8 – Chances

Victor walked behind the vampiric Bloodcloaks mounted on their fierce stallions as they led him out of town. The villagers looked away as they passed, eyes cast down. Victor hated how defeated everyone was and quietly revised his earlier plan to take his time about conquering the valley and the vampire lord that ruled over it. He’d be smart and do things right, but he wouldn’t drag things out—not when people were suffering all around him.

When they cleared the last of the wretched little homes and the forest began to close around them, Victor gestured to the road and asked, “Where does this lead?”

“North past a number a villages, Gloomhallow Keep, and then on to Riverbend, Lord!” Jost answered enthusiastically.

Victor nodded, looking from Jost to Tristan and then over to Vell. All three of the vampires still had dark, throbbing veins prominent on their necks and pale cheeks. How long would his blood’s dominion over them last? “Stop at that downed tree ahead, I’ll have a word with you three.”

“Yes, Lord!” Tristan grunted, reaching up to scratch at his neck, his sharp nails leaving long red welts.

Victor followed the three to the little clearing by a massive felled tree. When they stopped, turning in their saddles to look at him, he gestured to the log. “Get off your horses and sit there.” They moved like he’d whipped them, flying out of their saddles to scrabble for seats on the damp-rotted wood. Victor stood before them, regarding them for several long minutes, contemplating his words and options with regard to the undead creatures.

That was what they were, he had to remind himself—creatures. These were no longer men. They may once have been. They might even have resisted becoming undead minions to their master at the beginning, but that had been a lifetime ago; those men were dead, were they not? You couldn’t go from a thrall to a Bloodcloak without doing awful things—or, at least, Victor assumed as much. Scowling, he asked, “How did you become Bloodcloaks?”

“By serving our lord well!” Vell replied.

“Enough of the crimson grace to become proper vampires, milord,” Jost added.

Tristan leaned forward and hissed, “I earned my fangs fighting Rollo’s spies!”

“Rollo?”

“The lord of the lands beyond the southern pass, milord,” Vell hissed, clacking his teeth as he twisted and stretched his neck.

“Why do you do that? Why scratch? Does my blood pain you?”

“Yes, Lord! It burns and pulls!” Vell cried.

“Tell me how vampires work.” As they all opened their mouths to reply, Victor held up a hand, cutting them off. “I mean, specifically, I want to know who your master is—only Harrowbone, or do you owe allegiance to some lesser lord? Moreover, will anyone know what I’ve done to you?”

The three vampires looked at each other, and then Tristan spoke, “Lord, we owe allegiance to Lord Fausto Harrowbone above all else, though we must obey his lesser lords, the closest being the Pale Marshal, who resides in Gloomhallow keep. He won’t know what you’ve done to us unless we stand in his presence.”

“And if you should die?”

“Then Fausto will feel it, though distantly, and he may not care.”

“Why Fausto and not the Pale Marshal?”

Tristan hissed, gnashing his teeth before answering. “Because it was Fausto who bestowed us with the crimson grace.”

Victor frowned, nodding. “I take it that means he gave you some of his blood?”

Tristan nodded as his two companions hissed. “All Bloodcloaks and vampire lords in this valley were elevated by Fausto’s crimson grace.”

“The minor lords”—Victor gestured to the three vampires before him—“you Bloodcloaks—you never turn people? You don’t make thralls?”

“Bloodcloaks, never!” Jost hissed, shaking his head.

“Minor lords make thralls, lord, but to elevate a thrall requires Fausto’s gift.”

“So, hypothetically, what would Fausto do if I killed you three?”

The three vampires hissed and writhed, clearly waging some inner battle, desperate to attack or at least resist Victor. Jost cracked first and groaned as he replied, “He would feel our demise—the general direction and a sense of distance—and tell the Pale Marshal to investigate if he cared. Sometimes… sometimes he’s occupied and we minor vampires are beneath his attention.”

“And if I killed the Pale Marshal?”

Vell groaned and slid off the tree trunk into the muddy loam, grasping and clawing at the dirt as he hissed and writhed. “P-please, lord, it pains us to betray our—”

“Quiet.” Victor took a step back, disgusted by the creature’s begging. The vampires all clamped their mouths shut, and Victor watched as the black veins pulsed and throbbed. They were certainly struggling to process his blood. He focused his gaze on Tristan, who seemed the most willing to speak. “Tristan, answer my question.”

“If—if you slew the Pale Marshal, who rules over the Southern Reaches… Fausto would send one of his other lords to investigate. He’d likely give them an escort of Blood Reavers.”

“Ah! That brings up another point. When I look at your Cores, I don’t see anything too impressive. Tier-three, if I had to guess. What level does the System say you are?”

“Argh!” Tristan groaned, grimacing as one of the black veins in his cheek branched into half a dozen smaller veins, climbing toward his eye. Was his blood still spreading, or did that happen when they tried to resist him?

“Answer,” he growled, loosening his grip on his aura and letting it lash out to reinforce his blood’s effect on the three vampires.

Tristan convulsed, falling backward over the fallen tree, but he spoke rapidly as he struggled to climb back up. “Lord, you guessed correctly. We three are all in the third tier!”

“And the Pale Marshal? The, uh, Blood Reavers? The other lesser lords? Fausto?”

All three vampires began to convulse, and Tristan fell back again, crashing into the damp underbrush behind the fallen tree. Victor watched them for a minute, then, once again, let his aura loose, crushing them with the weight of it. Jost broke first, gasping, “The P-pale Marshal is an elder vampire, lord! All of them are! F-fausto is an Ancient Lord!”

Victor sighed, realizing they were having a communication breakdown. It made sense that these vampires on such a distant world wouldn’t be using the same terms as those who dwelled on worlds local to Sojourn. He thought he could guess what he meant, however. “So, an elder vampire is one that has ascended beyond tier nine? And an Ancient Lord is one that’s ascended beyond that stage?”

“Y-yes, milord,” Jost grunted, groaning as more dark veins populated his pale face.

It seemed Victor’s hope that this distant valley would have a lord who wasn’t yet a veil walker had been in vain. He clicked his tongue, not exactly thrilled at the prospect of facing a veil walker on his home turf, but it didn’t seem he had much of a choice, not if he wanted to gain control of a System stone anytime soon. Just to confirm, he asked, “And Rollo? What about other nearby lords? Are they all Ancient Lords?”

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Tristan, who’d finally managed to clamber back atop the dead tree, replied, “Rollo is, aye, lord, but we three have never faced any others. Our valley is protected by great mountain ranges, the heights of which are frigid year-round.”

Victor paced back and forth before the vampires, contemplating his next move. He could kill them and draw the Pale Warden to him. Then, he could kill the Pale Warden—a vampire equivalent of a steel seeker—and draw more vampires of that caliber to him. If he kept doing that, how long would it be before Lord Fausto came calling? Would he come, or would he assume another “Ancient Lord” or— A thought occurred to him and he asked, “What’s the difference between the Ancient Lords and a Great Master?”

The three vampires erupted into hisses again, and Victor watched as his blood spread into more veins on their pale flesh. Eventually, Tristan gagged and choked out a response, “The Great Masters are the originals—the five kings who settled our dark world and, with their crimson grace, gave rise to the many lords who tamed the far corners of these gloomy lands.”

“All right, a few more questions—how many like you are there? How many Bloodcloaks?”

“In the Southern Reaches, we number fifty, milord. There as many in the Northern Steppes, and in the Central District, near the capital, there are hundreds.”

“And how many of these Blood Reavers?”

“Lord Fausto has nearly three dozen reavers to call upon,” Vell hissed. “Milord, will you torment us forever?” He scratched at his neck and jawline as he gasped out the question.

“Quiet.” Victor paced some more, contemplating, and then, his decision made, he summoned Guapo. As the fierce, fiery-eyed mustang exploded from a cloud of red-tinted rage-attuned Energy, he pulled himself up on the horse and then barked, “Get mounted.”

The three vampires scrambled away from the dead tree, flying toward their mounts, and leaping into their saddles. Victor rode Guapo closer to them, then growled, “Make haste to this Gloomhallow Keep. I’ll deal with your Pale Master, and then your suffering will come to an end.”

###

“You’ve done well, Thoargh,” Duvius Black said, the tenor of his voice rich and resonant. “I’m surprised that Yon wasn’t exaggerating when he described the depth of your Energy reserves. His words tend toward hyperbole in most circumstances.”

“It was nothing. A mere few hours will see me recovered. As for Master Yon, I’ve noted his love of filigreed, decorative phrases, but he has helped me a great deal, so I’ll not speak ill of the man.”

“No, no. I wouldn’t ask you to.” Duvius ducked his head respectfully, his silken, burgundy hood drooping forward to obscure his face. When he looked up, he asked, “Was there aught I could do to repay your efforts? Yon tells me you’re very near a breakthrough—close to piercing your veil, no?”

Thoargh hated the familiarity of the man’s tone. He was the Warlord—master of an entire world—and this man spoke to him like he was an overeager student. Even so, he bit back his pride, intent on gaining what he could from the fool while he had his gratitude. “There is something, Lord Black—a ritual I’ve been preparing that should bring me to the precipice. Master Yon made mention of a student of yours, a fellow with a chance affinity? If I could gain his aid with this ritual, it would improve my odds of success immeasurably. It shouldn’t take more than a day—just an afternoon, more likely.”

Duvius waved a hand, his robe’s sleeve flapping loosely. “Say no more. I’ve had it up to my eyeballs with that little fool. If you can teach him an ounce of caution or an inkling of respect, I’ll consider it another favor you’ve done me.”

Thoargh grinned, exposing his needle-sharp canines, as he sketched a formal bow. “My pleasure.”

“I’ll have him come to Yon’s—”

“No, no, I’m not staying at Yon’s estate. I’ve a suite in the city.”

Duvius cocked his head to the side, eyeing Thoargh strangely. “And you’ll perform the ritual there?”

Thoargh rubbed his chin. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He had everything he needed, of course, but there was the matter of the Energy draw, the body, and the story he’d have to fabricate to explain the apprentice’s absence. “Have you a suggestion for a better location?”

“Well, Yon has taken you as a student, no? Why not use his laboratory in the Arcanum?”

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard him mention the place a few times. It’s the academy in the sky? Floating towers or some such?”

Duvius nodded. “Precisely. As you've seen, I have my own laboratory here in the city, but Yon has a tower at the Arcanum. It’s well-equipped to facilitate rituals; I’ve attended quite a few over the years to aid my feathered friend.” He chuckled at his turn of phrase, again casting veiled aspersions at Yon and his avian species.

“Well, in that case, I’ll see if he’ll allow me to use it. Shall I send for your student?”

“Yes. Send the summons and I’ll ensure Cam—that’s his name, Cam Lightly—I’ll ensure he knows he’s to honor your request.”

“Excellent.” Thoargh bowed again, and Duvius smiled, his lips turning up inside his neatly groomed beard.

Thoargh took that opportunity to take his leave, and Duvius had a servant show him out, guiding him through the palace-like house. The man even had a flying coach waiting, reminding Thoargh, once again, of how backwards his world, Zaafor, was. There was probably more wealth in Dubius Black’s estate than all of Coloss, and the realization stung. “Dead gods, I’ve wasted so much time!”

It was a thought that crossed his mind a thousand times a day as he experienced the wonders of Sojourn. Some people might change in the face of all that splendor. They might look at their old ways, see the folly, and determine to try to live differently. Thoargh’s spirit was too strong, however. Of course, he’d recognize and learn from his mistakes, but he’d apply what he learned to his old aims—power, vengeance, and domination.

These men, these masters of Sojourn, weren’t better than he. They were luckier. That was all it boiled down to. They’d been born on a world where easy levels and exposure to traveling cultivators allowed for effortless learning—easy mastery. Thoargh had worked hard for century after century. He’d toiled at the grindstone, building up his cultivation chamber treasure by treasure and spending decades upon decades stacking his Core with the Energy he drew out of it.

Now that he’d learned how he’d stagnated, learned that he’d taken a wrong turn nearly a thousand years ago, he was righting his course. He’d gone back to the basics, but this time he had guidance and a foundation of power that would see him propelled to greatness in record time. He had a Core unmatched by any other steel seeker he’d met, and a mix of bloodlines that made him a god among mortals.

He hadn’t lied to Yon or his friend, Dubius Black; he truly was close to a breakthrough, and he absolutely intended to use Cam Lightly and his chance affinity to see him over the finish line. Of course, Cam wouldn’t like the nature of his assistance, but that was the role of lesser beings—to serve and die at the whims of the mighty.

###

Edeya smiled and nodded slowly as she reviewed the roster for the raid she and her friends were organizing. She tapped a name, looking up at Trin. “Who’s this? Dalla? It sounds familiar, but I can’t remember.”

Trin reached into her pocket, taking out a small, smooth stone carved with a leaf. “Dalla! The girl with the luck affinity. I ran into her the other day. She’s reached tier two, and I told her we had room in the puzzle group.”

“Tier two?” Edeya remembered the girl, of course, she just hadn’t thought about her in… something like a year. “I mean, I know there’s no combat for that group, but…”

“You don’t think a luck affinity might serve us well where puzzles are concerned?”

Edeya sighed, shrugging. “She’s so young, though!”

“Thirteen, and yes, that’s young, but she’s so sweet, and I feel sorry for her! You know she’s trying to help support her family.”

Edeya narrowed her eyes, trying to remember the details. Suddenly, it clicked, and she snapped her fingers. “Her dad! He works for that Ridonne guy—Warin-dak!”

Trin shrugged. “I don’t know about all that. I mean the Ridonne part or whatever, but yeah, her dad works for Warin-dak, and he’s a wonderful specimen of a narcissist. He’s honestly worse than my brother ever was.” Trin looked down as she mentioned her brother, and Edeya could see the guilt on her face. She reached out to grab her friend’s hand.

“Hush. You didn’t say anything wrong. Arcus admitted that he was a jerk, himself. I mean, when he started to change for the better and told Victor we were in trouble in your dad’s dungeon.”

“I know, but I shouldn’t speak ill of him. Not after…” Edeya knew what Trin was thinking; Victor had told them about how Arcus had died in the Iron Prison and how he’d redeemed himself in Victor’s eyes. If Victor felt that way, Edeya knew the guy must have done something worthy of admiration.

Trying to change the subject and save Trin’s mood, she said, “Well, fine, let’s give the girl a shot. The puzzle group should be pretty safe, anyway. They’ve got a tier-four agility build for the physical part.”

Trin nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, right…Dalla. Um, the point I was getting to about her family: did you know her mom died when she was only seven and that she’s helping to support her granny and twin little brothers? Her dad is hardly ever home, and Warin-dak does not pay him well.”

“Then we’re definitely going to help her. Besides, tier two, and she’s only thirteen? The girl has some gumption!”

“She started delving last year. Um, shortly after she met us.” Trin shrugged almost guiltily. “She asked me about Victor. I think we mentioned he had a Spirit Core to her, and, well, you know how the whole city was talking about him back then. I think she got it in her head that she could be like him.”

Edeya groaned. “Oh, goodness! Well, we can have Lam talk to her; she can give her some more reasonable expectations about what a Spirit Caster can do.”

Trin giggled, nodding. “Sounds like a good plan. So, we’re all set for next week?”

Edeya looked at the list one more time, nodding. She grinned as her eyes fell on Dalla’s name again. “Yep. I like our chances.”