Victor of Tucson

As Victor’s words rang out in the hushed anticipation that hung heavy in the throne room, Queen Kynna’s eyes flew wide at their implication—a promise far beyond simply defending her beleaguered borders. The room was silent for several heartbeats—the assembled nobles seemed to be holding their breath—and then it erupted in a buzz of excited whispers, though Victor’s ears detected a good amount of grumbling. When Kynna stood, the room grew silent again. Victor looked up at her, his golden-brown eyes peering up from beneath his heavy brow, his arms steady though the muscles strained to hold the dense spear in its awkward position.

The queen stepped down from her throne’s dais, looming over him as she ran her gaze from one end of the great spear to the other. Victor could smell her perfume—something floral that tickled a memory he couldn’t quite grasp. Her deep blue gown glittered like a million stars were woven into the fabric, and, as she reached out a long, slender arm to touch the weapon, lightly grazing it with her fingertips, Victor couldn’t help noting the many glittering jewels adorning her fingers and wrist. “You come, warrior, to stand as my champion?”

“I do.”

“And what of dear, brave, loyal Foster?” At her words, Victor heard boots click on the marble, and he knew Kynna’s champion had stepped forward. He didn’t look at him, though; he kept his eyes trained upward at Kynna’s face beneath the wild tangle of her curly black hair and the high, glittering spires of her crystal crown.

“Let him rest.” Victor knew the question was for show, a way for Foster Green to save face and be acknowledged.

“What say you, Champion?” Queen Kynna asked. Victor, still looking up, saw her chin turn to the right.

“I am ever ready to serve, My Queen, but it has been many long years since I rested.” Foster’s voice was gravelly and deep, and Victor could hear deep emotion behind the words. He hadn’t really considered that—how it might feel to be asked to step down after a lifetime of service. Dar had made it seem that Foster would be relieved, knowing he wouldn’t be asked to fight the battles he and his queen had been avoiding—knowing he wouldn’t win. Still, it had to sting his pride a little, being pushed aside by a young stranger.

“You have earned your rest, Foster, but make it short; my close council has room for another chair.” As she spoke, Victor heard dozens of murmured conversations pick up. He caught words and phrases here and there, primarily people speculating about the implications of another seat on Kynna’s council. He also heard a few exclamations of disbelief—how could she take on an untested stranger when wolves were at the gates?

Kynna looked down, her bright eyes finally falling on Victor’s face as she traced the spear with her fingertips. For a moment, he wondered if she’d grasp it and try to lift it, but she withdrew her hand. “I accept your gift, Victor, disciple of Ranish Dar. Though I must insist you hold this weapon ready until such time that you no longer need it to fight Gloria’s battles.” She lifted her hand and rested her fingertips on Victor’s forehead. They were cool to his hot flesh, but he could feel the thrum of some kind of potent Energy in them; he wondered what affinity or affinities she had. “Rise, Champion of Gloria.”

Victor did so, straightening in a fluid motion, snapping the spear around in a half twirl, thudding the feather-adorned butt against the marble. He’d gained much understanding of the weapon over the last few months of practice—not only his own experience but the knowledge the System granted him when he broke through into the “advanced” stages of mastery. He knew he had a long road to walk before he attained epic-tier mastery of the weapon, but he felt good with it in his hands. His guilty conscience was quick to remind him that Lifedrinker would be better, but he pushed the feeling down, knowing she’d come out when the time was right.

The crowd lining the sides of the throne room began to clap—not a raucous applause or boisterous cheer but a gentle, polite patter of fingers against palms. Victor frowned, glancing side to side for the first time, taking in the assembled nobility. They were, like their queen, austere in posture and expression. The women and many men wore makeup, darkening the skin around their eyes and brightening the red of their cheeks and lips. Their clothes were fine—silks and satins, capes and capelets, jewels on necks, fingers, and brows, and not a single one of them looked like they’d missed a meal or suffered during the years-long siege of their nation.

Victor’s burgeoning disdain was interrupted by the queen’s words. Her words were directed at him as she spoke, but she projected them, ensuring all could hear. “My ancestor’s most recent missive indicated a man named Victor would be coming. He didn’t say how soon, though, and I’d honestly begun to lose hope.”

Victor had become distracted in his study of the nobles, and, as she spoke, his eyes fell on the man who had to be Foster Green; he was tall, swarthy, lean, and had steel-gray hair, cut short in much the style that Victor preferred. He was the only person in the room who looked like a fighter without the armor and livery of the queen’s guard. When their eyes locked, Kynna was just finishing her statement, and Victor exchanged a solemn, knowing nod with the old fighter. He turned to regard the queen, pressing his lips together to avoid frowning as he replied. “Ranish Dar is a man of his word—I am here.”

“My people suffer, though you wouldn’t know it looking around this room, Victor.” Her eyes flared briefly, and Victor wondered if she’d read more in his expression than he’d intended. “How soon will you be ready to accept a challenge?”

Victor, perhaps a foot taller than Kynna, took a step back off the dais to more easily look her in the eyes. He nodded slowly and then turned to more deliberately regard the assembled nobility again. This time, he allowed some of his scowl to enter his expression as he locked eyes with any who dared to meet his gaze; only a few did so. When he finished his more obvious perusal, he turned back to the queen. “I’ll be ready after a bit of rest. The journey was arduous.” Finally, some of the gathered nobles reacted with more than whispers, titters, and tepid clapping.

He heard exclamations of relief and, unsurprisingly, fear. One man called out, “My Queen! I beg your caution! Should he lose, we all will suffer!”

“Be still, Rannick,” Kynna snapped. “Did you not hear what was said? Lord Ranish Dar has sent this man! He is here to elevate us, not to sit and fawn while we slowly wither! While our children starve!” Looking at the man in his finery, Victor had a feeling his children weren’t lacking food. He had a feeling these nobles had storage devices holding years and years’ worth of sustenance for the people they loved.

His scowling gaze didn’t quiet the murmurs. In fact, they grew louder, and a woman from the other side of the room cried out, “Have you no eyes? No senses? I can read this man’s Core like a child’s! I’d wager most of us out-rank him!” Her words were almost enough to get a reaction from Victor. He wanted to unleash his tightly held aura, he wanted to swell his pathways with rage-attuned Energy and expand to his true, titanic form, but he didn’t.

Dar had instructed him well on his strategy; he was to play all of his cards close to his chest, including the strength and weight of his aura. He might be able to hide his Core from most of these folks, but there were, indeed, many people on Ruhn in the high iron ranks. Even if he wanted to block them from viewing his Core and guessing his tier, it wasn’t a battle he should fight. Their guesses were immaterial; whatever they thought they knew was only that—a guess. Dar’s strategy involved people underestimating him, and letting them see his Core was part of that plan.

He glared at the woman who’d spoken and growled, “Is that a challenge?” A sudden silence fell over the room. Nearly everyone ceased even breathing, and Victor was sure he could hear the quick, nervous pants of the woman he focused his scowling countenance upon.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

As Victor continued to stare, she held a hand to her silk-covered bosom, glancing around nervously and stammering, “N-no! I’m not a fighter!”

“Outrageous!” someone muttered loudly enough to draw Victor’s gaze. As he stared toward the voice, inviting the speaker to elaborate on his outrage, everyone grew very still. The tension grew thick as Victor’s heart thudded slowly and steadily in his chest.

“Well,” Queen Kynna gracefully returned to her throne, “if no one would like to challenge Victor for his new position as my champion, perhaps you all should leave. He and I have much to discuss.”

“You heard Her Majesty! Clear the throne room!” Chamberlain Thorn bellowed, still standing near the doors. Victor sent his spear into a storage container and stood, arms folded, watching the nobles clear out. The musicians, who’d long ago stopped playing, gathered their equipment and scurried out a side door, which drew his eye to a row of servants holding trays of drinks and hors-d'oeuvre vying for the same exit.

“I see your nobles don’t deprive themselves.” He nodded toward the last of the servants who hastily rushed through the door.

“I…must find a balance between currying favor among the nobility and succumbing to my desire to throw every last scrap of food we all have to the masses. You must understand that the palace storehouse would only feed the city for a day or two, no? Many nobles are opening their personal stores; our people will not starve today or tomorrow. No, they’ll last months and maybe years, though the discomfort on the children's faces will bring daily shame to those of us who feast mostly on the ambient Energy. For that reason, many nobles will shun the populace, hiding away behind these walls or in their own keeps.”

Victor regarded her, pleased that she was so open about the subject. Though her skin was smooth and flawless, she struck him as being experienced; she didn’t seem young. “You have to curry favor?”

“There are many among my kin with ties in our neighboring kingdoms—family members bonded through marriage, for instance. If I push them too far out of their comfort, their disloyalty might move beyond simple spying and missives regarding the state of our capital and into true treachery. Gloria would have fallen years ago if I hadn’t been working to appease the nobility.”

Victor nodded. His arms were still folded over his chest, and he lifted a foot, resting it on the edge of the queen’s dais. “Well, that ends today. Schedule the first duel. We’ll get one of your enemies off your back, and then, with a little breathing room, we’ll start eliminating the nobles who aren’t cut out for the struggle to come.”

“Excuse me, sirrah?” the queen arched an eyebrow, tapping one of her blue-polished nails on the arm of her crystal throne. The sound it made was almost musical—ting, ting, ting. “I appreciate your confidence, but Embry wasn’t wrong; you seem to lack the weight of a high iron ranker. You certainly are no steel seeker!”

“Listen, My, uh, Queen: Ranish Dar has given me a strategy to follow. Do you trust your ancestor?”

“I don’t…” She frowned and sighed. “I don’t know, Victor. When I first wrote to him, it felt very strange; imagine praying to a long-dead ancestor, and you’ll know what I mean.”

“Yeah, you’d be surprised.” Victor chuckled and added, “Anyway, Dar ain’t dead.” He frowned as he caught his tongue running away, forgetting all the lessons on etiquette Dar and Mr. Ruln had put him through.

Kynna leaned forward, her black crystal crown tilting precariously. Something must have held it in place—magic or something mundane like clips attached to her thick, curly black hair. “He may as well be for all the interest he’s shown in our plight!”

Victor smiled grimly. “I know, but I’m here now. What do we need to do to arrange a duel?”

“The challenge was issued; I’ve been avoiding it. It shouldn’t be difficult to get Vennar or Groff to agree to terms.”

“Good. The sooner, the better, Queen Kynna. Now, is there someone who can show me around this place?”

“We have much to discuss, Victor. There’s more to your role than fighting duels.” She shook her head, forcing an almost delicate smile. “I’m sorry. You must be exhausted from your journey. I’m sure Foster stayed near at hand; I’ll have him introduce you to the staff and show you the palace grounds and your quarters.”

Victor rubbed his chin. “Is he going to be…” He let his words trail off, leaving Kynna to make assumptions about his meaning.

“He’s eager to retire, Victor. He only stayed on to avoid one of my cousins trying to claim the throne. I have many asps and adders in my court, as I’m sure you’ll soon learn.” She touched something on the side of her throne, and the large double doors opened almost immediately. One of the helmeted guards stepped into the opening, staring intently at Victor and the throne. “Fetch Chamberlain Thorn and Foster Green.”

Victor was tempted to say he wasn’t tired at all and that they could chat for a while, but he had an image to uphold; being exhausted from travel was natural for a “champion” out of his depth. “I hope you don’t mind me taking some time to get my feet under me, Your Majesty.”

“No, I understand. It’s only…” She frowned, an expression that made her look like an angry goddess come down from Olympus. “Are you sure you’re up for this? Are you certain we should schedule the duel? I’m sure Ranish Dar told you that if you lose, my throne is forfeit.”

“Just like you, My Queen,” Victor grinned, enjoying the roleplay, “I must put my faith in Ranish Dar. He said I was ready, so I must assume he is correct.” Part of him wanted to reassure her and display some of his strength, but another part was profoundly enjoying the game he played. He knew she had advisors and that she’d speak to them. If any were disloyal—and Victor believed that was likely—then word of her concern would travel, making it easier to schedule the duels. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to blow all his cards in the first fight.

Bootheels clicking on marble signaled the arrival of Foster and Thorn, and Victor turned to regard them as they approached. Foster moved like a dancer, and Victor figured he was a formidable fighter. The fact that he was avoiding the challenges from Gloria’s neighbors was a little worrying, but Victor had to remind himself that Foster wasn’t hiding anything. The people here knew him. If Victor were enraged, with his aura flowing freely and his axe in his hand, he didn’t think Foster would be very intimidating.

“Goodman, Foster,” the queen said, gesturing to Victor. “Would you kindly show my new champion around the palace? Put him in the purple rooms.”

“I could vacate my suite—”

The queen chopped her hand in the air, cutting him off. “I’ll not hear of it! You’ll stay at the palace until we’ve won free of this siege and your family is home safe.”

“As you say, My Queen.” Foster bowed deeply. Seeing his excellent etiquette reminded Victor of his manners, and he turned to face the throne again.

“I’ll await your call, My Queen. Will it be early?”

“I am an early riser. Will two hours past dawn suit you?”

Victor rubbed his chin—freshly shaven—and slowly nodded. “I think I can be ready by then.” He inwardly sniggered, wondering what they all thought of his need for rest. Fighting to hide his grin, he bowed low, holding it until the queen dismissed him.

“Very good, Victor. You may take your leave.”

“Until tomorrow.” Victor slowly straightened, then turned and descended the steps, nodding to Foster, who turned on his heel and guided him out.

He heard the queen say, “Stay a moment, Thorn. I’ve a matter or two to discuss—” The doors clicking shut cut her voice off, utterly masking any sound from within the throne room.

Foster turned to look over his shoulder and nodded briefly. “This way, Victor. We’ll start with a tour of the grounds…”

#

Kynna looked down her nose at Thorn, her oldest confidant—the only man her father ever trusted. “Are you absolutely certain of his signet’s authenticity?”

“It is genuine. I’m certain. My Truth Sense is infallible. His confidence is also true. He believes he will win the duels, and when he says he intends to bring Gloria to a place of prominence, he means it. Now, whether he’s a deluded fool…” Thorn shrugged, putting on a face that said, “I wish I knew.”

“Would Ranish send me a lunatic? Would he send a man to his doom, thereby dooming us?”

“I have only the records of your great ancestor’s time here to go by, and I fear there are more than a few accounts of Ranish Dar acting impulsively and without logic. He was young, then, or so the story goes, so much might have changed in the interceding millennia. Was his letter not reassuring?”

“He hardly spoke of Victor! He said his name and said he was a man of high potential with a courageous heart! When I described Foster Green, I thought that Ranish would at least send us someone sturdier than that good man!”

“He did seem rather…” Kynna saw Thorn struggle to find the right words. His eyes narrowed, and he pursed his lips. Finally, with an explosive sigh, he blurted, “Mundane! His attire, his appearance, his demeanor—I’ve seen Obert fight, My Queen, and his presence sends shudders down a man’s spine! This man, this Victor—he’s tall, he’s strong-looking, but I don’t sense any weight behind him. Embry wasn’t wrong, either. Did you sense his Core? He can’t be much beyond tier seven. How will he face a tier-nine champion? If he truly means to elevate Gloria, he'll face much worse than that!”

Kynna nodded, tapping her nails on the crystal of her throne. As they chimed melodically, she thought about the plight of her people, about the children in the city and the feeble trickle of her nation’s economy. Thorn stood still, patiently waiting, knowing she was weighing matters. She ran through the many risks of trusting Victor, and she weighed them against the scant few options at her disposal. After a time, she looked up. “We could test him.”

“A challenger?”

“Someone to question his strength. Someone to cast doubt on his claims.” Kynna didn’t like the idea, and it showed. Her frown felt like it might become permanent as the corners of her mouth twisted down and her brows narrowed.

“And if he takes the insult and fights? If he’s not boasting a strength beyond his means? Whose life would we throw away to make that test?” Thorn stepped close and hissed, “My Queen, you wrote to Ranish Dar! Victor arrived with his signet, just as your progenitor said he would. When does faith come into play?”

Kynna snorted, shaking her head in disbelief. “My dear, Thorn, did you just counsel me to have faith? I’m stunned!” Thorn started to sputter a response, but she held up her hand. “No, don’t be chagrined. I’m rather pleased by your advice; I grow weary of this gilded cage. I grow weary of seeing my father’s great kingdom brought low. Our borders have shrunk for a dozen generations. Our coffers have shrunk along with them. We once boasted the greatest champion on the Western continent! I rather like the idea of ‘faith,’ my dear, loyal chamberlain. Let’s put Victor into play and see what fate has brought us. Arrange the first duel.”