19 – Politics

Victor wasn’t sure if he was willing to stand by and let his soldiers fight to the death. He’d set them up with that expectation—that he was only going to kill the alpha, and then they were on their own—but he really didn’t think he’d be able to stand there and let them die if things went poorly. Luckily, it didn’t come to that. He wasn’t sure if it was the shield wall tactic, the soldiers’ grit, or his banner’s effect on them, but the wargs didn’t seem to stand a chance. In the end, he concluded that it was a combination of the three, but his banner was undoubtedly a significant factor.

In the golden light of that standard, the soldiers didn’t seem to tire. They didn’t falter or fall back when the wargs leaped at them, and doubt never entered their eyes. Victor would know because he watched them closely, holding his breath, gripping Lifedrinker tightly, worried that he’d misjudged things. Conversely, the wargs were less than enthusiastic. If it weren’t for Victor at the base of the hill, laying his heavy, murderous aura out around him—he’d let his fear domain fade—they would have fled.

In the end, several soldiers had some wounds that would make scars worthy of the tale, but none of them died. Moreover, they all gained multiple levels. Their rations were running low, so Victor fed them a celebratory meal and ordered them to double-time it back to the keep. Of course, they were missing half their horses, so their return would take longer than was ideal, but Victor was confident that they’d make it. They were almost all closing in on level thirty, which seemed to be something of a soft cap for most humans who hadn’t had any racial advancement.

That little problem occupied Victor’s mind as he flew back to the keep. He wasn’t aware of any dungeons nearby, nor did he have access to a System stone—yet. Without access to racial advancement treasures, his soldiers wouldn’t be able to advance past the very early stage of tier three. That, combined with Victor’s growing concern for the humans in the city, weighed heavily on his deliberations about when he should push for a confrontation with Fausto.

It rankled him how nervous he was about it, but he felt like his nerves were justified. He had reason to be confident, yes, but he also had reason to be cautious. It was true that Wesper hadn’t been able to kill him outright when she confronted him after his fight with Dro Vah. He’d stood against her, but he’d also been running dangerously low on Energy. He had no idea how deeply her resources ran. Could she have worn him down if Lohanse hadn’t stepped in? Unfortunately, he had no way of knowing.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that when he confronted his first veil walker—Fausto if all went as planned—he’d need to kill him decisively. He’d need to end the fight as quickly as possible. Odds were good that Fausto would have a deeper well of Energy than he would, and if Victor let him drag the fight out, he might lose.

As he descended toward his tower, he contemplated his many fights on Ruhn and decided that a new tactic was in order. He wasn’t trying to hide his strength there on Dark Ember. He didn’t need to play coy and use just a few of his abilities. If all went well, his enemies would be destroyed, rendering any tale they might tell a non-issue. No, the right move would be to frontload all of his best abilities and deliver an overwhelming attack—something that Fausto wouldn’t be able to recover from.

He settled down on his carpet, intent on going into his spirit space to continue work on his mantle, but then it occurred to him that he ought to let people know about the “elite” squad. Moving to the parapet, he scanned the courtyard for one of his captains. As luck would have it, both Tasya and Timmet were standing atop the gatehouse, peering up at his tower. They must have seen him arrive. Victor cast Tactical Reposition and appeared beside them.

“Captains,” he said.

Both of them looked surprised and hurriedly saluted. Before they could start showering him with honorifics, Victor began to speak, “I managed to find the elite squad. They were taking shelter in some ruins because an enormous warg pack had cornered them. I killed the alpha warg, and then our troops killed the rest of the wargs. They should be back tomorrow.”

“That’s great news, milord!” Timmet said, slamming his fist into his palm. The more he got to know him, the more Victor liked the man.

“Any losses?” Tasya asked.

Victor nodded. “Three before I arrived. Still, all seventeen survivors gained quite a few levels.” They both nodded, absorbing the news, then Victor asked, “How are things here? Anything I need to deal with?”

Timmet nodded. “Perhaps, milord. Several of the soldiers have received a quest from the System.”

“The same quest?”

“Yes. It involves exploring some woods to the west, near the Wolf Maw Ridge.”

Victor nodded. “Good! How many soldiers?”

“Last I heard,” Tasya said, “more than ten.”

Victor rubbed his chin, thinking. “Okay, put the word out. Every soldier who’s received that quest should report to the courtyard. I’ll address them in a few minutes.” He watched as both captains saluted and hurried off, then he jumped down into the courtyard, where he paced back and forth before the gate while he waited for the soldiers to assemble.

When they stood in lines before him, Victor counted twenty-four. Nodding, he asked, “How many of you are below level ten? Raise your hand.” Most of them raised their hands. “Anyone over level fifteen?” When none of them raised their hand, he nodded again, then he concentrated and, using hope-attuned Energy, he summoned his great bear totem.

When the enormous beast exploded out of a cloud of silvery mist, roaring its defiance, the soldiers and pretty much everyone in the courtyard shrank back. The bear wasn’t particularly angry, though, thanks to its hope attunement, so it soon calmed and sat on the stones near Victor. “This is another of my spirit companions. He will accompany you to the woods where the System has assigned you a quest to complete. He will not complete the quest for you, whatever it is, but he will ensure no wandering high-level monsters or undead scum from the north trouble you. Understood?”

When the soldiers nodded or shouted their understanding, Victor gestured to the gate. “Gather your supplies and get going, then. This must be a worthwhile quest if so many of you have been given it.”

Several soldiers moved to obey, but Tasya screamed at them from the side of the courtyard, “Still your feet! When a commander issues you orders and dismisses you, that doesn’t mean you can run off without a salute!”

Victor smiled as the soldiers hastily turned back to Victor and performed some passable salutes. Victor saluted them back, and then they scurried off. Victor looked at his bear and reached out to grasp its great head between his hands, looking into its blue eyes. “Hey, big brother. You understand what I want? Don’t let any trouble come to those men and women while they travel up into the hills.”

The bear grumbled, licking its snout as it yawned hugely.

“Good boy!” Victor chuckled, ruffling its thick, silvery fur. Then he turned to Tasya. “I’ll be atop my tower.”

“As you say, milord.”

Victor focused on the crenellations of the tower and cast Tactical Reposition. He slipped beneath the wooden roof and sat at the center of his carpet. In seconds, he’d traversed the strange portal in his Core space and found himself in his spirit space. He hated the dull, empty nature of his Energy-well, and resolved to fill it soon—a dead veil walker and his minions ought to do the trick.

He walked over to his framework and let out a pent-up sigh as he looked at the convoluted structure of the weave he’d made using the fear-attuned thread. He took a minute to focus, pulling forth a thread of inspiration-attuned Energy from his great orb of hope, then cast Core Domain. As the bright light and soft, tinkling, crystalline beads filled his spirit space, Victor cracked his neck, stretched his back, and then got to work, tracing the thread through its thousands of twists and bends, loops and braids, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong.

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Edeya watched as Lam sized up the diminutive girl with the luck affinity. The muscular—for a Ghelli—woman put a hand on Dalla’s shoulder and nodded, smiling grimly through the blood smears on her face. “You proved me wrong, didn’t you?” She was talking about how she’d acted when Edeya and Trin had told her Dalla would be joining the puzzle team. She hadn’t exactly been charitable—something along the lines of, “Only fools would bring a child to a dungeon raid.”

“I did?” Dalla looked up at her wide-eyed.

“Well, let’s just say I thought you were too young, but you were fantastic. You certainly earned your share.” Lam clapped her on the shoulder, and Dalla, blushing bright red, walked over to stand by the other team members awaiting coaches. Lam walked over to Edeya. “Still can’t believe she’s thirteen. I thought…” She shook her head; they’d already been over it a dozen times. Lam had thought the girl was closer to seven than eleven the first time they’d met.

“Where’s Darren?” Edeya asked, peering past Lam. She didn’t see Lesh’s familiar bulk, either.

“He and Lesh are back down the trail, fighting with Dovalion about the skull he pulled from the chest.”

“Fighting?” Edeya’s eyes narrowed dangerously. They had rules

about loot, and if Dovalion pulled it—

“Not really fighting. They’re bargaining. Darren wants it, and Dovalion’s asking for twice its value. At least that was my take, but I could only stand to listen for a minute.”

Edeya sighed and leaned back on the little bench, watching the road. The evening air carried a faint sharpness, like wet stone, and the lamplight filtering through the sparse canopy of the park made the dungeon markers gleam like glass set into the soil. She looked away from the path to Lam, chuckling as she noted her posture. She stood with her arms folded, watching the foot-traffic near the east gate. Most of the afternoon rush had passed, but Edeya could tell there were still too many lingerers for Lam’s liking.

Edeya sighed, elbows on her knees, chin in hand, tilting her head at Lam and smiling slyly. “You know you can relax your shoulders, right?”

“I’ll relax when this park quiets down and I can get us a coach in peace.”

Edeya gave a quiet snort. “So… never, then.”

Lam was halfway to replying when she stopped short, watching a sleek, dark maroon carriage detach itself from the flow of traffic and glide up the lane with the silence only high-grade artificing and an overpaid driver could buy. A pair of gold-banded ridges ran down the side—Ridonne heraldry. Lam tensed, and so did Edeya, reaching out to take her calloused hand. “Don’t do anything rash.”

The coach stopped with deliberate grace. The door swung open, and a tall, red-fleshed man with folded black-feathered wings stepped out. Edeya knew him. It was hard not to, after spending so much time in Sojourn. The Ridonne weren’t exactly powerhouses in the city—not among the veil walkers—but they were more than influential with the iron rankers. Chal-dak stepped out, not hurried, not tentative—like this had been his idea from the start.

“Lam. Edeya.” They’d only spoken a few times, usually at the auction house or one of the viewing houses where arena events were displayed. He was usually there to watch his brother, Warin-dak, and, honestly, for a Ridonne, he seemed like a decent guy. That didn’t stop Lam from hating him. Of course, she’d served in the Legion and had experience with the Ridonne—far more than Edeya. His voice, as ever, was smooth as polished driftwood. “Fancy meeting you two. Though I confess, I might have adjusted my route.”

Lam tilted her head. “That’s a lot of coach to bring just for a walk-by.”

“It’s also very warm inside.” Chal-dak’s eyes flicked toward the dwindling line at the depot. “And faster than waiting for a public queue. May I offer you a ride? No tricks, no strings. Just the pleasure of your company.”

Edeya stood, brushing dust from her knees. “That actually sounds great.”

Lam didn’t move. “What’s the catch?”

Chal-dak’s smile showed teeth, but not too many. “I’d rather pitch it as an invitation.”

Lam gave him a long look, but she relented. Edeya knew why; she was eager to be away from the park, the crowds, and the lower-tier members of the raid that she’d just spent two long weeks babysitting.

The inside of the coach was a quiet kind of opulent—walls paneled in polished, red-toned wood veined with silver, floor covered in a sun-faded rug, no doubt a relic from some distant desert world. Small lanterns flickered with pale amber Energy in wall sconces, casting a soft honey-glow over everything. The bench seats were dark leather, well-padded, and low enough to suggest indulgence over posture.

Chal-dak settled across from them with the sort of unbothered grace that always struck Edeya as cultivated. His layered coat—a rich slate gray trimmed with lapis and sporting buttons of hammered bronze—gathered around him like a storm cloud. His black wings were folded tightly, the feathers so glossy they seemed oiled. She was sure he smelled faintly of myrrh, maybe sandalwood, though she wasn’t about to lean close enough to check.

He gestured once, and the coach eased into motion, barely a tremble underfoot. “I meant it when I said I was pleased to see you.” His eyes, gold-flecked and unreadable, moved between Lam and her. “Word of your raid’s triumph has already reached the high streets of the city. I heard you had to turn away more than a dozen tier nines from the party. Is that true?”

Edeya watched Lam out of the corner of her eye. Her arms were crossed again. Jaw tight.

Rather than answer his question, Lam rolled her eyes and looked out the window. “So you came to offer us a medal?” she asked, dry as river stone.

“No.” Chal-dak smiled, chuckling softly. “I came to offer you a seat at my table.”

Lam scoffed, just once. “That supposed to mean something?”

Chal-dak turned his gaze toward Edeya for a half-breath—measuring, maybe—then back to Lam. “I’m hosting a gathering. Six days hence. A formal one. There’ll be a ball, some political fluff, but also space for quiet conversations—the kind that ripple outward. More of my kin, the Ridonne, will be there. So will members of half the Council members’ houses. I’d love it if you came, and you’re welcome to bring a few of your higher-tier friends.”

Edeya leaned forward a little. “You want us to come… why?”

“Because of the reputation you’re beginning to garner. We share the same homeworld, need I remind you?” He waved his hand, wincing, as he added, “I know, I know. My kin back on Fanwath have been poor stewards, but don’t hold that against us all!”

“You want us because of who we know,” Lam said, her voice a little too even. “You want us to bring Lesh, Dovalion, Lyla Rose, Drobna, Sora—”

It felt like she was going to continue listing all their high-tier friends, so Edeya put a hand on her arm, squeezing gently. “We won’t promise any of them will come, Chal.”

Chal-dak inclined his head, accepting the correction with that same unbothered poise. “Of course. But if any of them do, it would be noticed. Your circle walks in rare air.”

“And your brother works Dalla’s father like a dog,” Lam said flatly. Edeya winced; she’d wanted to bring up the girl and her father, but she’d never have the nerve to do it so bluntly. She looked at Lam with renewed admiration.

Chal-dak’s composure shifted—not broken, just thinner. His smile didn’t vanish, but it no longer seemed effortless. “I’m not my brother,” he said. “I don’t manage his affairs, and I don’t approve of his cruelty.”

“But you benefit from it,” Lam said, her tone darkening. “Warin-dak’s prowess has served your family well here in Sojourn. You all walk higher because he grinds people like her father into the floor.”

Chal-dak’s gaze sharpened—still polite, still couched in courtesy, but now edged. “You're not wrong,” he said, voice low. “But I can’t change his methods by argument alone. He sees mercy as weakness.”

“I wish he’d faced Victor in that competition dungeon,” Lam sighed.

Edeya squeezed her wrist again, though she didn’t disagree. In fact, to ensure Chal-dak knew what Lam meant, she added, “The one Victor broke.”

Chal-dak gave a quiet laugh—nothing showy, just a breath and a half-smile. “Believe me, so do I. Another public loss might do him good. Strip off a layer or two of that armor he calls pride.”

Edeya studied him for a moment. He wasn’t deflecting. That easy veneer of Ridonne civility was still there—always would be—but there was something beneath it. Frustration. Maybe even shame.

Lam didn’t look away from the window, but her voice softened slightly. “You really think standing next to nobles in velvet will fix any of this? Make up for any of the evils your people have done—still do—on Fanwath?”

Chal-dak’s gold-flecked eyes flicked toward her. “No. But some of those nobles have gate keys. The ones that control the west wall paths. And a few of them are deciding which teams to back for the next rotation of higher-tier dungeon trials.”

That got Lam’s attention.

“Not mixed?” she asked, finally turning toward him.

“Full, tier-nine raids. You’re not ready yet, but when you are…” Chal-dak smoothly let the thought linger. “Some of them don’t like to admit it, but they’re all scouting—looking for edge, looking for certainty. You show up with your team at your back—even just a few of you—they’ll notice.”

Edeya smiled. “So you’re offering us politics.”

“I’m offering you leverage and a better starting position when you’re ready,” Chal-dak replied. “You’ve already earned the right to stand among their kind. All you need to do is ensure they don’t forget you.”

Lam sighed and leaned back against the seat. “We’ll come.”

Edeya raised an eyebrow, surprised by the ease of her capitulation.

Lam shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I’ll smile.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Chal-dak said, settling more comfortably into his seat. “But it would shake them, if you did.”

Edeya saw Lam’s lips quirk at that, and she wondered at the strangeness of a Ridonne exchanging pleasantries with Lam after everything she’d been through with them. After everything they’d both seen on the road to the Untamed Marches. She felt a little guilty and quietly wondered if Victor would be disappointed in them.