16 – Tutoring

Victor’s coyote led the charge, and despite the vampires’ superhuman reflexes, strength, and ferocity, they sat, stunned, in their saddles, unable to comprehend what they were witnessing. It was understandable, Victor mused; they’d lived for centuries in this valley without anyone to contest their authority. The idea that the humans charging toward them on farm horses meant to actually fight likely seemed too absurd to contemplate. As for the coyote, he was too fast for any proper reaction to matter. Before the first vampire could even turn in the saddle, the canine had his arm in a vice grip and pulled him out of the saddle, screaming in alarmed shock.

Victor had tried to teach his soldiers a thing or two about mounted combat before sending them off, but it wasn’t surprising that most of their discipline faltered in the heat of their first battle. Still, their sergeant, Timmet, was a big, enthusiastic fellow, and he proved he deserved his rank by doubling down on his charge and driving his horse, wild-eyed, into a full-on collision with the Blood Cloak’s mount. Both he and the vampire were thrown from their saddles, and Victor winced when he saw Timmet’s leg bend the wrong way when he impacted the ground.

The vampire was on his feet in an instant, his rapier whipped out of his scabbard, and, as the other riders thundered around him, he leaped into the saddle behind another soldier. Victor watched in horror as he viciously bit the man’s neck, then threw him to the ground. He took control of the mount, slashing his rapier wildly, blocking the many clumsy attacks the other soldiers were making as they fought for space, struggling to control their mounts.

Victor watched his coyote savage the other vampire’s arm, ripping it off at the elbow. “Yes!” he hissed as the coyote left the wounded, dazed vampire there and leaped at the other one, grabbing his ankle and ripping him out of the saddle. The vampire hissed in pain and surprise, struggling to pull his leg free as he stabbed at the coyote. Then, another soldier galloped over him, the horse’s hooves crunching down twice, hard enough to stun the creature.

The first vampire was up by then; Victor watched him vacillate between helping his comrade or fleeing, and chuckled as he chose the latter. Several soldiers clambered out of their saddles, and they surrounded the stunned vampire, leg still grasped in the jaws of the coyote, and began to lay into him with their axes and spears. “Yes!” Victor growled again. “Get the other one, hermano.”

As if the coyote could hear him, it released the gravely wounded vampire and charged past the stunned peasants. It tore after the vampire as he fled, limping and cradling his truncated arm. It wasn’t much of a race; the silvery canine caught it easily, snapped up its leg, great fangs sinking through its Achilles tendon, calf, and shin. Worrying its head back and forth, it dragged the vampire back toward the fray.

He didn’t have to pull the struggling creature far; four soldiers had followed the coyote, and they repeated the beatdown the other soldiers were giving the first vampire. Axes and spears crunched and stabbed into the creature until it was still, and then, per Victor’s orders, they decapitated both.

When it was over, the soldiers, shaking with adrenaline and covered in dirt, sweat, and blood, looked around at each other, as if to ask, “Did we really do that? Is this real?” It was like a dam broke when Timmet, lying on the ground, cradling a swollen knee, lifted his axe and howled, “Yes! Death to the vampires!”

All the soldiers cheered and, to Victor’s great pleasure, so did some of the peasants, especially those who were bound and had been awaiting the gallows. That was only the start of the celebrating, however. When globules of golden Energy began to pool around the vampires, the soldiers gathered around, awestruck by the strange beauty of it. Then the pools broke into streams that coursed into each and every one of them.

Victor felt his smile would split his cheeks as he watched them celebrate their levels. Timmet stood on his feet, laughing, amazed that the Energy had healed his injury. The man who’d been bitten on the neck had survived, too, though he seemed dazed. Victor resolved to find out if there was something he needed to do for victims of vampire bites. Was it just a temporary malaise, or would he be more susceptible to their influence now?

Happy to see the soldiers win the day, Victor pulled his awareness away from his raven and back to himself. His new spirit totem had proven invaluable—he could fly faster than any natural bird, had better vision, and never seemed to tire, so long as Victor dedicated enough Energy to keep the spell active. Concentrating, he increased the raven’s patrol route, urging the clever bird to check the southern pass at least once daily. He was confident that no other vampire lords would be coming to Fausto’s aid, but he didn’t want to be caught off guard if he happened to be wrong.

That done, he concentrated briefly and then returned to his spirit space. It was time to work on his mantle. He had a hundred ideas, and plenty of Energy in his Core to create his inspiration domain again. Forming the pattern for the spell, he looked at his framework and nodded. “Let’s make something happen.”

###

Thoargh looked at Cam Lightly, contemplating his pale, flaccid face, shallow breaths, and the unfocused, hazy gaze of his once bright, clever eyes. On the one hand, he’d survived Thoargh’s ritual. On the other, he may as well have died; there wasn’t much going on in that tow-headed skull. Thoargh looked inward, examining his Core. It was a constellation of colorful spheres—more than a dozen exotic affinities he’d spent centuries cultivating. Near the center, orbiting the dark, black hole of his void affinity, was his newly acquired one—Cam’s erstwhile chance affinity.

It was a strange orb, alternating between bright gold and utter black, almost like his void. More than that, it was good-sized, too. Cam’s affinity had been strong—nearly eight. “Well, if nothing else, you can say your life served a purpose, boy. A part of you lives on in me, and that is something truly special. A shard of your spirit will witness my accomplishments, and you can take pride in the small part you had to play in them.”

Thoargh walked to the door of his private laboratory. Naturally, he hadn’t gone to Yon’s spire at the Arcanum for his ritual; he’d only told Duvius he liked the idea to placate the man. Neither Duvius nor Yon had any idea that Thoargh had this laboratory in Sojourn. He’d had Fough, his artificer from Coloss, purchase the building clandestinely. Looking around at the veins of silver in the stone, the various natural treasures in their receptacles, and the perfectly attuned lenses cascading in an array toward the circular window and the moon above, he had to admit the serpent-like man had done an excellent job.

Thoargh pulled the door open and looked without. The antechamber to his laboratory was something of a library, though it was mostly for show; if any of his current “mentors” caught wind of his presence there, he’d claim he was borrowing books from the eccentric otherworldly serpentine fellow he’d met over drinks in the city proper. “Fough?” he called.

“Yes, milord?” the darkly cowled man poked his head around one of the shelves, his yellow eye reflecting the pale amber lamps overhead.

“Get in here, I’m in need of some assistance.” Thoargh returned to the lab, standing just inside the door, arms folded as he contemplated Cam’s empty-eyed stare.

“The ritual was a success?” Fough asked, slipping through the door beside him.

Thoargh pulled it shut and locked it. “It was, but now what shall I do with this fellow? If he were dead, I’d dispose of his corpse and say he never came to aid me in my ritual. I can still do that, of course, but perhaps it would be better if he were found this way. People wouldn’t be searching for him…” He growled and nearly spat in his frustration. “Bah! Things were much simpler on Zaafor when no one would dare question my actions!”

“Indeed, milord. Still, this isn’t a large problem. I have a recipe or two—mixtures for powerful hallucinogens that, if taken without caution, could cause a similar catatonic state. If we place him somewhere public with a sufficient amount of that potent brew in his stomach and in a flask besides…”

Thoargh grinned, clapping the slender man on the shoulder, or what would have been his shoulder if his species shared the same skeletal structure as the Vesh. “I never regret having you along, Fough. Can you handle the matter, then? Recruit one of my war captains—Blue or Green; they’ve been lying about long enough.”

“Of course, milord. It will be my pleasure. Do you mind…” He trailed off, perhaps reconsidering his familiarity.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Go on,” Thoargh growled.

“Would you tell me what it’s like? The chance affinity?”

Thoargh chuckled, nodding. “The first we’ve come across, aye? Very strange—it alternates between positive and negative, with unpredictable fluctuations. I feel I’ll be able to enhance my outcomes while, if I time it right, make someone else decidedly unlucky.” Thoargh chuckled, and it seemed Fough knew what he was thinking.

The artificer spread his strange, reptilian lips in a broad smile, his tongue flicking out in his version of a laugh. “I know a certain berserking upstart who could use a dose of bad luck.”

Thoargh slapped the slender fellow’s back again, sending him stumbling with his enthusiasm. “Exactly, my old friend. All we need do is find the bastard!”

###

Victor spent the better part of a week on his new, if temporary, routine. He spent the mornings drilling with his new troops, the numbers of which continued to climb. When the first squads he’d sent north on hunting parties returned, even he was surprised by the overwhelming success of the operation. Four soldiers out of fifty died, but everyone else had gained levels, more than ten in some cases. Badger Squad and their leader, Timmet Gray, boasted the most kills—seven vampires and twelve wargs.

As the count of soldiers stationed at the keep climbed toward six hundred, Victor promoted Timmet to captain and told him to shadow Tasya. When they had the numbers, Timmet would take command of the second cohort. Meanwhile, they chose another fifty soldiers to send north, and the cycle continued.

Victor found that, since he’d pushed his bloodline into the legendary tier, sleep was a luxury and not something he needed. That said, when he wasn’t training with the troops, he spent the afternoons and the nights in his spirit space, working through countless combinations of threads from his skein. He created more than a hundred new mantles, all of which were “advanced,” and all of which sounded very promising. Still, he hated the idea of taking his enormous pool of Energy and applying it to a mantle that was anything less than “epic.”

He still wasn’t sure what any of that would do for him. He knew he could gain levels in the steel ranks, resulting in improved attributes at the very least. He’d gathered from Ranish Dar and others he’d spoken to that the key to breaking through the “veil,” though, was to create a mantle—or class, as Dar put it—that was perfect for you. He wasn’t sure if anyone had explicitly said it had to be “epic,” “legendary,” or even “mythic.” Whatever the case, he knew it had to be better than advanced. Would he learn something by gaining levels in a lesser mantle, though?

The question made him wonder if he was being stubborn for no reason. What if one couldn’t go straight to an epic mantle? What if you needed some levels in an advanced mantle in order to improve it properly? What would that look like? Would he gain some kind of skill or spell? Would he gain a feat? “Or will I gain jack shit since I told the System to pound sand?”

He wanted to ask someone for advice, someone who wouldn’t play mental games and be coy. Of course, Tes came to mind, but how could he hope to speak to her if he never slept? The question made him realize he hadn’t spoken to her at all—not since before he’d dealt with his curse. It was a sobering thought; how would he feel if their roles were reversed? He couldn’t exactly be blamed, at least not entirely. She’d been the one to leave their communication up to fate with her dream crystal idea. Even so, he hadn’t exactly been making an effort.

Feeling a bit guilty, he exited his spirit space and, for the first time since coming to Dark Ember, took out the ring with the faintly pulsing red crystal, slipped it onto his thumb, and curled up at the center of his rug. He closed his eyes, inhaled the cool, fresh air, and almost immediately fell asleep.

Maybe he’d been having some kind of premonition, or maybe fate really was putting a heavy thumb on the scales where he and Tes were involved. Whatever the reason, he almost immediately found himself strolling along a moonlit beach with Tes at his side. They were both “conscious” in the dream, but it was still dream-like. It took a few seconds for them both to realize they were together and weren’t just dreaming about being together. Tes even entwined her fingers with his, humming softly, as she idly kicked at the sand before they both looked at each other with wide eyes.

“Victor!”

“Tes!” He laughed. “I didn’t think it would work—”

“You don’t know how many times I went to sleep with my dream crystal only to wake disappointed! Oh, Victor!” She stopped walking and tugged on his hand until he faced her. Then she rested her other hand on his chest, over his heart. “You’re better!”

He nodded. “I am.”

“And stronger!”

Victor couldn’t stop smiling as he nodded. “What about you? Are you well?”

“Very well, if bored.” She shook her head, sending her blond curls bouncing. “Tell me everything, Victor!”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Do we have time for that? I was hoping to get some advice—”

She cut him off, gently tracing her fingers over his chest, up to the back of his head, where she caressed the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “We have eons if we want it. Unless something interrupts your sleep.”

“Or yours?”

She chuckled. “I suppose it’s possible, but I can’t imagine any of my colleagues barging into my quarters.”

“Quarters? You don’t have your own place?”

“Of course I do—I have homes on a few worlds, but at the moment, I’m at the Envoys’ Academy, researching and doing my penance by performing guest lectures to the upcoming class of graduates.”

“Penance? Still in trouble?”

“Not really trouble, but let’s say my reputation is still on the mend. Doing favors for the instructors here, who are all very influential, is a quick way to earn points.” As she spoke, Tes separated from him a little so she could look up at him more easily. “I can’t tell exactly, not with just your dream-self here, but I swear, you look significantly different. Won’t you tell me what you did?”

“Yeah, of course.” Victor sat down in the sand, tugging her hand so she’d join him. To his surprise, when she reclined before him, she lay on a lovely sunset-colored blanket, expertly stitched in patterns that resembled pink, red, and orange flowers.

“It’s our dream; let’s be comfortable.”

Victor nodded, shifting so he could recline, resting his head on an elbow as he looked into her eyes. They were always blue, but in the starlight, they looked deep and dark, like depthless sapphires. “For starters, I’m a steel seeker now.”

She laughed, clicking her tongue and shaking her head. After a few seconds, when he didn’t say anything more, her eyes widened, and she snatched his wrist, squeezing. “Are you serious?”

Victor grinned. “Yep. You see, when I first tried to fight the curse, I sort of lost. Things were looking pretty grim, so I had to play my best card.”

Tes was no fool; she immediately connected the dots. “The honey!”

“Well, jelly.”

“You had to? Or did you just not think of any other solution?” He could see she was teasing by the upturned corner of her mouth and the amused squint to her eyes.

“Well, in my mind, I had to. Fair?”

“Fair! So, what happened? I told you how potent that stuff was! Oh, ancient eggs! I wish I’d been there.”

Victor laughed. “Ancient eggs?”

“A phrase of my paternal grandmother’s.” She waved a hand. “Don’t stall! Tell me.”

“Okay, I will. I’ll tell you the whole story, but first, in case I am disturbed and pulled out of this dream, will you help me with something?”

She nodded eagerly, eyes earnest as she looked into his. “Your eyes! They’re lighter and…deeper!”

Victor chuckled again, reversing their grips, so he held her wrist. “Tes! I’m trying to make my mantle, and I’m not sure if I should settle for an advanced one for a while, you know, to gain some levels, or if I should keep trying for epic before I lock something in.”

“You’ve made an advanced one?”

“Uh, hundreds.”

Tes laughed—a musical sound that made Victor’s spirit feel light. “You should choose the simplest one you can make that you like, and then you should build on it. I’m assuming you’ve eschewed the influence of your System?”

Victor nodded, almost absently, as he contemplated her words. He could make an advanced mantle with only three threads. Was that what she meant by simple?

“Good! Then you should remember a simple clue. Does the System like elder magic?”

Victor sat up like he’d been electrocuted. “Holy shit…”

“Exactly. Draw your framework using the multidimensional patterns you learned for crafting elder magic spells. Once you see it laid out, you’ll understand that the hooks are positioned perfectly for elder magic pattern work. If you build your mantle using the principles of elder magic, expanding on the simple, advanced core, you’ll eventually be able to push it into the epic tier… and beyond.

“It’s a fascinating topic. When we reach a certain level of power and our mantles manifest, it’s a reflection of the magic in the world, proof that we’re part of a greater—” She stopped talking, smiling almost shyly. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to lecture.”

“I love it when you talk about things you’re passionate about, Tes.” Victor rubbed the smooth, soft skin at the back of her hand with his thumb.

“Then you’d love to hear me tell my friends about you.”

It was Victor’s turn to feel embarrassed, so he groaned and said, “So, if I do all that, I’ll automatically become a veil walker?”

Tes laughed again. “No!” When her giggles subsided, she sat up and leaned forward, gently kissing his cheek. “You’ll be ready to make your first attempt, though… at walking the veil.”

“Huh? Like when I spirit walk?”

She leaned back and nodded. “It’s similar in principle, but this is a plane you cannot approach until you reach a certain level of strength. You’ll begin to glimpse it when you’re ready.” She sighed, leaning back and peering up at the stars briefly. “Have I tutored you enough? Will you tell me everything I’ve missed in your life?”

Victor watched as her simple, yellow linen pants and breezy, white blouse shifted into an elegant, nearly transparent silken gown—still yellow. “Hey,” Victor lay back down on his side, making a tsking sound. “You’re cheating. How can I concentrate with you dressed like that?”

Tes looked down and, to his great amusement, blushed furiously. “I didn’t—” She laughed, shaking her head. “I didn’t do that on purpose.”

“It’s all right. I’ll just need to keep my focus on your eyes while I talk. So, anyway, I told you I failed my first attempt at battling my curse—”

“Yes! But don’t gloss over it! What was it like? What did you do wrong?” She mimicked his posture, resting her head on an elbow.

Victor nodded. “All right. Here’s the whole story. So, anyway, I got to level ninety by abusing the hell out of that Dungeon Core I told you about. Then, I took a bunch of potions and stuff to boost my will, and I…”