Victor of Tucson

When Victor stepped out of the coach he’d hired in the city, he was a little surprised to find the lake house dark and quiet. A single lamp illuminated the front door, and only a dim, ambient nighttime glow shone through the windows. When he opened the front door, a startled servant looked up with wide eyes and hurried to take the door from his hands, motioning him in with a hasty, “Welcome home, milord.”

Victor frowned and fished his watch out of his pocket—every time he put it in a storage container, the time got messed up. He’d last used it in Sojourn, so he assumed it was accurate when it told him it was an hour past midnight. “Hi, Ranal. Everyone asleep?”

“I believe Sir Lesh is in his quarters, aye, but your other companions left two days ago intent on delving into a dungeon.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good, I suppose. Darren doing okay?”

“He’s a bit out of sorts but eager to improve his bloodline advancement, sir. Excuse the gossip, but from what I hear, he’s rather unhappy being in a . . . well, an in-between stage.”

“Yeah, I can’t blame him. What, uh, all changed?”

“Well,” the servant paused, looked left and right, and spoke in an even more hushed voice, “his head is adorned with lustrous feathers, and his eyes are quite large and, if I’m honest, fierce-looking. The biggest change, though, milord, is the beak. He’s certainly adopting a type of avian bloodline.”

“Huh. Yeah, I guess that would freak me out quite a bit—he probably doesn’t look anything like his old self.”

“Correct, milord. His long, handsome hair is gone, but I think his feathers are quite nice; they have a certain sheen to them—much finer than some of the other avian folk I’ve seen.”

Victor chuckled, looking at the servant a little more closely. He certainly seemed to have a lot to say about Darren’s appearance. After a moment’s consideration, he shook his head and let the matter drop. “And Lord Dar?”

“He has anticipated your arrival and intends to have breakfast with you. Shall I wake the staff? Are you hungry now?”

“Nah. Thank you, Ranal. I’ll plan for breakfast at the usual hour.” Victor nodded to the slender, green-skinned man, then moved past him and into the house. He hadn’t slept the night before and was eager to rest, but his first priority was to check on Lifedrinker. His boots, in their non-armor form, were comfortable and the soles soft, so he didn’t make much noise as he moved through the house to the kitchen cellar and then down into the tunnels. He noticed a particular dampness to the air down there and, not for the first time, wondered if he’d find underground access to the lake if he took the time to explore.

His lack of knowledge regarding the extent of the tunnels would have concerned him or even dissuaded him from leaving Lifedrinker down there, but he knew Dar wouldn’t let anything happen to the axe. Even so, he felt a little nervousness in his gut, a twinge of worry that he strangely welcomed—it took his mind off Valla and the fact that he’d returned to Sojourn alone.

He didn’t use a light as he stalked through those tunnels; Victor’s eyes were good, far better than he could have ever hoped. He saw great distances with ease, could focus on the tiniest of details up close, and, in the dark, the faintest of glows served to provide him with clear, faintly sepia-tinted vision. When he’d first descended, the soft, pale illumination of the storage ring Dar had given him was enough to outline the tunnel walls and corners, but as he neared his destination, things grew brighter and tinted with a ghostly, blue light. Victor inhaled sharply in anticipation as he saw the outline of the opening leading to his cultivation chamber.

It was limned in pale blue light, and a faint mist hung in the air, further adding to the mysterious appearance of the space. At first, he frowned, trying to remember what he’d left behind that glowed so, but a quick glance into his storage ring confirmed that he’d picked up his cultivation objects. Had he left behind a glow lamp? Victor knew he hadn’t, but he supposed Dar might have stopped by to check on the axe and left a light. Still holding his breath, he put his fingers on the rough, cold stone of the opening and peered inside.

“Holy shit, chica!” he gasped, for Lifedrinker sat alone in the space, and it was immediately apparent that she was the source of the illumination. Victor stood still, frozen in wonder, as he took her in with his eyes. Lifedrinker’s haft, once dark and alive—wood that hinted at untold depths as tiny motes of light winked in the impenetrable grains—had grown to nearly eight feet in length. More than that, the ancient living-wood haft had taken on the metallic qualities of the “soul ore” Victor had left behind. It gleamed with a profound, lustrous sheen, and just as before, little blue stars twinkled in its depths, their number uncountable.

The change to her haft was only the beginning. Lifedrinker’s axe head had grown in size ten-fold. A massive yard-long blade with an edge that bent the air with waves of radiated heat rested on the floor where the soul ore had once sat. The edge of that lethal-looking blade was buried several inches into the stone. Behind her edge, Lifedrinker’s axe head flared severely, broadening to several inches of heavy-looking, dense, dark metal that somehow seemed translucent and opaque at the same time—like Victor could look through the top layer into a depthless expanse of darkness—a metallic window that could swallow light, matter, or even souls.

“Chingado!” he hissed through his teeth, approaching the massive weapon. Even giant as he was, the axe seemed like too much. He could see, if he stood her on her head and rotated the haft upward, that she’d be taller than his ten-foot frame. Even so, he reached a hand toward her haft and was rewarded by a surge of recognition, welcoming joy, and excitement when his fingers closed around the cool, surprisingly pliant, metallic-wood-hybrid material.

I did it, Victor! I conquered that ore and incorporated it into myself. I hope I’ve pleased you!

“Are you kidding me? You’re fucking amazing!” Victor’s smile only broadened as he wrapped his other hand around her haft and, with a grunt and a muscle-popping strain, lifted her off the floor. Her head was unwieldy for him, and he had to lean back for balance as gravity pulled it down. “Holy shit, chica!” Victor choked his grip up to the halfway point on the haft and found he could manage her better. “You’re heavy, beautiful.” It was true—if he were to make a guess, she was a good deal denser and heavier than Karl’s gigantic axe.

When you’re mad with the lust for battle, I’ll be just right!

“Haha, true.” Victor smiled and realized he was beaming from ear to ear when his cheeks began to feel the strain. “You make a good point. Shit, though, you’re not going to fit in your harness anymore.”

Try me in that magical container where you store your vile spirits.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“My cultivation objects?” Victor shrugged; Dar had assured him that the geists were safe within the device. Would a conscious weapon be different? “If you’re sure. I’ll…I’ll just put you in for a second, and you can tell me how it feels, okay?”

Yes!

Hesitantly, Victor mentally selected his storage ring where his most valuable objects sat and sent Lifedrinker into it. He forced himself to count to two aloud and then summoned her out. “Are you okay?”

It’s fine there, Victor. I can feel the outside—a trickle of ambient Energy drifts into the space constantly. While I love to have you hold me, is it not nice to know I can be with you even when your hands must be free?

“Yeah,” Victor sighed and hefted her again, holding her crossways. He wanted to swing her around but didn’t want to mutilate the tilework he’d done if he misjudged her weight and followed through a little too much. “Yeah, this is great, Lifedrinker. Shit! Imagine if we fought Lira now! I bet you’d shred her damn armor.”

I would!

Victor lifted the axe so the edge was closer to his face, and he could feel the heat rippling away from her glossy, glass-like metallic edge. “Damn, you look sharp. I bet I could shave with that edge.”

The heat of depthless, mountainous pressures bleeds from my edge, my battle-heart. Don’t scald yourself!

“I won’t! It was just a thought.” He wondered if she was right; his feats and bloodline made him rather resilient to high temperatures. Still, it was with a wary, hesitant, feather-light movement that he quickly touched a finger against her edge. It stung immediately, despite his haste, and when he held his finger up, he saw flesh burned white with a sliver-thin cut at the center. “Shit!” he chuckled, watching his regenerative flesh slowly repair the damage. “Okay, beautiful, I’m putting you away for now. We’ll get some practice soon.”

Goodnight, blood-mate.

Victor’s eyebrows shot up at the new moniker, but he shrugged, taking it in stride. It wasn’t the first time Lifedrinker had called him something like that. He sent her into his ring, and then, feeling a good deal lighter in his heart, he made his way up to the house. When he entered his room, he felt a veil of darkness close over his mind again when he looked at the bed and unconsciously pictured Valla lying there. Grumbling and growling, he hastily threw his clothes off and laid down on the rug, stretching out on his side with his head resting on one arm. He shoved the melancholy memories away, instead focusing on the positive things in his life.

With thoughts of Lifedrinker and imagined adventures on fantastical, distant worlds, he closed his eyes and quickly found sleep. To him, it felt like a mere moment had passed when he heard the knock at his door and the soft, too-polite voice of Wensa, one of the younger staff members, calling, “Victor, sir, are you awake? Lord Dar requests you on the deck for breakfast.”

Victor rolled over onto his back and put his hands under his head as he stared at the ceiling. He was stiff from lying on the floor, but his Quinametzin constitution wouldn’t allow that to last long. Another knock on the door sounded. “Victor? Um, sir? Are—”

“I’m awake and on my way. Thank you!” With a grunt, Victor hopped onto his feet, pulling his clothes on. He swished a “cleansing draught” he’d picked up while shopping for odds and ends in Sojourn. When his gums began to tingle, he swallowed the apple-flavored fluid. Before he left, he used the restroom and checked his smile in the mirror. For some reason, he felt much lighter in spirit after only a few hours of sleep. He proceeded to the deck, where he found Dar sitting on a broad orange cushion at one of the low, wooden tables.

The master Spirit Caster wore one of his usual loose-fitting, bright teal, silken, pajama-like outfits. This one had a sigil stitched onto the breast that reminded Victor of a hippopotamus. “Good morning, Victor.” Dar gestured to a matching cushion on the other side of the table. Victor folded his legs and sat.

“Good morning.”

“I see you’re back as scheduled and seem well-rested.” Dar paused while a pair of servants deposited a large glass of fresh-squeezed, purple-colored fruit juice and a plate of eggs and sausages before Victor. “We’re going to be very busy for the next few months. I’m not surprised your lady decided to stay back—I’m assuming that’s the case, as she’s not here.”

“Yeah, Valla’s back on Fanwath.” Victor didn’t feel the need to delve deeper into his personal matters.

“Mmhmm.” Dar nodded and bit a fat sausage in half, chewing it noisily in his square-jawed, stony mouth for a moment. “While we dine, I’ll tell you a bit about Ruhn's customs. Consider it your first lesson on etiquette.”

“Okay.” Victor took a sip of the juice; it was equally tart and sweet, providing a strangely addictive tang that had his taste buds flooding his mouth with saliva.

“First, it’s customary to show more affection on Ruhn than on many civilized worlds. Don’t be alarmed if a gentleman or lady leans in for a kiss on the cheek when they greet you or bid you farewell.” Victor’s eyebrows arched as he took a bite of eggs, but he didn’t say anything. “Secondly, honor is paramount on Ruhn. To question a person’s honesty is a dire insult. People will challenge each other to death duels for less.”

Victor nodded. Considering they fought their wars with duels, it made sense to him. He was curious about one thing, however. “Is everyone like that, or just the nobility?”

“An astute question—the noble folk of Ruhn do not allow the common folk to slay each other out of hand. If a challenge is issued, the two parties must come before a magistrate who will determine the fairness of the contest. If one party is grossly outclassed, a suitable champion must be found, else the dispute must be settled in another way.”

“I see. But, like, does crime still happen? Murders and whatnot?”

“Oh yes. People are people, Victor. Laws are not always adhered to.” When Victor only nodded, Dar continued, “Let’s see,” he paused to sip his juice, “On Ruhn, feasts have a bit more ritual to them than you might be used to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. They’re seen as a time for entertainment as well as fine food, and all the guests at the high table will be expected to perform.” Dar chuckled when Victor’s eyes widened. “Relax, you’ll be permitted to contribute in many ways—poetry, singing, playing a bit on an instrument, and even storytelling. I imagine you have a few battle stories you could share, no?”

“Um, I guess so.” Victor shrugged. He hadn’t ever considered himself a public speaker, but the speeches he’d been required to give during the campaign for the Untamed Marches had broken him of any fear in that regard.

“A pity you don’t sing; such a voice—”

“Not really my thing, sir.”

“Well, we’ll see. For now, think of a few stories you might share; you’ll need a repertoire, as I’m sure you’ll be invited to many dinners.” He glanced at Victor for another long moment. “Feats of skill are also considered entertainment. If you could bring forth the Paragon of the Axe . . .” Dar trailed off as Victor ate another sausage, then cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Gift giving is important on Ruhn. You should have a gift ready when you meet anyone of note. You should, likewise, be prepared to offer a valuable gift if you offend someone—an apology with no gift is considered more insulting than no apology. I’m sure Kynna will assign an assistant to you, someone to help remind you when such a thing is required.”

“Kynna? That’s your granddaughter?”

“Oh, aye. Haven’t I said so before now? You should address her as ‘Princess’ or ‘Lady Dar,’ however. Hard to imagine that after all these centuries, they still bear my surname, don’t you think?”

“How will they view me? I mean, coming from Sojourn at your request. Do they love you there? Hate you?” Victor had long since stopped worrying about Dar’s emotions; the man only ever showed hints of anger—never sadness.

“Ah. I suppose most of my distant kin will be indifferent, though there are a few who seem to view me as a sort of deity—a, um, celestial ancestor who birthed a dynasty.” Dar chuckled, and Victor was certain he looked a little embarrassed. “Though, a fallen dynasty, to be sure.” He sighed heavily. “I certainly have neglected them. They’re not my only kin, however, and there are people with no relation to me who require much of my time. Then there are my studies and research, my odysseys and conquests—” He snorted a short laugh and cut his words off with a wave of his hand. “Suffice it to say that some will love you immediately, some will hate you, and many will simply find you an oddity.”

“Um, not to be rude, but will your kin look like you?” Victor cleared his throat and looked from side to side a little nervously before blurting, “I mean, your race?”

“Igniant?”

Victor’s eyes bulged at the word. “Are you calling me ignorant or—”

“No, fool boy. Igniant is my species. To answer your question, I was the only one of my kind on Ruhn, and I’m sure my descendants will bear a small resemblance to me but lean more toward the natives of that world. Ruhnians are a race of giants who have close ties to the Fae. Well, they did a few tens of thousands of years ago. You’ll find they look much like your own kind, though,” he chuckled, “perhaps a bit fairer.”

Victor snorted. “Fairer? As in prettier?”

“Aye, lad. You’re a handsome fellow, but your face is always declaring your intent to kill and slaughter.” Victor just snorted again and put an entire sausage into his mouth, masticating it savagely. “That’s another thing we’ll need to work on. Table manners.”

Victor swallowed his bite with a gulp, then drained his juice. “Okay, I get that I need to learn to behave myself in, um, Kynna’s—”

“Princess Kynna’s,” Dar corrected.

“Right, Princess Kynna’s court, but, Dar, I’m going to be fighting some tough hombres, yeah? Shouldn’t we, like, get me ready? I need to learn how to advance some of my spells that have been stuck for ages. I need to practice with my axe. I need to get my armor upgraded, I need—”

“Enough!” Dar chopped his hand through the air. “I won’t be hounded with your list of needs. Step one: get to your cultivation chamber and don’t come out until your cultivation technique is no longer ‘advanced.’ After that, we’ll speak about your next lesson.”

“Seriously?” Victor frowned, but he pushed his chair back from the table.

“Seriously. You’ll figure it out. If it takes more than a month, I’ll come to check on you.” Dar grinned, displaying his large white teeth, then, to Victor’s dismay, he stood, summoned his dragon-spirit mount, and flew away. Victor watched his diminishing form with his mouth hanging open.

“You kidding me? What the hell, man?” Grumbling with frustration, he stood and walked toward the cellar. If he had to improve his drill in order to get Dar to teach him what he wanted, then that was what he’d do.