21 – Into the Gloom

Victor rode Guapo at the head of his army. It wasn’t much of an army—not yet—but the one-time peasants and thralls were doing their best. They had a hundred mounted soldiers at the front of the column, and behind them marched another seven hundred, give or take a dozen. Victor carried their supplies, so there were no wagons, and he hadn’t allowed any retainers or camp attendants—surprisingly difficult considering the surge of citizens from Brighton who’d come running after the soldiers, afraid they were being left behind to the mercies of the vampires.

Victor had been forced to give a lengthy speech, explaining that he and the soldiers were marching to finish what he’d started. He’d told them he meant to kill Lord Fausto and capture Riverbend. He’d even gone so far as to leave his coyotes behind, instructing them to patrol the keep and the growing town, making themselves visible to the citizens. Once he’d done that, and his pony-sized canine companions began their patrols, the people had calmed. A few tried to stay with the army, though, and Victor dissuaded them by explaining that they were about to go into battle and the safest place was right there, in lands they’d already reclaimed.

That had been four days ago, and now Victor was beginning to recognize the signs of greater population density. The roads were wider and cobbled as they passed through deserted, quiet villages and towns. The farms were larger, and although they rarely saw anyone tending the fields or the large herds of livestock, Victor could see how they could produce tremendous amounts of food. Of course, that all made him wonder where the people were.

There was no denying that many had come south, but just as Kris had speculated, Victor thought just as many had been taken to the city and forced into Fausto’s militia through the use of his blood. He tried to estimate how many people that would be… Was his little army even enough to lay siege to the town? If Fausto had ten thousand thralls ready to fight with vampiric ferocity, his soldiers would be slaughtered.

Of course, Victor knew he could fight off ten thousand or even a million low-tier vampire thralls, but he had no desire to slaughter so many people forced to fight against their will. Those thoughts weighed heavily on him, and so it was with a troubled mind that he crested a hill and caught his first glimpse—in person—of Riverbend.

The city sprawled over a dozen square miles or more of flat grasslands that ran beside the wide, sluggish waters of the Gloamwater River. Victor wasn’t a fan of the river’s name, but he could see how it had earned it—mist clung to the water’s expanse and also to the banks, making it difficult to see from afar, especially in the diffuse light under the thick gray clouds. The damp air, wet with fog, cloaked the land in shadows, and even the city with its thousands of lamplights looked gloomy.

A wall surrounded the city's center, but the buildings outside were crowded close together—ramshackle stone buildings with drooping, hay-covered roofs. On the near outskirts, Victor saw pale, skeletally thin people wandering the streets and alleys, their movements listless and their faces wan and devoid of any spark of interest.

He held up a hand, signaling a halt. The captains and sergeants hollered out the order, and he heard it echo down the column. Victor nudged Guapo, turning the great stallion, and when he faced his captains, he said, “We’ll build a defensive fortification here atop this hill. That city is too damn sprawling to encircle with a force this size. Besides, as I told you, we’re not here to slaughter humans.”

“As you say, milord,” Timmet said, pounding his fist to his chest. Then, he and Tasya began barking more orders, and their underlings passed them down the line. Soon, the hilltop was a hive of activity, and Victor was a big part of that. He moved to the center, dismounted, and dismissed Guapo. Then, he began unloading all manner of supplies from his storage devices. He made a stack of water and wine casks. Among other things, he piled up hundreds of burlap sacks filled with foodstuffs. He unloaded a hundred hatchets and axes, fifty shovels, and dozens of hammers. He set down ten big buckets filled with iron nails and about five miles of coiled hemp twine.

They were all supplies gathered locally before leaving Brighton, and it was everything the troops needed, combined with wood from the local forest, to build a well-fortified base there atop the hill, straddling the road. Once he’d unloaded the equipment, he signaled for Tasya and Timmet to come to him, and then he walked down the road, leading them away from the frenzied activity. When they were clear of the pounding hammers, the thudding axes, and the shouting troops, he looked at the two and smiled grimly.

“You’re going to be on your own for a while.”

“Pardon me, milord?” Timmet asked, folding his thick arms over his chest.

“I don’t want to wait for Fausto to send an army out here to face you. I’m going to go in there and find the bastard.” Victor nodded toward the mist-shrouded buildings of the city in the distance.

Tasya’s lips twisted into a snarl of distaste as she followed his gaze. “Do you think he’ll face you?”

Victor smiled, noticing that for the first time, she hadn’t added “milord” to her question. “He’s a Death Caster, vampire or not. They’re stronger in their lairs, so he’ll feel confident.”

It was Timmet’s turn to break protocol. “And you’re so damn sure you can beat him? Even in that lair of his?”

“I’m damn sure I don’t want to lure a veil walker out here among you all.”

“Veil…” Timmet scowled in confusion. “Veil walker, milord?”

Victor sighed, waving a hand. “Ancient Lord. Now, listen, just because I’m going to kill him, doesn’t mean you won’t see some trouble here. Tasya, do you have the book I gave you?”

“Of course, milord!” She thumped something hard under her cloak, near her ribs.

“Good. Reference the section on fortified encampments that we discussed. You must hold this hill and stay alive until I’m done.” Victor peered up at the dense gray clouds, looking for the sun. “Hopefully it won’t take too long.”

Looking over Timmet’s head, Victor saw a soldier with a bright crimson cloak. She was one of the soldiers who’d gone off into the hills on a quest from the System. It turned out, they’d all been sent to search those woods because there was a low-level dungeon there. Many of the soldiers had gone in, and those who’d emerged—almost all of them—had won some treasure within—like that cloak. Seeing her reminded Victor of his bear; the spirit totem had done its job protecting the soldiers on their expedition, and he’d sent the beast back to the spirit plane afterward.

He concentrated briefly and summoned the bear back to the material plane, this time using rage-attuned Energy. It came into the world furious, eyes blazing with fiery red Energy, roaring thunderously, and rearing up, baring its claws like it meant to kill everyone and destroy everything. Tasya and Timmet, tiny before the giant animal, backed away, reaching for their weapons, but Victor stood before his bear, putting his hands on its massive, heaving chest.

“Settle down, hermano.” He stroked the coarse fur, chuckling. “He’s pissed off, but he knows you’re friends, don’t worry.” As the bear lowered itself to the ground with a thud, huffing big, steamy breaths in Victor’s face, he said, “You’re going to watch this road and that camp up there. If any of Fausto’s tough vampires are still alive, you’ll help kill them. Comprende?”

The bear stared at him, eyes blazing, and Victor reached out mentally, pushing his will onto the spirit totem, trying to drive home the details of his commands. Eventually, the bear lowered itself to the cold, mud-stained cobbles and rested its head on its massive forelegs. It seemed content to wait there until there was something for it to kill.

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Victor looked at his captains. “He’ll help if things get bad.”

They both nodded, still giving the bear wary distance.

“All right. Get back to the troops. I’m going to get geared up and then head on down.”

Timmet stepped forward, holding out a hand, grimacing with nervous energy. “Milord, may I wish you luck?”

Victor chuckled, nodding. He reached out and engulfed the much smaller man’s hand in his. “I appreciate that, Timmet. You do your part here, and let me do mine.” He looked at Tasya, taking in the indecisive look on her face. Victor decided to save her further stress and said, “That goes for you, too, Captain Tasya. Keep those troops alive.”

Her expression steadied, and she nodded, performing a perfect salute. “Good luck, Lord Victor.” With that, she and Timmet turned and marched up the road, back to the bustling campsite.

Victor looked at his bear. “Well, hermano, I guess I'd better put my gear on. Not sure how tough this pendejo is gonna be.”

The bear grumbled, running its thick pink tongue over its snout as it yawned. Chuckling, Victor began pulling his armor, piece by piece, from his spirit space. He already wore his Crown of the Dark Colossus, so the first item he retrieved was his Aegis of Charyssor. He took a moment to admire the midnight blue-black plate, marveling at the idea that it had been crafted from the shell of some great leviathan on a distant world. It amazed him how easily he held it and moved it around to slide his arms through the openings. He remembered a time not long ago when he’d barely been able to lift it.

Next, he summoned his Umbral Greaves of the Hollow. The black scales were fine and supple in his hands—almost like delicate metal links attached to the softest lambskin. They glittered, even in the diffuse sunlight, and Victor knew their beauty didn’t mean they were fragile. They were “nearly” indestructible. After he’d changed his pants, it was time to don his footwear. He reached into his spirit space and grabbed his Terror-scale boots. Though they too were covered in black scales, these were larger and depthless in such a way that staring too long meant you might find your consciousness drawn into them.

After he’d pulled the boots on, Victor summoned his last piece of armor, his Gauntlets of the Mountain’s Might. They were heavy, dense, and dark; when he put them on, he felt like he could smash his hands through anything. Girded for war, his titan-strong bones and flesh clad in artifacts of tremendous power, he reached into his spirit space and brought out his implement of destruction.

Lifedrinker sang with eager bloodlust as she emerged, and Victor laughed, pleased by her enthusiasm. She felt a little unwieldy, so he loosened his grip on his body, allowing the potential of his flesh to expand to something like sixteen feet. Nodding and grinning madly, he began to stride down the road, hacking Lifedrinker left and right, reminding his dormant muscles what she felt like. It had been too long since he’d had a good, prolonged axe fight.

Thinking it might help to forestall needless slaughter, he unleashed his aura, letting it fall, dense and heavy, around him. He could have summoned Guapo and ridden into town, but he walked, content to see things from the ground. His steps crunched against the cobbles, and any that were loose were driven solidly into the ground. Combined with his armor and axe, Victor knew his gigantic frame had to weigh many tons.

When he came to the first buildings, they were deserted. The street was deserted. His aura, preceding him, had ensured that. Any citizen would be sent fleeing, any low-level vampire would as well, unless they fainted from the strain.

He continued up the deserted street, his eyes beneath the dark metal crown swiveling left and right as he looked for any sign of danger, any sign of his foe. The mist had grown thick and dense, and the clouds seemed to have doubled in density. The city was quiet, dark, and cold, though the chill bothered Victor not at all. His flesh was hot, and his armor steamed as the moisture tried to cling to it. The malaise of death was heavy in the air, but Victor’s aura thinned it out and pushed it back.

Lifedrinker practically vibrated in his hands, eager to test her blade against something worthwhile. “I know, chica, I know. Soon, I hope.”

The walk through the sprawling outer city was uneventful, and when he came to the wall, he found the iron gates shut and barred. The wall was made of simple stone and mortar. It wasn’t anything special at all, and the gates were well rusted from the damp air. With a tug of his gauntleted hand, Victor pulled the gate open, bending the metal latch and crossbar like they’d been made of straw. Ducking low, he slipped under the lintel and into the heart of the city.

In there, the buildings were a little taller, some two-story ones mixed with the single-story structures. Most everything was built from stone and mortar, with wooden and thatch roofs. Wagons and carts lined the streets, but livestock were absent. People were absent. The only living things Victor spotted with his keen eyes were occasional cats, the beady red eyes of rats lurking under eaves, and an occasional mangy dog in the distance, out of the reach of his aura. Apparently, all the people had fled.

Victor frowned, irritated. He’d expected some ghouls or minor vampires. Hell, he’d thought maybe the guy would throw a few thousand thralls at him. Would they be able to fight him, though? Through his aura? He could remember how crushing steel seekers’ auras had felt when he’d first encountered them, and he’d been a hell of a lot tougher than a low-level thrall.

Peering through the mist, he could see taller walls in the distance, and he knew it was Fausto’s keep. He’d spied on it many times with his raven. During those reconnaissance efforts, Victor had never caught any sight of the vampire lord, but he’d seen many retainers and thralls. Speaking of that, he’d seen the streets packed with peasants and thralls. “Where the hell is everyone, chica?”

The axe didn’t have an answer for him, only a pulse of hot bloodlust and the desire for battle. Victor strode forward, and as he approached the dark keep with its high spires of moss-stained stone, the mist seemed to close in around him, growing colder and thicker. He paused, looking left and right, stretching out his senses and using his aura as another means to feel. Nothing was there in that mist. Nothing was approaching. Still, he felt uneasy.

Victor ensured his Sovereign Will boost was where he wanted it—agility and vitality. He wanted to be able to react quickly, and his strength was already prodigious. Vitality was another matter; as far as he could reason, you could never be too hardy. He debated summoning a banner to burn off that mist, but he was waiting. He still hoped to lure the bastard vampire out of his castle.

He continued into the deep mist and the deep shadows of the tall keep. He’d only taken a few steps when an echoing whisper came to him. It was a man’s voice, but sibilant and cloying. It tickled Victor’s ears in an unsettling way, and he instantly found his pathways filling with rage. “An interloper. A broad-backed brute. A stranger come to call. Come, then, into my embrace.”

Victor ignored the voice, continuing on, hoping it was a good sign. Did it mean Fausto would emerge to face him? Was he out there already, a part of the mist? Powerful vampires could do that, right? Suddenly, he wasn’t so comfortable in that cold mist. It was like the creeping caress of an enemy posing as a friend. Victor growled and, with a thought, summoned his Banner of the Conqueror.

Golden light exploded around him, blasting the mist back as if a sun, and truly burst into existence over his head. The mist recoiled, a living thing, and the cobbles and stone buildings began to steam almost immediately. In the dark gloom of Fausto’s domain, the light was blinding. Victor’s heart sang with the joyous urge to fight, and his pace increased as the road ahead was revealed. He’d only taken a few steps, though, before the mist encroached again, thicker and damper than ever.

“A mighty standard, but this is my domain, stranger.”

Victor growled, and he almost poured more Energy into his spell. He stopped, however, as he realized what that would mean. If he fed his standard more and more Energy simply to burn off this mist that wasn’t really harming him…

Fausto was, as he’d just said, in his domain. His power reserves were, no doubt, immense. Only a fool would waste so much on a meaningless pissing contest.

Victor chuckled and let his standard flicker and disappear, cutting off the flow of power to it. “Have your dark. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Weak,” the voice hissed. “Feckless. Impotent.”

Victor laughed.

“You come here—a child!—and think to challenge my authority? Come, then. Come to my waiting arms. I’ll feast on your delightful, ancient bloodline. What a fool! Step foot through yonder gateway and you’ll never leave. Mark those words, stranger!”

Victor couldn’t see the gateway in question; the mist was too thick, but his smile grew as he continued. Fausto was scared. If he were confident or truly eager to taste Victor’s blood, he wouldn’t try to warn him off. He wouldn’t try to frighten him. Two more steps and the heavy iron-strapped wooden gates of the keep stood before him. The wood was smooth and dense, stained with the patina of time.

He wondered where it had come from; none of the trees he’d seen in the valley were broad enough to provide planks of that size. It made his mind drift back to the time when the vampires had fled Earth. What sorts of treasures had they brought with them? What artifacts had they stolen from his homeworld? Of course, he had no idea if that’s where the wood had come from, but it certainly was an interesting train of thought.

Victor stepped toward the gates, Lifedrinker still resting on his shoulder, and lifted his left, gauntleted fist. With a grunt, he drove it forward and smashed the iron plate at the center of the two gates. His punch was potent enough, but the Gauntlets of the Mountain’s Might amplified it ten times over. The thick iron plate split with an ear-rending shriek, the two gates bowed inward, and the bar behind them cracked with a reverberating boom.

With the gates wide open, Victor strode through the clouds of mist into the dark, gloomy entry hall of the Ancient Vampire Lord’s lair.