Victor of Tucson

Book 9: Chapter 11: Faith

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.

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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.

“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.”