12 – Something to Fight For

Victor spent the rest of the day and deep into the night working with the threads in his skein, tying them to his mantle in various combinations, and pulling the threadlock to see what he’d accomplished. The answer, over and over, was another “basic” mantle. He hadn’t intended to become so engrossed. He hadn’t meant to ignore the world and the goings on in his newly conquered keep, but the body his spirit projected in that place didn’t grow tired, and he was utterly engrossed, mentally, by the puzzle.

At first, he tried multiple single threads, just to see how they differed from his first one, The Grounded. That experiment resulted in several different mantles that all sounded promising as foundations, but were just as basic as the first one: The Echo, The Bound, The Burning, and The Scarred.

So, Victor went back to The Grounded, using that single thread, and then began adding more threads to it. It wasn’t until he’d added nearly a dozen more that the title changed to The Driven. Initially, the different title excited him—was he on to something? However, as he continued reading, he saw the mantle was still basic. So, back to the skein he went, and he continued to pull thread after thread over to the frame, attaching them without any method other than trying to balance their connections to the left and right.

Each thread took minutes to unravel, and then the connection and activation took time, so it wasn’t any big mystery how he spent a dozen hours on the task. The mantle title didn’t change again for a long time, and then, after nearly fifty more threads, the System announced a new one that was very slightly different in format: The Open Hand. Still, it was basic.

On a whim, Victor began pulling new threads over to the frame and connecting them to one of the looping arms that stretched out from the main, rectangular box shape. While he did so, he watched how the threads’ glow affected the frame, illuminating the shape, and he realized that it was beginning to take a much more tangible appearance with all those threads feeding into it. It was almost like a piece of softly glowing, three-dimensional abstract art. Was that part of the process? Was he meant to shape the frame with the light of the threads? Did the pattern matter?

“Of course it does,” he sighed, realizing it would not be a quick process. The thought occurred to him that he was avoiding a very pertinent question: whether he ought to select a mantle for the short term, so that he could apply his accumulated Energy to himself. It was the only way he’d continue to level and reap the benefits of his victories.

Thinking about it, Victor began to understand how some steel seekers became “steelbound.” He could see how settling on a basic or even an improved or advanced mantle, using one’s Energy to gain levels, and then finding oneself unable to progress because it was hard to earn more Energy might stymie a steel seeker. Was it any wonder there were so few veil walkers compared to iron rankers and steel seekers?

With that thought, Victor sighed and decided to let his subconscious brain stew on the issue for a while. When he exited his spirit space and opened his eyes, he was a little surprised to find it fully dark with the moon high overhead. He stood and stretched, looking down from the tower to the courtyard, and was pleased to see several guards patrolling the ramparts.

The castle was still bathed in the pale, silvery light of his Prismatic Illumination, and so was much of the countryside outside the walls. The darkness made it even clearer just how far the light reached. As he shifted his gaze toward the road and into the south, he saw a makeshift encampment on the nearby plains. Puzzled, he concentrated and sent his awareness out to his raven.

When the spirit totem felt his queries, images flooded Victor’s mind’s eye—people arriving on wagons, leading livestock, and bearing heavily laden packs. They moved off the road and set up the tents Victor now saw. They seemed like ordinary folks—peasants from villages and farms. Were they coming to see him? Were they just wanting to be in the glow of his hope-attuned Energy?

Victor refocused on his surroundings, looking down at the wall below. He cast Tactical Reposition, instantly teleporting to the ramparts. When he strode out of the shadows of the gatehouse toward a patrolling guard, the man nearly fainted and dropped his spear. Victor chuckled and waved a hand. “Relax, soldier. Tell me, how long until dawn?”

“Apologies, milord,” the man stammered, stooping to retrieve his spear. “Dawn will arrive soon; a bit more than an hour, I’d bet.”

“Excellent. How did things go today? How’s the keep coming along?”

“Um, milord, beg your pardon, but shall I fetch someone…”

“Just tell me what you think, soldier.” Victor tried to look unthreatening. He smiled and shifted so he wasn’t leaning forward, but he was still nine feet tall, and the man had seen him slay the most dangerous beings he’d likely ever known, so his efforts weren’t all that successful. He contemplated reducing his size, but the whole point of his remaining giant-sized was to inspire and serve as a reminder that he was there, ready to face whatever Lord Fausto sent their way.

“Of course, milord. Well, the work’s coming along nicely. We took the cages down, and Seneschal Kris, well, he sent a bunch of us lads out to the road to cut down the gibbets outside the wall. We built up a pyre and put the dead to rest.”

“Good,” Victor nodded. “And what’s the story with the people out there? The tents?”

“As you might imagine, milord, word of your victory here is spreading through the country. They come to see with their own eyes. I heard some talking about wanting to join you—to be in your army, or just to serve under your banner.”

“I’ll speak to them when the sun’s up. What about the vampires? Any word from the north?”

“Not that I’m aware of, milord.”

Victor carefully clapped the man on the shoulder. “All right, soldier. Get back to your patrol.”

“Milord.” The man bowed and moved past him, and Victor walked in the opposite direction until he came to the eastern rampart. There he stood, arms folded, watching the sky turn from deep blue-black to gray as the sun slowly made its way up the backside of the distant mountains. He could hear the keep coming to life behind him, but he was lost in thought, contemplating his skein and the many threads he’d gone through in the previous hours.

He'd relived many experiences, some good, some depressing, and many, many violent ones. Logically, he knew he’d only touched a fraction of the threads there, but he couldn’t help feeling like his life was…troubling. How many creatures had he killed? How many people? What would his abuelita say if she knew everything he’d gotten up to since leaving Earth? Would she be proud or ashamed? Victor wanted to believe she’d be proud of him, but he had to admit that he’d made mistakes, many of which had led to unnecessary suffering.

“Who’s perfect, though?” he asked the chilly air. Was he being too easy on himself? He might be, he supposed, but he’d been hard on himself before. He’d beaten the shit out of himself for each and every one of those mistakes already. Hadn’t he learned anything from his time with Chantico? Hadn’t she helped him to see how he was a product of his upbringing—his troubled youth? Was that his fault? What was important was that he learned from those mistakes.

“Erm, excuse me, milord?”

Victor turned to see Kris standing behind him on the ramparts. He’d heard him approach, but his subconscious mind had dismissed the noise; he’d been busy with his thoughts. “Good morning, Kris.”

“Yes, good morning, milord. Have—” He cleared his throat, shifting his feet. “Have you orders for me?”

“I hear from the men that the scouring of this keep is going well. You’re to be commended for organizing these people. Have you and your aides been able to create a roster of everyone by level and experience? Today, I’ll assign a captain to our first cohort, so I’ll need some names to consider.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Yes, of course, milord! I’ll have Tasya bring you the notes. She’s­… Well, sir, she’s better equipped to go over them with you.”

Victor nodded. “Good, send her my way. As for you, Seneschal, I’ll need you to start learning to read. Have one of your other aides give you some lessons today, after you’ve assigned duties to everyone else. I’ll have an assembly in an hour, but send me Tasya now. I’m assuming that’s one of your aides?”

“Yes, milord. She’s quite capable.”

“Good. Send her up.”

Kris bowed, turned on his heel, and hurried off. Victor continued to contemplate the dawn, thinking about his skein and mantle, and then the sound of boot heels scuffing softly against stone brought his attention back to his present circumstances. He turned to see the young woman who’d stood the day before when he’d asked for literate people to come forward.

Her long brown hair was bound in thick plaits, and she wore simple clothes not unlike the farmers he’d seen when he’d first arrived. She carried herself differently, however. Her back was straight, and she looked around, her bright eyes taking everything in, but not fearfully. “Milord,” she said, bowing deeply, a thin, leatherbound notebook in her hand.

“Tasya, right?”

“Yes, milord.”

“Just ‘sir’ will do. I’d tell you to call me Victor, but I know how people grow to expect a certain level of deference and… distance when leaders are concerned.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So? Let me see this list. You’ve arranged the names by level?”

“Yes, sir.” She straightened and opened the book, displaying the first page.

Victor looked at the first name and grinned. “Tasya of Riverbend? Level twenty-one?” He tilted his head sideways, turning his inner eye on her, and saw that her Core was, indeed, brighter than most of the others he’d examined since coming to Dark Ember. It swirled like a miniature cyclone with occasional sparks of electricity flashing at its heart. “An air affinity?”

“Wind, sir. I’m a Huntress—sanctioned by the Pale Warden to collect his allotment from the hills and forests of the southern reaches. It’s how I gained my levels. I’m afraid I’m not well-loved by the people.”

“Why’s that? I’m sure that game went toward the vampires’ tithes, no?”

“True, milord, but people saw me walking about, well-fed and unharried by the Bloodcloaks. Jealousy has a strange way of turning people’s minds toward dark rumors.”

“Ah. Well, Tasya, now’s your chance to start turning people’s minds toward different things. As of now, you’re no longer an aide for Kris; you’re the captain of our first cohort.”

“Captain? Cohort?”

Victor nodded. “Those are labels for military things. I learned them on Fanwath, another world. They’re from the structure of the armies there. Now, what you need to know is that a cohort is like an army. Ten cohorts will make up a legion, but we’re a long way from that, because your cohort will need to grow to six hundred soldiers before we start building another. After I speak to everyone today, you’ll have a chance to meet your troops, and then you’ll choose six lieutenants to help you build the divisions and squads—subsections of your cohort.”

Tasya was shaking her head, her face dismayed, while Victor spoke. “Sir, I can’t. How can… I mean to ask, why me?”

“A few reasons. You know your countrymen and women. You’ve seen how beaten their spirits are. You’re a little different than most of them. You’ve had some independence. You’ve learned to use a weapon—a bow, I’m assuming. On top of that, you can read and write, and you’re higher level than anyone else in this keep. Other than me, I mean.”

“I’m no leader—”

“You will be. War has a way of bringing that sort of thing out in people. Now, no more objections. This is happening, so accept it. Rest easy knowing I’ll be here to help you along the way.” He gestured to the notebook. “Now, think about what I just told you. If you had to, based only on what you know from your interviews and what’s written in this book, who would you choose to be your lieutenants right now?”

Tasya did a good job of answering his question and a dozen more after that, and Victor began to feel more and more confident that he’d made the right call selecting her as his first captain. The truth of the matter was that he didn’t have much to choose from. There were no war heroes at Gloomhallow Keep. There were no great adventurers among the populace of the southern reaches of Fausto’s lands. Anyone who was well-trained had become a Bloodcloak or been sent north to serve at Riverbend, where the bulk of Fausto’s army was quartered.

When he heard people assembling in the square, Victor handed Tasya her book and said, “Stand beside Kris today at the assembly, I’ll announce your new title.”

The assembly went about as he’d expected. Close to two hundred people standing in fearful respect made it easy to get through a lengthy agenda. Victor had spoken to much larger gatherings, some so big that he’d had to project his voice magically. While speaking in the courtyard of Gloomhallow Keep, though, he could have used a conversational tone, and everyone would have heard him.

When he announced Tasya, the crowd was quiet. When he demonstrated how to create an Energy bead, the crowd was quiet. When he told them about the structure of an army from legion to cohort to division to squad, everyone was quiet. He didn’t have to repeat himself, and when he asked for questions, no one raised a hand. If Victor had been his old self, the one fresh out of Tucson, he might have thought things were going well, but he knew the opposite was true; these people were whipped. They were too used to being beaten, killed, or worse, if they offended their leaders.

He couldn’t do anything about it yet, however. What they needed was a victory. What they needed was to feel the rush of battle and to see their enemies crushed. They needed to be reminded that they weren’t cattle. To that end, he told the troops he’d be training with them every day, starting at dawn. He also told them that, until further notice, they each had to create at least one Energy bead per night.

He wanted them to get used to channeling Energy, and he hoped the System would start intervening with some personal quests or at least awarding some skills or uncovering affinities. He knew it might not; it had turned a blind eye to their persecution thus far, hadn’t it? Things would be different when he captured the city and took control of the System stone.

When he finished the assembly, he left Kris and Tasya to manage things, then walked out the gate, meandering down the road toward the encampment he’d seen earlier in the morning. He took his time, enjoying the breeze that blew, for the first time untainted by the scent of carrion. The tents were about a mile south of the keep, and he could see they stretched for a good distance in either direction from the road.

Standing on the road between the tents, he waited as people gathered around him. He saw people of all sorts—young and old, men, women, and even children. He looked at the shelters they’d built. They were rough things made of hide and canvas, stretched over poles they’d carried with them from wherever they’d come. Some people were living in rough carts or under them. Some had bedrolls out on the hard, dry grass. At least it was dry, Victor mused; since he’d put up his hope-attuned light, the moist mist had fled the land and the ground had begun to harden.

“Hello, everyone. Yesterday, when I spoke to the travelers on this road, I thought they’d leave and carry news of the Pale Warden’s demise south to the villages. I didn’t think their numbers would multiply. I didn’t think I’d come out today to find hundreds of people here. Perhaps I should have expected it. You’re here now, though, and I think that’s a good thing.

“When I killed the Pale Warden, these lands that he guarded—this vale, these forests and hills—became mine by right of conquest. I hereby gift them to the people of the southern reaches. Go! Cut some trees and build some proper roofs over your heads. It’s bound to rain sooner or later. We’ll make a town here, and it will serve as the staging ground for my first army on Dark Ember. Raise your hand if you can answer me this: do you all know how to measure land in acres?”

Whatever magic the System worked with languages, it seemed to be functioning overtime that day. A dozen people raised their hands, and Victor pointed to an older man with white hair and a well-weathered face. “Lord, I know how to measure an acre well enough.”

“Good! Then you all should hear me and pass the word to anyone who comes after I leave. Each family may claim one full acre of the lands around Gloomhallow keep on which to build a homestead. Moreover, anyone who wishes to build a business here along the road can claim one-third of an acre. Any family that can prove an understanding of agriculture or livestock will be given a larger stake, up to five acres, further from the road, to grow crops. I’ll help my seneschal draw up the map and deeds. If you’re interested, then come to the keep tomorrow at noon.”

The crowd was stunned, perhaps more out of confusion than gratitude. Had they ever owned land? Could they comprehend the concept? Victor decided to let them stew on it and talk amongst themselves rather than stand around answering questions. He’d already given himself quite a job to do. He’d need a map of the area, and he’d need to divide it into plots—claims, he supposed. Was he getting ahead of himself? Perhaps, but why not? Why not give these people something to live for? No, he corrected himself, something to fight for.

He summoned Guapo, startling more than a few people standing closer to the road, then leaped on the stallion’s back, riding toward the keep. He sorely wished he had some help. He wished he had his support staff from Iron Mountain with him. “Damn,” he chuckled, “Draj and the entire Haveshi Clan would have a field day organizing this mess!”

Of course, thinking about Draj brought Kynna, Arona, and Bryn to mind, and it was almost enough to send him charging north to take on Lord Fausto so he could capture the damn System stone already. It was a thought, but he restrained himself. Facing a veil walker wasn’t something to be taken lightly, which only reminded him that he had work to do in his spirit space; it was time to find a mantle he could use as a foundation—something suitable for gaining levels that he could spend time improving as he pursued his conquest of Dark Ember.

“Not basic, though,” he said with a grin. “Come on, pendejo! You can do better than that!” He laughed at his idiotic self-talk and then urged Guapo into a gallop, happy to ease some stress with a wild ride through his newly conquered lands.