10 – Under New Management

As the human former-thralls of the Pale Warden and his minions scurried to obey Victor, releasing the prisoners from the cages and delving into the deep, dank dungeons of Gloomhallow Keep to release more of them, Victor summoned his wings and exploded into flight, streaking through the air to the top of the keep’s singular, squat tower. When he landed, he had a commanding view of the keep’s courtyard and the countryside outside the walls.

Standing there, behind the crumbling, moss-covered ramparts, he cast Prismatic Illumination, fueling it with hope-attuned Energy. He only used a small trickle of Energy at first, and the globe of bright, silvery-blue light was overpowered by his blazing standard. Victor cut off the flow of Energy to his standard, and he could hear the collective groan from the people below as its positive influence faded. “Patience, people. We’ll work on a more permanent solution to your mean existence,” he said with a soft chuckle.

That said, he intended to change the atmosphere around his captured keep, so, with a touch of his will, he directed his hope-attuned light to hang fifty feet above the top of the tower, then he expanded the current of Energy feeding it. With his prodigious will attribute, he regenerated a massive amount of Energy every second, and he continued to feed that light until he was giving it almost half of his regeneration limit. By then, it looked like the sun had come down to hang, fat and swollen, in the sky over the keep.

The brilliant star, shining silvery-blue over the countryside, illuminated the valley as far as he could see. The mist burned off in the face of that light, the shadows retreated, and, more importantly, the death-attuned Energy that poisoned the air and land slowly faded, too. Satisfied, Victor summoned his wings and leaped off the tower, soaring down to the road where wagons and travelers had congregated to watch the spectacle of his battle with the Pale Warden.

He maintained his “giant” size, towering four feet over the tallest of the humans, but he smiled pleasantly when he landed, and his blazing wings flickered and faded. That didn’t stop the poor oft-abused peasants from groveling and begging for mercy, so he announced, “Stand tall, people of Dark Ember. Your days of persecution are at an end.” Victor almost laughed aloud, and he certainly grinned and mocked himself internally—where was he getting this shit? Was he channeling some kind of Knights of the Round Table character?

The mumbled prayers and supplications continued, but a few people lifted their eyes to look at Victor. When they saw his sincere countenance, his smile, and unthreatening posture, they lifted their heads further, slowly rising. Victor tried another angle after a minute or more as he waited for his words to sink in. “All this food, all this tribute that you were taking north—take it back. Give it to your families. Trade it with each other. There will be no more tithes or taxes sent north to Lord Fausto and his minions.”

Finally, one of the men, a fellow leading a train of six healthy-looking cows, found his voice, “But lord, even if the Pale Warden is gone, there are many more. I beg your pardon, but many are worse than he. What if Lord Fausto comes and we haven’t sent our tributes?”

Victor smiled, nodding. “They will come, but they will not pass by this keep with their lives. In any case, I’ll not allow you to send anything north. Go back. Go to your homes and do as I said. No harm will come to you.”

A woman kneeling near a mule-driven cart held up her hand, and when Victor looked at her, she asked in a quavering voice, “What of the garrison at the southern pass? If they come north and see we’ve not paid our tithes…” She trailed off, looking down as though she feared Victor would fly into a rage at her question.

“Ah,” Victor said, rubbing his chin. “I didn’t consider that. Is there a vampire lord stationed there?”

“N-no, milord. The Pale Warden was the only lord in the southern reaches,” a different man replied. “There are Bloodcloaks there, however.”

Victor nodded. “Don’t worry about those vampires. I’ll deal with them.” He turned and gazed toward the blazing star hanging over the keep. “If you wish to linger a while, that’ll be fine, but don’t attempt to bring these goods north. Spread the word to your neighbors.” With that, he turned and walked toward the keep.

He’d only gone a few steps before the first man called out. “Milord! Who are you?”

Victor turned and looked the group over before saying, “My name is Victor.” Again, he turned to walk toward the keep, and this time, no one called out any questions. When he entered the courtyard, he found dozens of former prisoners sitting around, looking dazed, drinking water, and eating bread. Most of them were skin and bones, clearly kept just on this side of death’s door for the Pale Warden’s sadistic pleasure.

Looking around, he took note of the former human thralls, those who were helping to deliver food and drink to the prisoners. They had a bit more flesh on their bones and were fully clothed, though none of them looked to have been living high on the hog. He only counted nine and knew there had been more than that, so he called one over. The fellow, a bald man with a gaunt face and wide gray eyes, ducked his head and hurried to stand before him, his worn leather shoes slapping on the gray flagstone.

“Yes, milord?”

“Where are all the others? The former servants of the Pale Warden? His former human soldiers?”

“Some are below, working to free the many prisoners.” He glanced to the side, swallowing, and fidgeting, then said, “Many are…” He trailed off.

“Speak, man. I won’t punish you for your words.”

“Many are hiding. They fear they’ll be slain if not by you than the, well, the prisoners.”

Victor turned his gaze to the gloomy keep. “Where do they hide?”

“Inside, milord. In the barracks, in the dusty antechambers. They hope that you’ll move on without meting out justice.”

Victor nodded and chastised himself for not seeing this coming. “Okay. What’s your name?”

“Kris, milord.”

“Okay, Kris, consider yourself seneschal of this keep now. Do you have any levels?”

“I’m level twelve, milord… b-but, I’m not worthy to be your seneschal!” He sounded near tears.

“Good, good.” Victor reached into his spirit space and drew out one of his dimensional containers, one that held most of his wardrobe. It contained clothes he’d purchased in every city he’d visited, from Persi Gables to Coloss to Sojourn to the many cities he’d visited on Ruhn. Most of the clothes he’d only worn once. He picked out a pair of pants, a fine shirt, and a silk-lined linen coat, then handed them to Kris.

“Dress for your new appointment. Channel some Energy into each of these garments, and they’ll fit you perfectly. Once you’ve changed, I want you to go through that keep and tell every single person that they are to assemble in this courtyard. Let it be known that all who obey that command will be shown nothing but mercy; there will be no punishment delivered for actions taken while under the sway of that vile vampire lord.”

Kris took the bundle of clothes reverently, looking up at Victor’s enormous—to him—imposing figure. “I will do it, milord! Th-thank you!”

“Good. I have something to do, but I’ll be back soon. I hope to find this courtyard full of people waiting to hear my words.” With that, Victor turned and walked out the gate again. He shifted his gaze to the hill where he’d slain the Bloodcloaks and trudged toward it, his long strides rapidly devouring the distance.

When he reached the scene of the vampires’ immolation, he looked around at the mostly charred corpses and clicked his tongue. He hoped there was enough left to accomplish what he needed. Concentrating briefly, he summoned his coyote pack, channeling a rich torrent of hope-attuned Energy into the spell.

The coyotes burst out of a cloud of silvery mist, and they reminded Victor a lot of their inspiration-attuned siblings, with some notable differences. Their eyes gleamed with pale-blue light, and their fur looked almost metallic in its silvery sheen. Moreover, they carried themselves differently. They were large and stately, and anyone who didn’t know they were coyotes would surely think they were gigantic wolves. Still, they yipped happily, yarring and snapping at each other and Victor playfully.

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“Okay, hermanos, here’s the deal. Get a good sniff of these dead pendejos. Then, I want you to hunt these lands, all the way to the mountains and up into the pass to the south. Kill any creatures that match this scent.” While he spoke, Victor mentally projected his expectations. He visualized the road south, the forests and fields, and even the mountain slopes. He pictured the road going up into the mountains and imagined what the Bloodcloaks looked like. His clever coyotes didn’t seem confused at all.

They ran among the dead vampires, sniffing deeply from charred foot to head, lingering on the patches of unburned flesh and yipping as if to explain what they smelled to one another. When they were done, they looked at Victor expectantly, and he nodded. “Go on. Good hunting, hermanos.”

At his words, they bounded over the hillside yipping and crying as they went. Victor watched them go until they slipped into the forest, and then he stood and listened until their cries grew too distant for even his ears. Feeling better about the safety of the villagers and farmers south of the keep, he turned and walked back toward the gate.

This time, when he emerged into the courtyard, there were close to two hundred people standing or sitting, waiting for him. Victor stood on the flagstones, looking around, taking in the scene in the soft glow of the star that hung high over the tower. The iron cages swayed in the breeze, their chains clanking and creaking. The men and women looked exhausted and weak, but already better thanks to the water and food they’d been given.

There were two distinct groups—more than a hundred former prisoners on his left and spread out over the flagstones, and, behind them, a slightly smaller group of former thralls arrayed on the steps of the keep and up on the walls. Victor didn’t have to ask for quiet; not a single murmur escaped the mouths of the people assembled before him. He looked around and called out, “Where’s Kris?”

“Here, milord!” Kris replied, stepping out of the keep, leading another handful of former thralls. He hurried down the steps, weaving between the people sitting on the ground. He looked much better wearing Victor’s good clothes, which were perfectly sized to his frame, but he was still gaunt and pale, and his scuffed leather shoes didn’t exactly complement the ensemble. Still, Victor could see he stood taller, and there was more of a glint in his eyes.

“How’s it going? Is this everyone?”

“All that I could find, milord.”

Victor nodded and pointed to the side. “Stand over here, then, Kris.”

The man bowed and hurried to the side. It was clear that the vampire lords of Dark Ember had clung to the customs of old Earth. The thralls and peasants of that world might be uneducated and destined to live short, meager lives, but they certainly knew how to be deferential to an authority figure. Victor found it to be a sad reflection on the vampires’ priorities.

He cleared his throat and, looking around the courtyard, bellowed, “Things will be different for you and your loved ones from now on. The vampires’ reign of terror over these lands is over. From this day forward, you are free people. I understand that might sound foreign or impossible to you. You can’t fathom how anyone could stand up to the undead masters of this planet. Well, that’s because you’ve been forced to live in ignorance.

“You’ve had masters who kept you weak while they grew fat off your hard work and your very blood. I’m not from this world, but I’ve dealt with the likes of your Pale Warden before. I know his allies and his master will want to kill me. You all probably think he can. I understand that. You’ve been raised since you were children to believe that Fausto was invincible. You probably thought the Pale Warden was, too, right?”

Some murmurs of agreement came from the crowd, though most still stared with wide, hollow eyes, no doubt shellshocked or struggling to believe they weren’t dreaming. Victor smiled and lifted his voice, ensuring all could hear. “I’ll stay here a while. I’ll stay until whatever response Fausto sends arrives, and then I’ll crush it, just as I crushed the Pale Warden. When that’s over, I’ll go north, and I’ll kill Fausto, too.”

That got a response from the crowd. Suddenly, the reticent thralls began to speak in hushed voices, a hint of excitement tingeing the tone of their words. Victor grinned, pacing back and forth as he smashed his fist into his palm with a resounding thwack

. “That’s right! Get excited! Things are about to get good! You all have heard the System in your head, haven’t you? You’ve all been discouraged from gaining levels by the vampires, however. Do you know why?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Of course you do! You’re easier to control when you’re weak and ignorant.”

He turned and pointed to Kris. “This is the new seneschal of this keep. Kris, from now on, you had better work your ass off to gain levels. Listen to the System. Do its quests.” Kris bowed low, and Victor spun to face the assembly again. “That goes for all of you. If you want to ensure you don’t have to rely on the strength of a stranger”—Victor slapped his chest—“then build your own damn strength! Now’s the time! You saw me crush the Pale Warden! A man or woman doesn’t have to be a vampire to kill a vampire!

“I don’t know how long it will take Fausto to send his minions to try to kill me. It could be a day or a month. However long it takes, you all should work on gaining levels. You should go check in with your families and friends and spread the word of my victory here. When I march north, I’ll take any of you who want to come. We’ll kill vampires together. We’ll liberate these lands together!”

He saw some excited faces. He heard some breathless whispers. He watched as some former captives clenched their fists, but no one cheered. They were still too beaten down, still too cowed by lives of subservience. Once again, Victor cursed the loss of his courage weave. There had to be a way to use hope to accomplish the same thing; he just had to take the time to figure it out.

He pointed to the former thralls and said, “Do you fear reprisal for being forced to serve the Pale Warden and his minions?” When they looked down or to the side, and no one spoke, Victor singled out a woman with matted blonde hair. He locked eyes with her and asked, “What’s your name?” There was no doubt in anyone’s mind who he was addressing.

She fell to her knees and, in a trembling voice, said, “Seffie, milord.”

“Seffie, stand up.” He waited until she was on her feet again, though her gaze was focused on the gray flagstones. “Seffie, why were you made to serve in this keep?”

“Um, milord, if it please you, ’twas because of me blue eyes and me smile. ’Twas a Bloodcloak to took me from me home and brought me here, milord.”

She sounded very meek, and Victor’s heart wept for her. He felt rage slipping into his pathways as he looked around the keep, growling, “Did you hear that? You former prisoners have no quarrel with the folks who worked in this keep. They didn’t live happy lives here! If you’re angry, if you want someone to pay, then focus that rage on the vampiric Death Casters who continue to rule over the lands north of here.

“I told you all that I intend to be merciful, but you must be, too! From now on, you’re all free citizens of this land, but there are laws we must follow. Start with these two: you cannot harm another free citizen, and you cannot steal from one another. As we rebuild society in this valley, we’ll elect rulers and establish more laws, but for now, that will suffice. Are we clear? I need to hear you all say it!”

To his surprise, quite a few people responded immediately, enough so that the stragglers felt encouraged and soon, everyone, at least as far as Victor could tell, had agreed to his demands.

“Good!” Victor reached into his spirit space and pulled out one of his dimensional containers that contained part of his great hoard of Energy beads. He pulled one out—a simple, faintly glowing, unattuned bead—and held it up between his forefinger and thumb. “Does anyone know what this is?”

He moved his hand left and right, but everyone looked blankly at him. “This is called an Energy bead,” he said, tossing it toward Seffie. She didn’t catch it, and it bounced off her rough-spun shirt to clatter onto the flagstones. “Pick that up and pass it around.” As she did so, Victor continued, “The System uses Energy beads for currency, and so do most of the worlds under the System’s influence. When I conquer Riverbend, I’ll take over the System stone there, and then you’ll all begin to understand what the System has to offer your world.”

As he spoke, he reflected on the change in his tune. Hadn’t he railed against the System’s “control” in the past? When it came to integrating people into the concept of gaining Energy and living with magic, though, he had to admit it was pretty damn convenient. Was it a mistake to push it on these people? Should he try to teach them about Energy the way the elder races did it? It seemed like trying to plow a field by hand when a big tractor idled nearby. Besides, wasn’t the cat out of the bag? The System was there on Dark Ember. If he started teaching elder magic, he would have to deal with more trouble than he wanted.

“An Energy bead is a unit of currency, and once the System is made more widely available to you all, you’ll begin to learn that you can do quite a lot with them. We’ll be making that the standard currency in this valley. I’m not sure what the vampires use, and I know you all weren’t allowed to earn money, but that changes today. Any of you who stay to work in this castle or serve in my army will earn fifty beads a week. Moreover, anyone who gains a level while in my employ will earn a one-hundred-bead bonus.”

Hushed conversations started, and Victor saw a man tentatively raise a hand. He nodded at him. “Go ahead.”

“Milord, what can we do with the beads before you conquer the city?”

Victor grinned. “You can save them or let the people in the countryside know about them. Maybe someone would trade you a juicy hunk of meat for a few beads. You understand tributes and tithes will no longer be sent north, yes? People who make clothes can sell them. People who raise crops can sell them. People who craft swords can sell them! You should all get your hands on a weapon. There’s no longer a reason for you to remain helpless!”

“Now, do you begin to understand my two rules? When people have goods you want, you need to have something to trade in return. You can’t just take them. That’s where beads come in.” He let his gaze drift, locking onto as many faces as possible. Many nodded, and quite a few began to whisper and gesture excitedly. “Well,” he said after a few moments, “let’s get things started. If you’re interested in remaining in my employ, make a line. Today I’ll pay you for your first week.”