Victor of Tucson

Book 6: Chapter 24: Good Habits

Book 6: Chapter 24: Good Habits

Victor didn’t wait for the soldiers to respond or for any of their leaders, Sarl included, to rush forward with questions that might delay their movements. He didn’t know exactly how long Victoria’s command to halt the undead would last, but she’d said minutes, and they were several miles from the keep. They had to move. “Let’s go! Let’s go!” he roared, turning and stomping back the way he and the Naghelli had come. He could hear Sarl’s sergeants shouting commands, could hear the Ninth moving forward, hacking and bashing their way through the strangely dormant undead that still surrounded them.

Victor wondered how much of a dent they could make in the horde if they went wild with slaughter. How many could they slay before Prince Hector gave them the command to resume their attack? “Can’t risk it,” he grunted. There might have been twenty thousand undead on the field, but that meant another thirty thousand lurked in the woods, still making their way to the fight. The undead were sturdy and not so easy to dispatch for a typical soldier. It would take a long time to kill them all, and Victor didn’t think they’d be halfway done before they reanimated and fought back.

“What’s going on?” Valla asked, jogging to keep up with his long strides. Now that they didn’t have to fight through the undead as they progressed, Victor wasn’t surprised she’d taken the chance to get some answers.

“I fought with the commander in the keep. I beat her, and she swore to halt the undead long enough for us to win free.”

“In exchange for?”

“For not killing her.”

Valla muttered something under her breath. Victor grinned as he realized she’d cursed. “Let me guess—she was beautiful with soulful eyes and a pout that tore at your heart . . .”

“I was in my nightmare form. It was hard to stop feasting, but she managed to say something about my army—you—being surrounded. I pulled back at those words.” Victor didn’t enjoy talking about “feasting” on a sentient being, but he knew it would straighten out Valla’s perception of events.

“I’m sorry. I was being petty.”

“Nah, don’t apologize. She did try to seduce me at first. She tried to twist me to her will, but mine was stronger. Besides,” Victor leaned down from his towering height to speak more softly, “all I had to do was think about you.”

Valla’s answering smile swelled his heart, and Victor almost canceled his Iron Berserk so he could more easily hold her hand and run beside her. He held off, though—no telling what heroics might be needed before his army was safe behind walls. Thinking of the army, he turned and walked backward for a moment, looking between the trees to see the Ninth rushing behind the Naghelli, a loose column of soldiers. They held their shields and weapons ready, eyes wide as they looked at the piles of vanquished undead and the shifting, listless hordes that still lingered further from the trail of destruction Victor had wrought. “Keep moving! No slowing!” Victor roared, then he turned and continued to trudge forward.

“The keep will open to us?” Kethelket asked, hurrying to jog beside Valla.

“It better,” Victor growled. He gave the Naghelli captain another look and added, “I have a bargain with the lady inside. She swore to open it to us.”

“And if she betrays her word? We’ll be smashed between this horde and the walls.”

“If it comes to that, I’ll open those fucking gates. Believe it.” At his words, Kethelket looked up and locked eyes with Victor, nodding gravely. He believed him. The confidence made Victor feel glad and proud but also nervous; what if he couldn’t deliver? Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the present. They were traversing the scene of Valla’s and the Naghelli’s stand, where they’d defended Victor’s insensate body. The corpses of the undead were so thickly piled that it almost seemed like an impromptu fortification around the loose circle of slaughter.

Victor pushed through the area, past the tree where he’d sat, and then he sent his four shimmering, white-gold coyotes ahead, ranging toward the keep, seeking the best path. He didn’t wait for their report, though, continuing between trees, working his way in a generally westerly direction. All the while they walked between trees, they passed by clusters of undead, and Victor didn’t hesitate to smash and decapitate them as he strode by. He could hear the wet thunks of others’ weapons doing the same and knew the Naghelli and the Ninth would carve a bloody path through the dormant horde. The idea that, though they might kill a thousand, they were hardly denting the undead army was a little daunting.

“I see Lam,” Valla said at one point. Victor turned and scanned back over the column, and, sure enough, he saw Lam’s shimmering, golden Energy hammer smash apart another cluster of idle undead.

“I’d forgotten she was with the Ninth. Do you see Edeya?”

“No . . .” Valla’s voice was pensive, and Victor knew she was worried. He slowed further and concentrated, looking back. After a while, near the rear of the column, a flicker of bright blue movement caught his eye, and, staring, he made out Edeya’s slim form striding among the rear troops. Her wings were back; they were larger than before, and they glittered with sparkling blue Energy.

“I see her! Near the rear of the column.” Victor pointed, and Valla sighed with relief.

Following the wordless messages from his coyotes, Victor wound his way between trees, clusters of zombies and shamblers, and past other obstacles like great, fallen trees, lichen-filled ravines, and tumbled boulders; the forest wasn’t anything close to parklike, and though his banner burned away the fog, the going wasn’t easy. They’d only been traveling for about twenty minutes when the zombies began to stir. Thankfully, the undead were far less dense in this part of the woods, but Victor and the army had passed by thousands and left tens of thousands behind. As the creatures woke, they began to noiselessly make their way toward the column as if they somehow could feel their presence.

“Let’s go!” Victor roared. “Double-time! Run for the keep!” Though he ordered the soldiers to run, Victor continued to walk, urging them to rush past him as he tried to benefit as many as possible with the light of his banner. When he felt like he was in the middle of the troops and they were surging around him, jogging with their shields up, he started forward again, pleased to note that Valla rode beside him, once again in Uvu’s saddle. Clashes sounded from the edges of their column, and Victor knew the undead were closing in again. Still, if they kept moving forward, he knew they could outpace the bulk of the horde. He hoped. What if a great many undead sat outside the walls, waiting? Had he led the Ninth to their doom?

His doubts were unfounded. When they broke out of the trees into the clearing around the keep, only a hundred yards of gravel-strewn dirt and patchy grass separated the troops from the high black walls. Mist still clung to the area, thick in the air near the keep, but as Victor started forward over the cleared land, his banner’s light drove it back, and he saw the gates standing open, the corpses of two Naghelli hanging above them. He frowned at the sight and stood still, waiting to take up the rearguard, letting the rest of the soldiers pass him by.

The keep was impressive, though nothing like the Spirit Plane version. The wall was circular, carved from obsidian-colored stones, but there the resemblance ended. The parapet was only thirty feet high, maybe forty, and the gates were made from iron-banded wood. No towering walls disappeared into the clouds, and no monolithic stones made up the walls—the black blocks that formed the keep were more the size of overlarge bricks. Still, the keep was large. The walls were probably a quarter mile in circumference, and the tall, round towers that rose behind them were impressive. There wouldn’t be any trouble fitting the Ninth and their Naghelli comrades into the fortification.

As the last soldiers rushed past him, Victor turned and watched the tree line as their undead pursuers began to break through into the light of his banner. They shied back, parting as they rushed forward, working around the banner’s glow along the edges of the clearing as though they meant to go around him to keep up their pursuit. Victor chuckled and turned, walking with long, heavy strides toward the rear lines of the soldiers as they pressed forward into the keep.

The gates were probably twenty feet high, and when Victor stood before them, he took a moment to reach up with Lifedrinker to slice the cords holding the dead Naghelli against the stones. He carefully cradled their lifeless, pale bodies, strangely light and limp, in his arms as he stepped into the tunnel behind the gate. The passage was long with high ceilings and lined with various defensive measures—murder holes for arrows, flanged, wide-mouthed brass openings that looked perfectly suited for spraying oil, and large ballista tips protruding by the dozens. Victor was grateful Victoria hadn’t yet betrayed him; he’d hate to be walking through that tunnel observing the damage done to the troops he’d sent through before him.

When he stepped into the courtyard, he noted, again, its similarities and differences from the Spirit Plane version. Smooth black stones lined the ground and the inner walls, but, again, everything was smaller. He could see the ramparts easily. The steps leading up to the keep with its round towers were just a few dozen yards beyond the gate, and standing atop them was a tall woman clad in black gossamer. Lam, Sarl, and Kethelket stood before the steps, the soldiers arrayed in rows, filling the courtyard. Still sitting atop Uvu, Valla waited just beyond the inner gates and nodded to Victor as he stepped through.

Victor wanted to address the woman and reassure his troops before someone did something violent, but first, he looked at the nearest sergeant and said, “Take some soldiers and get that gate closed. The undead are coming.”

“Sir!” She saluted him sharply and then addressed the line of bloodied soldiers she was standing with. “Come on, Green Squad!”

Victor watched them hurry into the tunnel behind him, and then he gently laid the corpses of the dead Naghelli on the black stones to the side of the gateway. Straightening, he turned and strode forward down the central aisle between the ranks of soldiers. Valla rode beside him, keeping pace atop Uvu. The soldiers stood up straighter as he passed. Whether it was pride or the bolstering effect of his banner, Victor didn’t know. Voices muttering echoed over the stone flags, and Victor knew the soldiers wanted to know what was happening. Who was this black-clad woman, why were they in the keep, and what would they do about the horde of undead closing around them?

Victor stopped behind Lam and the others and looked up the steps, making eye contact with the woman—Victoria. She looked similar to how he’d seen her on the Spirit Plane, but not exactly the same. She was tall, pale, and had blue eyes and long hair, but she didn’t glow with ethereal light here. On this plane, her eyes were like pale ice, not cold stars. Her skin wasn’t like polished ivory; it was a white, almost sickly pallor, and her lips weren’t plump and red. They were thin, pressed together in something like a grimace as she obviously struggled to stand before them. She swayed slightly and gripped her side with one long-fingered hand, clearly in some discomfort.

“Lord Victor. I’ve kept my part of the bargain. Will you keep yours?” Her voice rang through the courtyard, high and clear, and the soldiers grew quiet as they realized they were about to be privy to important talks.

“My part?” Victor’s voice rumbled, rolling over the stone, bass notes echoing off the hard black walls.

“You agreed not to kill me, to help me free myself from Prince Hector.”

“I’ll give you a chance.” Victor reached down and jostled Kethelket, getting the Naghelli’s attention. “Choose three of your best. Three with the highest will. Take this woman to a room in the keep and hold her until I have a chance to come speak with her.” Victor turned back to Victoria. “You are not to speak a word to anyone—not until we’ve spoken further. Your guardians will report to me immediately if you utter so much as a syllable. Is that clear?”

“It is clear, Lord.” She attempted to curtsey and nearly collapsed. Sarl moved to climb the steps, intent on aiding her, but Victor shot out a long arm and held him by the shoulder.

“Careful, Sarl. She’s not one to be underestimated.” Victor stepped forward, mounting the steps three at a time, and when he loomed over Victoria, he held out his left hand, palm up. “All of your rings, jewels, and dimensional containers. Don’t test me by trying to be sneaky.”

If possible, she blanched further, but she started to comply, pulling several rings off her left hand. “Lord, some of these are precious to me. Heirlooms. Will you grant me a chance to bargain for their return?”

“I’ll keep them safe for now.” He stood there, waiting as she deposited ring after ring onto his enormous palm, then she untied her silky lace sash and unwound it from her waist. She rolled it into a neat ball and pressed it to his palm.

“A container,” she sighed. Victor had to hand it to her; he wouldn’t have thought the sash held a dimensional space.

“Where’s the System stone?”

“You intend to claim . . . of course you do.” She looked at him, her ice-chip eyes staring into his warm gold-brown ones, and when she spoke, he noted the yellowed nature of her teeth. They looked almost like old ivory, and he wondered if she was undead. He supposed it was likely; hadn’t everyone else they’d met from the invading army been undead? “It’s in the great hall beyond the doors here. Lord Victor, if you claim this keep while I’m here, I don’t know what will happen to me.”

Victor turned to see Kethelket standing behind him with three darkly cowled Naghelli. Had they put those cowls on as some sort of protection? As a means to intimidate their charge? Victor didn’t know, but he liked it. “Take her.” He stepped past them, ignoring Victoria’s pleas to speak further, and when he stopped before Sarl, Victor cut his connection to his Iron Berserk, reducing his size to something a little more comfortable for his captain to speak to. “Get your soldiers on the walls. Find out everything you can about this keep’s defenses. We have a horde to kill.”

“Aye, sir!” Sarl turned and began barking orders to his lieutenants.

Victor looked at Valla and Lam. “Let’s get a dialogue going with Borrius. I think our plan has changed, but it might be even better now.” He nodded to a less crowded area of the courtyard, a corner to the left of the steps leading up. He walked over, and they followed. He noted a pensive expression on Valla’s face.

She gripped his arm. “Do you want to try to claim this place first?”

“Let’s talk to Borrius first; it might be wise to time that with his assault. Hector is going to know it when I claim this keep. He’ll surely react. Let’s be certain the main army’s in a position to take advantage of that.”

“Of course.” Valla nodded curtly, and Victor paused to really look at her. She was covered in gore, well, all but her hauberk, which had already cleaned and polished itself. She’d taken her helmet off in the courtyard, and he could see how her hair was soaked with sweat, how thick layers of grime covered her jawline where her sweat had dried with dust and blood over and over again. She’d been through hell while he was on the Spirit Plane.

“I’m sorry I took so long.” He spoke softly, and Lam cleared her throat, moving a few steps away. She waved an arm and called Edeya closer, and they moved off, speaking in low tones.

“You did your best. It sounds like she was quite cunning.” Valla tightened her grip on his forearm, pulling his attention back to her.

“She was, but most of the time I was gone was because I was an idiot and didn’t remember how to move about on the Spirit Plane.”

“An idiot?” Valla raised an eyebrow. “Do you know that no one else in this entire army could have done what you did?” Again, she squeezed his forearm, and he loathed the idea of her ever taking that hand away. At that moment, he wished she could hold his arm forever, however impractical. “Will she aid us, do you think?”

“I think so. Maybe not willingly, but she seems to have a healthy sense of self-preservation. Speaking of that,” Victor turned back to the keep where the Naghelli had taken Victoria, “I think I should speak to her sooner rather than later. She’s dangerous.” Victor realized he was still clutching the Death Caster’s rings and sash in his left hand, so he raised his voice and said, “Hey, Edeya.”

The two Ghelli, one with golden wings and one with blue, turned away from their quiet conversation and walked toward him. “Yes, Legate?”

“Your, uh, wings look cool.”

Edeya’s eyes opened wider, and she smiled. For someone who’d just been embroiled in a massive battle with the undead, Victor thought she looked damn good. She’d gotten taller, filled out a little, and her cheeks were glowing vibrantly. Her wings were broader and much more robust looking. He wondered if she could fly at all. Standing next to Lam, he could see she still had a ways to go to reach her stature, but she was definitely not the frail-looking, wispy girl he’d become friends with. “Cool?”

“Yeah. Now quit trying to think of a way to make fun of me and come take these rings and stuff. Keep them separate from your other things, okay? We need to go through them carefully.”

“Yes, sir!” Edeya winked at him and smartly saluted, then took the bundle of Victoria’s belongings from him. “Lam and I are going to explore the keep a bit. Will that be all right?”

“Yeah. Let me know if you two find anything like that weird map in the other one.”

“That’s the idea.” Lam grinned, and they walked back up the steps and into the open double doors.

Victor continued to stare at the doorway, his mind drifting toward the strange undead woman he had to interrogate. Valla shifted beside him. “I should go with you.”

“Do you want to?”

“I think so.”

Victor knew there was more to her desire than simply wanting to be present or to hear what Victoria had to say. He couldn’t blame her. He’d feel the same in her shoes. “God, so much is happening. I need to slow down and take a beat, get some advice. Shit! When’s the last time I spoke to Kuhl Bach?”

“You spoke to him regularly while we traveled, but I haven’t seen you do so since we came into the Marches. In your defense, you’ve been busy, one fight leading to the next . . .”

“Yeah, I know, but,” Victor shook his head, “it’s just that I always feel like this—like things are running away from me. Like I’m running behind a horse, trying to grab the reins, trying to steer it away from one disaster or another. Remind me to take a minute to talk to him and, shit, to look at the Farscribe book I share with my cousin.”

“I will. For now, though, shall we contact Borrius?” She produced the command book from her storage ring.

“Yeah. Do you mind writing?”

“Not at all.” She smiled at him, and Victor could tell she was trying to help him relax. She was always like that. Always so damn supportive and cool. He remembered the first time he’d come to realize that, back in Coloss, when she’d followed him over to the arena. He remembered how surprised he was when she didn’t try to talk him out of enrolling in the fights. He’d grown so used to others like Thayla, Lam, and Rellia trying to direct his actions. Valla never did that. Did she? He couldn’t think of an instance. As he cleared his mind and tried to think of the best way to voice his intentions to Borrius, Victor resolved to let Valla know how much he appreciated her. He’d said as much recently, but he wanted to show her again. He wanted to make a habit of it.