Victor of Tucson

Book 8: Chapter 47: Stories to Tell

As Guapo rapidly approached, Lam turned to face him, and Victor saw nothing but puzzlement on her face. When Edeya, who’d been crouching next to the prostrate figure on the ground, also looked toward the sound of clattering hooves on cobbles, she leaped into the air, her wings buzzing and throwing off motes of azure Energy. “Victor!”

Guapo came to a stop, and Victor gripped Cora around the waist and hopped down. As soon as his feet hit the ground, she began to writhe, so he let her go. She ran toward the edge of the road, and he wondered if she would keep going, but she stopped once she was a few yards away. She crossed her arms over her chest and pointedly looked away from the manor toward the very distant lights of the city, avoiding Victor’s gaze.

Efanie slid off Guapo’s back, and Victor sent his stallion back to the Spirit Plane to make space. “Who’s on the stretcher,” he asked by way of greeting. He didn’t wait for an answer, stomping forward, nudging past Lam to peer at the bandage-wrapped face. That’s when he saw the pale wisps of steamy mist rising off the body. “Darren,” he grunted.

“He was near death, but when we completed the tenth round, we were awarded racial advancement cakes. We fed him his in hopes of saving his life.” She leaned over and pressed her fingers to Darren’s pale forehead. “We think it’s working—his wounds closed up during the first few hours.”

Victor scowled, looking up from Darren’s bandaged face and neck to Lam. “No potions?”

She shrugged. “The dungeon locked our dimensional containers.”

Edeya walked over and grabbed onto Victor’s arm, hugging it close. “It’s a lucky thing Lord Volpuré rescued us when he did. We had less than an hour before the next round of comb—”

Victor’s barking laugh interrupted her, but it was Efanie who spoke up. “He rescued you? Your friend, here, just fought a duel to force him to let you out.”

“Truly?” Edeya’s eyebrows shot up, and she squeezed Victor’s arm even tighter. “Victor, we thought it was the end!”

“Yeah, well, unfortunately, the asshole had a champion, so he’s still breathing, but if I get a good enough reason…” He trailed off with a glance toward Cora.

Lam scowled, eyeing the girl where she stood with her unruly hair blowing in the evening breeze, her back straight as a post as she continued to stare into the distance. “Who’s this?”

“That’s a…long story. I, uh—” A rattle sounded behind the closed manor gates, and then they began to swing open. When they’d parted enough for her to fit through, Trin, Volpuré’s daughter, and the woman who’d talked his friends into entering the dungeon slipped through. Like Lam and Edeya, she was filthy with the accumulated dirt and dried blood from many days of fighting and no baths in between. Her face looked like she was hell-bent on committing murder. When she opened her mouth to speak, the gates crashed shut, startling her into silence.

With an angry glance over her shoulder at the imposing barrier, she tried again, “I’ve had it! I denounce my family!” Her filthy hands were balled into fists, and Victor had to admire the apparent conviction behind her angry words.

“Lady Trin—” Efanie stepped toward her, but Trin shoved her away.

“How could you? You knew what we were walking into!”

Victor raised his eyebrows; this was news to him. Efanie stammered, “I…Lady Trin, I didn’t believe he’d leave you in there for so long. I had no knowledge of his schemes against Sir Victor. I tried to warn—”

“Warn me? Warn me? By saying it was dangerous and reminding me that my father could pull us out? How about a word of warning about storage containers? How about, ‘Trin, dear girl whom I profess to love, did you know you cannot leave that dungeon without completing it?’ Wouldn’t that have been nice?”

Efanie looked stricken by Trin’s rage, and she drew her fancy, basket-hilted rapier and held it on her palms, then knelt before her. “I failed you, Lady Trin. Please take my sword. My life is yours to claim.”

“Oh, stand up!” Trin seethed. She brushed past Efanie and stood beside Lam. “Can I come with you for now, Lam? My father has frozen my trust, and I’ll need to sell some belongings before I can afford—”

“You can come with us,” Victor chuckled and nodded to Efanie, “but she’s coming too.”

Efanie, her cheeks crimson, stood and sheathed her sword. “Are you certain you still want me, Victor? I’m more than disgraced. I failed Lady Trin when it mattered most.”

“You were under orders,” Trin huffed, kicking some gravel off the cobbles. She folded her arms over her chest and scowled at the elfin woman. “And you trusted my father not to be a filicidal maniac! I’m still terribly angry at you, however!”

“Understood.” Efanie slid her sword back into its scabbard. “Shall I arrange a carriage? I don’t think we can all fit on Victor’s mount—”

“I have one,” Trin sighed. “I’ll be sure to sell it before my father sends one of his stewards around to collect it.” She unclipped a metal ball on a chain from her belt and, with a small surge of Energy, tossed it toward the cobbled road. It paused in the air before striking the stones and hovered for a moment as pink steam billowed out of it. It reminded Victor of those little smoke bombs he used to buy in Arizona for the fourth of July—pretty much the only “fireworks” allowed in Tucson.

With a hiss and then the sudden, rapid clank of metal slapping together, the ball expanded to form a floating, round, silvery vessel with a row of windows that looked like portholes. In fact, the thing reminded Victor of an antique submarine. Trin walked around it, and the others followed. Victor bent to pick up Darren, cradling him in his arms and leaving the stretcher where it lay. On the far side of the “carriage,” he found a sizeable oval door standing open. “Here,” he grunted, hoisting Darren into the opening so Lam could pull him inside.

Before climbing in, Victor cast Alter Self and reduced his size as much as possible, bringing him down to about six feet—much easier to climb through the opening. He turned to Cora, standing alone on the side of the road, and said, “Come on, chica. I know you probably hate me, but we gotta try to make the best of a shitty situation.” She didn’t respond, and her eyes looked like they could melt wax if she stared long enough, but she brushed past him to climb aboard. Victor followed.

The inside of the little vehicle matched its external aesthetic; a round, metallic bench lined the walls, but a single chair was built into a console before a front-facing porthole. Trin sat there, apparently intent on piloting the craft to Dar’s lake house. Efanie narrowed her eyes at Victor as he turned to pull the door shut with a clang. “How are you so much smaller?”

Lam chuckled. “Don’t bother trying to figure it out.”

Victor shrugged as he sat down next to Edeya. “It’s a titan thing.” He found his titan bloodline an easy way to wave off questions he couldn’t answer, and, in a way, he wasn’t lying. Hadn’t Tes told him that an advanced elder bloodline was necessary to handle the spell? In an effort to change the subject, he nodded toward Darren. “Hope he doesn’t fill the carriage with that steam—kinda weird to think we’re breathing Darren into our lungs.”

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Trin made a comical gagging noise and touched something on her control panel. A moment later, the roof slid partially open, letting in the cool night air and the moonlight. “Better?”

“Much better!” Edeya sighed happily as she leaned back, resting her head on Victor’s shoulder. “Sorry, Victor,” she mumbled. “We didn’t sleep much the last couple of nights.”

“Nah, go ahead and rest. You earned it.” Victor looked at Efanie and was glad to see that Cora had sat close to her. He wasn’t sure what he’d do about the girl; the whole situation was awkward and, honestly, rather awful, but he couldn’t just hand her a bag of Energy beads and send her on her way. He had to figure something out for her. He couldn’t believe that a man like Loyle, someone who’d been around for centuries and likely amassed quite a fortune, didn’t have a bunch of staff on retainer—a nanny or tutor or something for the girl. He wanted to question her, but he didn’t want to force her to talk in front of a bunch of strangers with the guy who’d just killed her father. He had a vague hope that one of his friends or Valla could get some more information out of her.

“Is it true about Arcus?” Trin asked, looking over her shoulder at Victor.

“What did you hear?”

“That he died in the dungeon with you.” She frowned and narrowed her eyes. “Did you kill him?”

Victor almost told her the truth right then and there, but his promise to Ronkerz and, likewise, to Arcus stalled the words in his mouth. Instead, he just said, “I can promise you that I didn’t kill him. In fact, I consider him a friend. He acted honorably in there.”

Trin turned back to the front-facing porthole, and everyone was quiet for a minute or two before Efanie asked, “And Arona? Is she truly dead?”

“Yeah.” Victor sighed and folded his arms over his chest. “I saw it happen.”

“Hard to imagine—everyone thought she was destined to be one of the youngest veil walkers ever. Such talent!”

Victor nodded. “She was something else.” When everyone got quiet again, he reached into his storage ring and took out the Farscribe book he shared with Valla. He turned to the last page and saw a new note:

Victor,

What am I to make of this macabre letter you just sent me? The courier refused to say anything about where you were or what you were doing as he delivered a fistful of letters. Lesh says his note isn’t anything so gloomy and morbid—no dwelling on death and spirits and the next life! Have you done something foolhardy? If I don’t hear from you soon, I’ll go mad with worry!

Victor raised an eyebrow and shook his head, scratching his rough, stubble-covered jawline. “Shit,” he mumbled. “Pendejo!” As he cursed himself, he summoned a pen and rapidly scrawled:

Valla – All is well. On my way home. See you soon.

-V

“Are you upset?” Lam asked quietly. When Victor heard her hushed tone, he looked around the carriage to see that Cora had also fallen asleep, her head resting on Efanie’s shoulder.

“I, uh, might have done something stupid again. I mean, with Valla.”

Lam chuckled. “You seem to do that a lot—find a way to anger the women in your life.”

“Is that fair?” Victor sighed, leaning back. “I mean, most of the people in my life seem to be women. Far too man—" Victor’s words were cut short by a grunt as Edeya surprised him with a jab in the ribs.

“You love it,” she murmured before adjusting her position to lean more fully against his side.

Lam smiled and leaned back, and Victor could see she also intended to nap. The metal bench wasn’t exactly built for comfort, though, and she grumbled something softly to herself, then summoned a pillow and blanket from a storage device and made herself a good deal more comfortable. Efanie watched her and took inspiration, conjuring a blanket and draping it over Cora. The girl partially awoke, but only long enough for Efanie to urge her to spread out on the bench and lay her head on her lap.

After a while, Efanie looked at Victor and whispered, “I’ve seen her around the manor, but she never spoke to anyone. Loyle kept her close; he was a very strange man.”

“Yeah, well, I’m hoping—” Victor stopped short as a lightbulb went off in his head. He dug around in his pocket for the four rings he’d stripped from Loyle’s dead fingers. The four rings were weighty, and Victor could see the gleam of rare materials in the moon's dim light. Most were inset with precious gemstones, but one was a simple, thick, silvery band. It felt weighty in Victor’s palm, heavier than it should be even if it were made of gold, which it wasn’t. “Let’s see here,” with just a tiny trickle of inspiration-attuned Energy, he attempted to bond with the ring.

As soon as he did, his mind became aware of an enormous dimensional space, larger than all his current containers combined. Moreover, the space was sturdy, and he could feel the dense weaves of Energy holding it together even more strongly than the dimensional ring Dar had given him, which held a comparatively tiny space. Victor let his mind drift over the ring's contents, and he found himself holding his breath as the treasures mounted in his awareness.

There were millions of Energy beads. He only knew that because they were kept in stacks of sturdy crates, each labeled with numerals that the System translated as 100,000. Victor counted more than fifty such crates. Beyond the beads, he found chests filled with precious gems, golden coins, and bars of rare metals. He found stacks of fine materials—from a dozen varieties of silk to refined leather to lengths of Energy-dense hardwood. Along with the riches were more mundane things—furniture, tapestries, rugs, and hundreds of finely tailored articles of clothing. Before he pulled his mind out of the space, feeling slightly overwhelmed, Victor saw two weapon racks, one lined with swords of all kinds and another with staves, rods, and wands.

He looked down at his hands. They were adorned with not one or two but five different dimensional rings. Grunting, he slid the new one over his left thumb, watching as it stretched to fit the massive digit. He figured it would be wise to sort through his other rings and pare down their number sometime soon. Looking up, he realized Efanie was staring, waiting for him to finish his sentence. He held up his fist of rings. “Hoping to find some kind of, I dunno, will or estate document.”

“He may have accounts with one of the banking houses. I could go into town tomorrow to learn what I can. If—if it helps.”

“Yeah. I’d appreciate that, thanks.” Victor lifted another ring between his thumb and forefinger, examining the deep blue stone set in a golden band. He sent some Energy into it and was awarded with a System message:

***Ring of Safe Harbor: The wearer of this ring is shielded from most scrying attempts and made impossible to summon against their will, regardless of any power disparity between wearer and summoner.***

Victor grunted softly and immediately jammed the ring onto his right-hand pinky. He felt a cool breeze tickle the hairs on his forearms briefly, but other than that, he couldn’t discern any difference. The next ring he inspected was also gold but was set with a black opal, or so he guessed. When he sent Energy into it, he received another System message:

***Ring of Communion: The wearer of this ring can send mental images and messages to the wearer of its twin.***

Victor looked up and peered over at Cora. The blanket covered her arms, but he leaned across the space and gently lifted the edge to reveal her hands where she held them tucked up near her chin. Sure enough, she had a similar but smaller ring on her right-hand ring finger. He put the larger one back into his pocket.

The final ring was made of a black, exceptionally light metal and was carved in whorls and loops with what looked like pearls set into them. He counted seven of the lustrous little orbs. As he sent some Energy into the ring, he hoped it would be mundane; the gaudy aspect wasn’t his style. When he saw the System message, he almost groaned:

***Ring of Recall: Two charges remaining. This ring will transport the wearer to their home System Stone. Beware, the effect requires several minutes to gather the requisite Energy.***

Considering he was still a System “citizen” of the Free Marches, Victor reckoned that those two recalls could save him a fortune in visits back home. Of course, it was also nice to know he had a free teleport if he ever got stuck somewhere, and with Loyle’s stash of Energy beads, he wasn’t exactly hurting for money. He tucked the ring into his pocket, glad he didn’t have to wear it all the time.

He zoned out for the rest of the coach ride, his mind drifting to topics that weighed heavily on him. He worried about Cora and his responsibility for the girl. It felt absurd to him that she’d been foisted onto him after he had killed her father. What kind of society condoned such a thing? Then there was Valla; he hoped she wasn’t truly upset and that his note in the Farscribe book would put her at ease. He wondered how Dar would treat him; the master Spirit Caster hadn’t seemed bothered when he’d saved Victor from the madness of his Volcanic Fury. Thinking of that reminded Victor of his fight, and he grinned stupidly, reliving the battle in the theater of his mind.

When Trin brought the carriage down to land outside Dar’s house, Victor was the first to disembark, and he let Efanie and Lam push Darren out to him. Cradling the injured, unconscious man, he said, “Lam, will you show Efanie and Cora around? Ask Mr. Ruln to find beds for them, please.”

“Yes, I can do that. Then I’m going to bathe for a month.”

“I’ll be doing the same,” Edeya sighed, hopping out of the coach with a flutter of her sapphire wings. Victor grunted and turned to the house, only to find Lesh and Valla coming outside. Almost happy to have Darren as a shield against the world, he started forward, trying to keep his face pleasant and relaxed.

“Victor!” Valla called before he’d managed a few steps. She ran toward him, her wings fluttering with the breeze of her rushing progress, and, for a moment, Victor thought she’d slam into him, regardless of his burden. She slowed, though, and when she came close enough, she grasped his shoulders and leaned down to kiss him softly. “I was worried!” Victor looked up at her, confused, then laughed; he’d forgotten to relax his Alter Self spell. She was nearly a foot taller than he.

“Sorry to worry you,” he sighed as the mirth died down. “I wanted to write you a note and figured I’d make use of the scribe the asshole I challenged sent to me—”

“Asshole? Challenge?”

Victor hefted Darren. “I had to get them out of a dungeon against the, uh, owner’s wishes.” He gestured with Darren’s body toward the house. “Come on, Valla. Let me put him down in his bed, and then we can talk. I’ll tell you all about it. How long was I gone, by the way?” He threw the last question out in an attempt to shift the focus of their conversation away from the duel.

It worked, but he knew the reprieve would be short-lived. “More than two weeks. I know it wasn’t as long for you, but I was beginning to grow desperate. Only Ranish Dar’s confidence and assurances kept me from pulling my hair out!”

“He was confident, huh?” Victor smiled as Valla followed him toward the house.

“Very. He seems to be quite well-informed. He assured me you were still alive, even yesterday.” They came to the front door as she spoke, and Victor nodded to Lesh.

“Hey, man. Ready to get some serious training in?”

“Aye, Lord Victor. Welcome home. I was betting on your success.” The way he grinned and the glint in his eye told Victor he was being literal; he’d found a way to bet on him completing the Sojourn Council’s quest. Laughing softly to himself, he carried Darren into the house.

He caught sight of one of the servants. “Hey, Wensa, can you get some clean bandages for Darren? I’m betting he’ll be out of it for a day or two.”

“Right away!” As she scurried off, Victor looked at Valla. “Come on. Let’s get him to his room. Shit, Valla, I’ve got some crazy stories to tell.”

Valla nodded, and Victor was relieved to see a genuine, relaxed smile on her face. He supposed he owed Dar for that—his mentor had kept his friends from panicking about his prolonged absence, which made him wonder how much Dar already knew; could he somehow scry Victor in the dungeon? Did he already know about Ronkerz? He supposed he’d find out soon enough, but he hoped not too soon; he wanted to spend some time with Valla. He was eager to tell her about his time in the dungeon and about the duel, but he wasn’t so anxious to explain the fallout. How would she react when he told her about Cora?

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