CIATB Book 8: Chapter 26: Gird Yourself
Book 8: Chapter 26: Gird Yourself
Book 8: Chapter 26: Gird Yourself
Victor ate some kind of sweet, smoky meat on a skewer as he listened to Lam, Darren, and Edeya talk to Arcus and his little sister. He and Valla sat on a cushioned bench, their backs against the deck railing, as Arcus spoke, waving a hand for emphasis. Victor had done a lot of mingling, even spent some time comparing notes on Berserk with Drobna, and now things were winding down a little. It had been a surprisingly relaxing night; Arcus hadn’t stirred up any further arguments, and, in fact, Victor had hardly seen him, as the Pyromancer spent time with others, rarely in the same conversation.
“I, um, was going to bring that up,” Darren said, answering Arcus’s pointed question about his Class. “I’m still only level eight.”
The fire mage snorted. “If you’re going to enter the First Clash Coliseum, you’ll want a Class.”
“They have a week, brother dear. Well, nearly so. In any case, don’t be dismissive! It’s not like I have groupmates lining up at our door.” The familial resemblance between the two was striking; their eyes and noses mirrored each other, and they spoke with a certain refined air that Victor found grating from Arcus but almost endearing from Trin. He supposed he was biased.
Lam cleared her throat. “Speaking of the ‘coliseum,’ can you tell us why it’s not in the guidebook?”
“Of course,” Arcus chuckled. “The dungeon is on my family’s estate and not open to the public.”
Edeya looked at Trin. “You said your father ‘acquired a pass’ for the dungeon—”
She was cut off by a burst of laughter from Arcus as he shoved Trin’s shoulder. “Trying to be coy? Trying to downplay your—”
“Our family’s wealth? Yes, I was! It’s embarrassing. I’m sorry, Edeya. My father controls access to the dungeon, so the ‘pass’ was a fabrication of sorts. The true part of my tale is that he never lets me go into the place; it only opens a few times a month, and he sells the slots for favors and influence with the council.”
Victor lost track of Edeya’s response because Arona approached and leaned close to whisper, “Victor, might we speak in private for a moment?”
“Um,” Victor glanced at Valla, but she shrugged and stood up, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze on the way.
“I’m going to check on the kitchen staff. I’ll find you again soon.”
Arona stepped back, lowering her head in a respectful nod. Victor couldn’t help smiling at how Valla squared her shoulders and looked down her nose at the Death Caster as she brushed past.
He stood. “Come on, let’s take a walk.” They meandered through the little conversation groups, following the deck along the back of the house, past the library, and then onto a cobbled path that led into Dar’s gardens. The same path would eventually open up to the area where he and Lesh liked to spar. Once the music and conversation were a muted background hum, Arona quickened her step to walk beside him.
“I know I spoke confidently about the little quest the council is sending us on, but I hope you understand how dangerous your part in this will be.”
Victor sniffed deeply of the night blooms, enjoying a faint citrus tang that tickled his nose. He shrugged. “I need to do this to be free of them. You know about my punishment for damaging the dungeon.”
“I know. I hope you realize that anyone with a brain recognizes that there’s a faction on the council trying to get to Dar through you.”
“Well, he used me pretty well to strike blows of his own, didn’t he? I have a feeling he made a fortune betting on me, and let’s not forget that many people, such as Arcus, are significantly weaker today than before going into that dungeon.” Victor shrugged, peering up at the bright stars. “I guess I’m just trying to say I don’t blame people like Roil for trying to abuse the situation.”
“You seem . . . different.” Arona chuckled, even her laugh raspy and low. “I’d imagined you to be fuming over this whole situation.”
“I’ve had some clarity over the last couple of days. My rage is still there, trust me, but with Dar’s guidance, I’m learning to use it more like a tool than a road I must walk upon.”
“An interesting analogy. It doesn’t bother you that the council has lost five representatives trying to gain a foothold in the dungeon?”
“There’s a part of me, Arona, that truly enjoys challenges. I love to fight, and more so when people are around to see me win. I mean, honestly, if people thought I’d be discouraged because some others failed before me, they don’t know me very well. Valla knows that. It was funny listening to Arcus trying to rile her up; she knows me better than I know myself. I told her what we were doing, but I didn’t mention the people dying before me. Still, do you think she didn’t suspect something like that?” He barked a short, genuine laugh. “She’s probably relieved to hear what’s really going on.”
Arona’s small smile didn’t waver, and in the starlight, her teeth shone in the dark void of her black-painted lips. “You think she was imagining something worse?”
“Yeah, considering the trouble I’ve gotten up to in the past, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Arona’s voice grew even quieter as she said, “She’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anyone like her.”
Victor stopped and turned to look at her, listening to the night sounds—chirps, clicks, and even the warbling song of a nocturnal bird. He took a deep breath and nodded—how could he deny it? “Yeah, she is. Was there something else you wanted to say? Were you just hoping to warn me about the danger we’d be facing tomorrow?”
“I wanted to be sure you were aware of the politics at play. Some masters keep their students in the dark. Lord Roil and Master Dar have fought wars against each other—not only politically, here on Sojourn, but with armies on other worlds. Arcus is one of Roil’s students, and he lost much favor by being eliminated from the Vault of Valor so quickly. He will be looking to save face and regain his master’s favor. He may try something underhanded.”
Victor grinned and reached out, resting a hand on Arona’s bare shoulder. He supposed it was a little forward, but he wanted to convey his confidence and didn’t think words were enough. Her flesh was icy to his hot flesh, and she shuddered slightly at the touch. “You’re the third person to give me that warning. If he surprises me, then I’m a fool who deserves it. Do me a favor, though, will you?”
“I will.” She nodded, a little too eagerly, if Victor were being honest.
“Is that so?” Dar produced an obsidian blade engraved with smoldering orange runes and, faster than even Victor’s Quinametzin eyes could follow, slashed it through the meat of Victor’s forearm.
“Fuck!” Victor hissed, slapping his hand over the deep cut as blood began to swell out. Dar deftly slapped his hand away, his stony fingers impossible to resist, and stared at the cut. Victor followed his gaze and watched as his flesh stitched back together in just a few seconds.
“A fine cut, easily healed, but it illustrates the point. You’re a hard man to kill. Use that axe of yours, use that strength and vitality, and bully your way out of their trap. Once you’re clear of whatever formation they’ve set up, you can use your other abilities and lay waste to them.”
Victor rubbed the blood into his arm, trying to smear it into nothing. “What will the formation look like?”
Dar nodded. “A good question. Look for a pattern of runes on the floor or pillars or totems or flags. If the magic prevents you from passing through, turn your axe against the formation. It will be sturdy and may resist your blade, but Lifedrinker and you are strong. If you can get her edge to pierce the formation, she can siphon the Energy. Have you imparted your spirit unto her?”
“Yes.”
“What aspect?”
“Inspiration.” Victor snatched Lifedrinker from her harness and held her on his knees so Dar could see the white-gold gleam that limned her shiny metal head.
“Not a bad choice, but for this, give her rage. She must be her most ferocious, with a blade that can melt stone.”
Victor nodded, and then he quietly said, “Chica, I’m going to pull back this spirit, but then I’ll give you another piece, the part of me that’s always pissed off. Can you handle it?”
I yearn for it!
Victor chuckled, almost nervously, and then canceled his Imbue Spirit spell. Lifedrinker lost her white-gold aura, but as soon as it was gone, he cast the spell again, fueling it with rage-attuned Energy. A deep crimson light that smoldered almost like fire began to limn the axe, and he felt her eagerness for battle redouble—she vibrated and practically pulled away from him, desperate to strike something. Victor carefully lifted the axe over his shoulder and let his harness snatch her tight. “She’s ready.”
“And your Sovereign Will?”
“Already on strength and vitality.”
Dar nodded. “Even if you don’t break free, if Montes Foh can last twenty minutes, you can last an hour.”
Victor grunted his acknowledgment, leaned back, and tried to relax; the coach would arrive in just a few minutes. He’d probably be nervous or worried if he thought about things too much, but he didn’t like to do that. Before a match or, in this case, a fight, he simply wanted to think about how he’d perform. It calmed him to visualize his movements, to picture foes taken down or cleaved in half. He liked to think about his axe work—his stances, cuts, blocks, combinations, and counters. If he couldn’t use his spells in this fight, it just meant he’d get to concentrate more on his fighting style. Frankly, that sounded fun to him.
It wasn’t long before the coach settled with a gentle bump, and Dar threw the doors open, leaping out with a ground-shaking thud. Victor followed suit; he was just as large as his mentor, and the two of them easily cleared the crowds on the bustling sidewalk outside the city council’s tower. They made their way inside, past the enormous System Stone, and then onto an elevator made of crystal that, rather than ascending as Victor thought it would, dropped down beneath the ground floor and beyond, descending rapidly for several seconds.
When the elevator lurched to a stop, Victor followed Dar out into a polished, gray-and-white marble corridor wide enough for a city bus to drive through. It led toward an equally large pair of wide-open double doors. As they approached, Victor’s boots clicking on the stone, he saw a huddle of robed individuals in the room beyond. When Dar led the way into the chamber, the figures looked toward them, and Victor recognized several of the consuls he’d met at his “inquest.”
As he glanced around the spacious, domed chamber, taking in the murals—torture scenes, body-strewn battlefields, and a depiction of what could only be described as hell—he saw Arona and Arcus standing to the side of the otherwise empty chamber, chatting. Dar nodded toward them. “Wait over there. We’ll open the portal soon.”
Victor walked over, and, to his surprise, Arcus inclined his head in a nod of greeting. “A pleasure to see you made it, Victor.”
Victor offered him a half smile. “Arcus.” He shifted his gaze to Arona, noting she was back in her dark robes with the deep cowl. “Arona.” He gestured to the macabre murals. “Lovely space.”
Arona breathed a soft chuckle, then rasped, “This is the antechamber to a prison dungeon. You wanted flowers and angelic beings? Would you like a statue of your lady love, Valla, here?”
Victor felt some heat in his chest, felt the rage trying to slide out of his Core into his pathways, but he willed it down. Arona’s lips turned up in a smile, and he could see she was being playful, perhaps even trying to pay Valla a compliment with the “angelic beings” line. He shrugged. “If it were the last thing I’d see before getting dumped into a death-attuned dungeon? Hell, yes!”
Arona’s smile widened, exposing her sharp canines. It looked like she’d say something more, but then Arcus ran his gaze up and down Victor’s figure. “I see you’re back to your gigantic size. No armor?”
“I’ll put it on before I go in.” Victor was, in fact, wearing the clothing versions of his armor; he’d been tempted to wear his old dragon-steel belt instead of the new Sojourn-set belt, but the old one was starting to lose its value; opponents at his level, especially casters like Arcus, could unleash enormous torrents of Energy in their attacks and the belt only absorbed a small fraction. His new one could boost his agility and dexterity in a pinch, and was pretty much immune to damage.
“Nervous?” Arcus asked, his head craning back inside his high, sharp collar to see Victor’s face better.
Victor stepped back to make it easier on the much shorter pair. “I don’t generally feel nervous before a fight, bud. I’m a little anxious, I guess, but that’s just because I’d rather fight than stand around talking about it.” Arona stifled a raspy laugh at his words, turning away and feigning a cough, and Arcus stiffened. Victor grinned and turned toward the gaggle of older men and women standing at the chamber's center. “Think they’ll let me get things started soon?”
As if his words had been prophetic, Victor felt a surge of chilly, death-attuned magic, and then, with the howl of a thousand tormented souls, a swirling portal formed at the center of the chamber, casting the space in malevolent, cold, blue light. Lord Roil’s unmistakable cowled figure stepped out of the group of consuls and masters and called out, “Victor, the time is nigh. Gird yourself.”