeed, less potent because he hardly shook at all, and the heat seemed to fade far more quickly. When it was over, he pulled up his attributes again:
Strength:
680 (780)
Vitality:
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957
Dexterity:
280 (445)
Agility:
303 (468)
Intelligence:
412
Will:
699
“Oof,” he wheezed, his throat still raw from the drink. He swallowed, giving his regeneration a chance to address the issue.
Meanwhile, Bryn grew impatient, nudging his shoulder. “Well?”
“Only five points that time.”
Arona smiled smugly, seemingly pleased by the less-than-ideal result. When she spoke, though, it became clear why. “I nearly bought a third. I’m glad I didn’t—it likely would have garnered a single point.”
“Well, I’m damn glad you suggested this, Arona. Twenty-six points is a significant gain.” He made sure she was looking into his eyes and then added, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She inclined her head slightly, and Victor could see she was pleased.
“Well, now I feel like a heel,” Bryn sighed, folding her arms over her chest. “I should have thought of some way to help you with your—”
“Oh, stop it,” Victor laughed, turning away from the workbench and walking to the door. “You help me every day. Just knowing you’re here to cover for me with Kynna or to manage the palace staff—it means a lot. “Now, I’m going to take a shower, get some clean clothes on, and eat a hearty meal. Then I’m going back into that cultivation chamber, and I’m going to kick this curse’s ass.”
“Wait,” Arona called. He turned, and she held up the potion. “Take this with you. Remember to drink it before your spirit walk.” She tossed it to him, and he snatched it out of the air. Some might think that would be a risky thing to do with a glass bottle filled with an extremely expensive potion. Considering his superhuman adroitness, however, the risk was next to nonexistent.
Victor sent it into his storage ring, then performed a silly half-bow with a flourish of his arm. “Thank you!”
Bryn giggled. “He is in a good mood. Victor, do you want me to have the kitchen prepare anything special?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m going to barbecue some meat.” He paused by the door and chuckled. “I’d invite you two, but it’s lava king meat, and I’m cooking it with magma.” He laughed at their expressions, shaking his head as he left. He was in a good mood. He supposed it had much to do with his dream-walk with Tes, but he was also feeling some tension release—tension he’d been building steadily over the weeks and months he’d suffered under the curse. He was finally going to face it, and one way or another, he would be done with the damn thing.
He made good on his promise to shower and change, and then he left his chambers. After thumping Feist’s shoulder and congratulating him on being awake for a change, he took the elevator up to the roof. The top of his tower was landscaped like a garden with paved pathways meandering between cedar planters that grew high with all manner of interesting plants. The groundskeeper could access the roof via the elevator, and Victor had run into her a couple of times as she trimmed and repotted various plants.
On that day, however, he was all alone on the rooftop, and when he walked to a large iron fire pit surrounded by comfortable cedar chairs, he savored the quiet and the warmth of the morning sun. After a while of basking, he summoned a large hunk of meat he’d cut from a lava king’s thigh. He still had hundreds of pounds of the meat in his storage ring, and, thanks to the magic of the dimensional container, it wouldn’t spoil.
He’d cooked his meat with his fiery breath more than once, and a few times, he’d tried seasoning it, but the magmatic fire of his breath wasn’t kind to herbs. He supposed, if he took enough interest, he might try marinating the meat beforehand, but the truth was that some primal part of him loved it just as it was, blackened and charred by his breath on the outside and red and bloody at the center.
He put the roast-sized hunk in the firepit, gathered his breath, and blew a stream of magma into the basin, utterly scorching the meat. He wondered if there might come a day when he’d have more control over his Breath Core. Maybe he’d learn to control the temperature or thin out the spray of superheated molten rock and gas. As it was, just a short burst was enough to sear the flesh, and if he kept it going any longer, he’d ruin it.
On an academic level, Victor knew that his fiery breath weapon existed as magma in his Breath Core, but that, as soon as it emerged from him and sprayed out onto the world, it was lava. He wasn’t sure when that understanding had clicked for him. He supposed it was something he’d learned in a science class or seen mentioned in a movie or on TV, and, as his intelligence increased, he simply accessed that distant bit of trivia: magma is molten rock under the earth, and lava is molten rock after an eruption.
He chuckled at the idea that he was considering his Breath Core as “beneath the earth.” There was more to it, of course; as he breathed the Energy out, it was laced with far more volatile gas than afterward. The lava cooling in the fire pit was far less explosive than the stuff in his Core. These were the sorts of thoughts that ran through his mind as he chewed his meat, sitting on a lounge chair and enjoying the morning sun.
As he finished, he stood and faced the iron fire pit. He inhaled and exhaled a stream of blue ice onto the cooling lava. It froze and shattered, allowing him to scoop it out of the fire pit and saving the groundskeeper from having to replace it. He was just finishing piling the thin shards of basalt on the side of the pit, easy to collect and dispose of, when a familiar voice startled him.
“An interesting trick, that.”
Victor whirled, scowling, suddenly made furious by the intrusion on his peaceful brunch interlude. “Lohanse.” He didn’t mean to make the word sound like a curse, but it did.
The veil walker held his hands up, palms out. “I come in peace, Victor. In fact, I put myself at great risk to come here like this.”
Victor frowned, trying to gather his temper. His aura was surging inside him, begging to be let loose. He flexed his will, though, and settled it. After a moment’s pause, he cleared his throat and said, “You startled me.”
“I see that. In any case, my time is short, and I have troubling news. Will you hear me?” Lohanse wore a matching tunic and loose, flowing pants crafted from silvery thread that shimmered in the sunlight. It was too flashy for Victor’s tastes, but it looked like something a master tailor had sized and crafted. He had to admire how the fabric hung, without a single wrinkle, on the veil walker’s frame.
“I’d be a fool to say no, wouldn’t I?” Victor folded his arms over his very fine yet very mundane shirt.
“You seem changed. You’ve overcome a difficult milestone, perhaps. Hmm.” Lohanse folded his arms but lifted one hand to scratch his chin. “No matter. Listen, Victor, things aren’t well in the aerie.” Victor knew the “aerie” was what the veil walkers of Ruhn called their domain—a floating island where none but they were authorized to venture.
“Yeah?” He almost added, “Why would I care?” but knew better.
“Yes. There are seventeen veil walkers—seventeen seats—on the guiding council Ruhn. Over the last few centuries, through laziness, hubris, or sheer stupidity, we have allowed relatives of House Khaliday to occupy eight of those seats.”
“Does that matter? I thought you all swore neutrality.”
“Sadly, while bound by an Energy contract, that oath can be overruled by a two-thirds vote, and it’s disturbingly specific in its limitations; there are ways to undermine it.”
“So they only need three more votes?”
“Indeed. Three more votes, or a few dead or missing veil walkers.”
Victor looked up to the blue sky, then around his garden. Was it quieter than it should be? “I take it you’re masking our conversation.”
“Of course. I’m as much a target as any.”
“So, the veil walkers are fighting?”
“Not openly, but Brishae Ri is missing. As you might guess, she was—is, I hope—aligned with me, proud of our neutral service to Ruhn. I fear things will become more and more…muddled. If the Khaliday faction takes control, then it’s very likely they’ll find a way to help Empress Matessa. They may refuse your right to a duel. They may simply look away while the Khalidaysian champions, warlords, and assassins assault Kynna en masse.”
Victor growled, grinding his teeth. Had he really expected an empire that had held power for thousands of years to follow the rules? “What am I supposed to do, Lohanse? If the veil walkers are killing each other off, maybe you ought to bring help in from outside Ruhn. I could message Ranish Dar. I could—”
“Victor, just hours ago, my supporters and I locked Ruhn behind a dimensional barrier, a barrier meant to keep our citizens safe from incursions from hostile worlds. As Grand Judicator, I had that power, requiring only two others to engage the seal. The artifact structure that creates the barrier uses and amplifies my Energy, but it takes me out of the fight. I have very little left in reserve, and should the Khalidaysians come for me, I will have to flee, effectively giving up my seat.”
“So unlock it and get some help,” Victor pressed.
“Do you think we would be the only ones to bring in reinforcements? It would be the ruination of our world, Victor. Millions would die.”
“Okay,” Victor sighed, lowering his arms. “I’ll ask again: what am I supposed to do?”
“You cannot flee. Not with the barrier in place. I suppose I came here to warn you. To give you a chance to prepare. The dead gods know that House Khaliday is preparing; if anyone is privy to the intentions of the Khalidaysian faction of the veil walkers, it would be the Empress. With luck, my actions are driven by simple paranoia, and Brishae Ri will be found, restoring the balance of power. If, however, the Khalidaysians manage to eliminate or, through intimidation, turn more members, the fate of House Dar may soon be out of my hands. It will be all I can do to keep the veil walkers from openly participating in a conflict.”
“Do you think you’re being paranoid?” Victor asked, stepping closer to the other man.
“As evidenced by my engagement of the barrier, I do not. I have a feeling—a deep, sinking feeling—that things are changing, that the world I know is being pulled out from under me.”
Victor’s mind returned to the man’s worst-case scenario. “Did you say champions? Plural?”
“As you’ve heard, House Khaliday has a new champion, but the Empress’s stable runs deep. She can call on half a dozen or more powerful steel seekers. Then there are the other warmongers that feast at her table—fiends like her brother Troyssas—and her assassins.” Lohanse shook his head. “That’s to say nothing of the allies to House Khaliday. While some great houses are eager to see them brought low, others will stand by their side. I wish I had better tidings, but I truly fear the best I can hope for is a stalemate in the aerie, and that would mean we’d have to let things play out down here.”
Victor nodded, his scowl deepening. “You keep the veil walkers out of it, and I’ll deal with the rest. Kynna might not have the kinds of monsters that the Empress does in her stable, but she’s conquered many nations. We can pull together an army to defend her.”
Lohanse smiled, but it was a pitying smile, like he was humoring Victor. “Of course. I’m sure you’ll put up a magnificent resistance. I must leave now before my absence is noticed. Good luck, Victor. I will do everything in my power to forestall or turn aside the scenario we’ve discussed.” He held out a hand, and Victor took it instinctively, without hesitation. It felt good to have Lohanse look him in the eye and shake his hand. He was a powerful man with an admirable code of honor. Victor hoped that wasn’t the last time he would look him in the eyes.
