Book 3: Chapter 22: Night Conversations
“Your cat isn’t going to try to eat my vidanii, is he?” Victor asked Captain Valla when they stopped for their first camp. She’d surprised him the day before, suggesting they keep riding for a day, insisting she needed little rest, and neither did Uvu, her mount. Thistle had seemed fine, so Victor had shrugged and agreed, and though they stopped several times to feed and water the animals, this was the first time they’d stopped to sleep. Thistle was huffing and more tired than Victor had ever seen him, but he seemed good—like you might imagine a horse would be after a hard day of travel.
“Uvu knows better,” Valla said, producing a large haunch of raw meat and tossing it off into the grass for the big cat. It was the fourth time she’d fed him that day.
“He eats a lot of meat,” Victor observed.
“Yes,” Valla said, not one to elaborate or drive a conversation. She began pulling out parts to a large canvas tent, and Victor contemplated asking her if she needed a hand, but a streak of stubbornness in him wanted her to ask him for help or at least communicate what she was doing. He sighed and began walking in a spiral pattern out from their campsite, looking for stones to use for the fire pit.
After he’d gathered ten good-sized rocks, he walked back to the camp and set them up in a ring and saw that Valla had already erected a tall, rectangular tent with the flaps pinned open and a rather luxurious interior exposed—rich carpeting, a polished wooden table with two ornate, cushioned wooden chairs, and a spacious, fluffy bed complete with insect netting. “God damn—makes me miss my wagon,” Victor said as he set up the fire, producing logs from his storage ring.
He did miss his wagon and, not for the first time, cursed his guilty conscience and his impulsive decision to leave it with Thayla and Deyni. He’d felt like he had to make the gesture for Deyni’s sake—he’d had no idea how much her not wanting him to leave would affect him. If he were being honest, saying goodbye to the little girl had been harder than leaving Thayla or Chandri. “Shit, it was harder than both combined,” he said, finishing his thoughts aloud.
“Are you addressing me?” Valla asked, sitting in one of her cushioned chairs, legs crossed, sipping something from a silver cup.
“Uh, nah, just muttering to myself. Don’t sweat it.”
“Will you want to spar before supper?” The question caught Victor off guard, and he glanced at Valla in surprise.
“Spar?”
“Lady Rellia suggested I could learn a thing or two from you and that I might be a suitable partner for you to hone your skills against.”
“Oh, well, yeah. I can always use the practice. Sorry, I didn’t think of you as a fighter. I guess I should have, considering you’re a captain.”
“Yes.” Valla stood, tossed the remainder of her drink into the grass, then produced a surprisingly heavy-looking, deep blue, almost black broadsword. The sword was about as long as her legs, and she rested the point in the grass so the pommel jutted up past her waist. She leaned against it and stared at Victor, clearly waiting for him to finish fiddling with the fire.
“Quite a sword,” he said, straightening up. “You sure you want to spar with sharp weapons? I have some weighted wooden weapons I bought back in Gelica.”
“I’ll be fine. Will you?” she asked, her face betraying no judgment, no amusement.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Mind if I ask what tier you’re in?”
“I’m newly fifth tier.”
“Ah. No shit?”
“I speak truly.”
“No wonder Rellia had you hanging around. So, um, you know Captain Lam?”
“Yes, we served together for a time.” Again, she didn’t elaborate, and Victor was tired of fishing for details from the obstinate woman. He lifted Lifedrinker from his belt and started walking out into the plains, on the opposite side of the camp from their mounts. He cast Globe of Inspiration, not because it was too dark to see, but because if he was going to practice, he wanted to maximize his benefit.
“Effective,” Valla said, following behind him, basking in the white-gold glow of the orb.
“Yeah, I’ll keep it going while we practice—should be helpful.” After he spoke, Victor cast Inspiring Presence, knowing full well the spell wouldn’t affect Valla if he faced off with her. “Too bad. I can’t share all my benefits, can I?”
“I don’t have any spells that will be beneficial for you; I’m sorry,” Valla said, perhaps misinterpreting Victor’s constant chatter with himself.
“You’re good,” he said, using Sovereign Will to boost his agility, then he squared off with Valla, raised his axe, and nodded. She lifted her big, dark sword and, holding it sideways, so the blade rested on the palm of her left hand, performed a low bow at the waist.
“Oh, am I supposed to bow? You’re only my second sparring partner outside the pits, and Polo Vosh didn’t do any bowing.”
“It’s customary from the school I attended. Not necessary.” She paused for a moment as though struggling with a decision, and finally, she said, “Are you ready?”
“Yeah,” Victor said, and there began a truly humiliating ass-kicking. Valla was fast—not as fast as Rellia when she used her shadow magic, but faster than Victor. More than that, she was good with her sword, like Polo Vosh levels of good. Victor had learned a lot when he gained the advanced rank with his axe, but Valla seemed to have a maneuver and a reaction for every one of his attacks. Worse, she repeatedly slipped her long, wickedly heavy blade past his guard attempts.
Sometimes she’d stab her sword forward in a thrust, faster than he could swing his axe to parry it, and sometimes she’d cleave it with such weight and force that Victor found himself knocked out of his stance, open for her quick remise—a term meaning follow-up attack that she taught him after she’d struck him with it several times.
Perhaps compounding his humiliation, she pulled every hit she scored, tapping his armor or shallowly nicking his legs. Twice she deftly rang the flat of her blade on his heavy helm. Victor, for his part, threw everything he had at her, and as he felt his anger building, he pushed it down—he knew he’d learn more if he didn’t go berserk and overpower her with brute force.
Accepting that he couldn’t beat her without his rage, Victor contemplated using his fear affinity or projecting twisted inspiration at her. He held back, though, wanting to learn as much true fighting skill as possible.
After a long while, when he was drenched in sweat and she was starting to breathe heavily, Victor noted the look of consternation on her face, and finally, she backed off, stabbed her sword into the grass, and stared at him, “Why do you toy with me? Why let me think I can beat you?” Her usually cool, calm voice was angry, and the emotion in it caught Victor by surprise.
“What?”
“I missed your match with Rellia, but I heard tales of your fury, of your insane strength. Why do you hold it all back?”
“I mean, I’m trying to learn to fight better. I don’t want to Berserk and whip your ass. I don’t like thinking I have to unleash my rage or . . . darker abilities to win a fight. I want . . . I should be able to win based on skill.”
She frowned, narrowed her eyes, and nodded. “I, too, haven’t used all of my abilities. I suppose this is more fruitful for now. Even against your lackluster martial skills, I feel my forms improving. Perhaps it is your orb.”
“Can I ask? What’s your sword skill up to?
“Epic, but Blue Razor pushes me closer to legendary when I have it in hand.”
“Blue Razor? Your sword? Is it awake, er conscious?”
“No, but it’s a masterwork artifact, enchanted beyond what the smiths in Tharcray can ken.” It seemed Victor had found the key to getting the woman to talk—ask her about fighting or her sword.
“Where’d you get it?”
“A dungeon near the World Spine. I was with Rellia and two of her friends.”
“And what of my work, warrior. Have you been studying your pattern?”
“Well, yeah, but I haven’t built it yet. I’ve got it mostly memorized, though. I draw it a couple of times each night.” Victor knew she wasn’t going to be happy with that and looked away, unwilling to meet her eyes.
“Oh? What do you think, daughter? Has he been diligent enough with my instruction? Does his Core feel stronger to you?”
“Well, Old Mother,” Thayla said, reaching out to rest her faintly glimmering fingers on Victor’s shoulder. “It’s only been a bit more than a week. I don’t feel much difference, though . . .” she trailed off, smirking sideways at Victor.
“Oh, God, really? If you guys are going to bully me like this, I won’t make these visits very often!”
“Now he threatens us with his absence? What love is this? Are we not family, warrior?”
“Yeah. Yes! All right, I admit, I could be working harder on my Core and the pattern.” Victor sighed and stepped past Thayla to sit by Oynalla. Thayla, still holding his shoulder, followed and sat down next to him.
“This is a good time to show me what you know of the pattern, don’t you think?” Oynalla asked, her youthful face breaking into a beaming smile and a trilling little laugh escaping her lips.
“Well . . .” Victor tried to think of a way out of this but shrugged and said, “Okay.” He closed his eyes, and reaching into his Core, he teased a thread of fear-attuned Energy into his pathway. Then, with a slight strain of will, he pulled out a thread of rage-attuned Energy. He manipulated the two threads, twisting, folding, and bending them into the pattern that Oynalla had given him. He truly had been practicing with it, and he’d drawn it from memory several times.
While he was weaving the Energies, he briefly contemplated why he hadn’t tried to build the pattern in his pathway yet. He almost lost his concentration when a subconscious needle of doubt entered his mind—was he afraid of this new pattern? Maybe he didn’t want to see what kind of new terrible Energy he was going to make. He ground his teeth and kept working, forcing his mind to focus on the task. He’d gotten to the last few twists in the pattern when Oynalla suddenly stood and took his face in her hands.
“Stop, warrior! Stop!” She shrieked, and Victor lost his concentration, letting go of the threads. He looked at her in confusion. “Oh, good, good. That was a mistake! Your amulet and I were foolish, indeed! I thought we were leading you to a weave of justice, but you nearly created shame. You don’t need more dark Energies in your heart, Victor.”
Thayla reached out a hand to take one of his, and he saw the concern in her eyes, and then he said, “Well, shit. I mean, yeah, I’m not super excited about casting spells with shame-attuned Energy.”
“I see the mistake we made, though, Victor. Rage and fear—two dark, powerful affinities—we should have thought more broadly and remembered your prodigious will. After watching how quickly you built that weave, I think you can make one from three Energies. Give me a day or two to work with the pattern; I’ll add in a third twist of inspiration.” Oynalla reached out a slender hand to join Thayla’s gripping his hand, grabbing onto a couple of his fingers.
“Okay,” he said, and when he saw the concern still lingering in their eyes, he added, “Guys, relax! I’m not going to go out and try to finish the weave. I’m already stressed about the fear affinity.”
“Good,” Oynalla nodded and squinted as though she were trying to see into his mind, but she squeezed his fingers again and then sat back. “Daughter, your aura fades. This has been a long Spirit Walk for you.”
“Yes, but I’m so glad I got to see you, Victor! Come to us more often, okay?”
“I’ll try, but we’re getting close to Persi Gables, and I don’t know what kind of shit’s about to go down. Don’t get mad at me if I’m not here for a few days.”
“No, come tomorrow, warrior. After that, you can take your time, but I want to get the new pattern into your hands,” Oynalla said with finality.
“Oh, all right, Young Mother,” Victor laughed.
“See how he grows so full of himself?” Oynalla asked Thayla, shaking her head in dismay.
“He’s always been full of himself, Old Mother,” she replied, reaching out to flick Victor’s ear.
“All right, all right,” Victor laughed, standing up. “I’ll see you ladies tomorrow. I need to get back before some giant cat eats me or something.” He waved, but before he could end his spell, Thayla jumped up and squeezed him again, and that reminded him to think of more people than himself. “Hey,” he said into the top of her head, wishing he could smell her physical hair instead of the clean, neutral scent of the Spirit Plane, “hug Deyni for me and tell Chandri and everyone I said hello, okay?”
“I will,” Thayla said, squeezing him once more. Then Victor ended his spell and opened his eyes. He almost fell backward when he saw Valla squatting in front of him, peering with narrowed eyes at his face.
“You’re back?” she asked.
“Yeah. Everything all right?” He looked around, wondering why she’d been peering into his face like that, but he didn’t see anything alarming.
“Everything is fine. I felt you building up Energy,” she said as if that explained everything.
“Oh, right. Well, all’s good.”
“You contacted them? Your hunter friends?” Valla moved back to her chair and sat down, crossing her legs and regarding him, almost like a queen staring down at a kneeling subject. Now that he’d learned a bit about her past, Victor didn’t think that haughty expression was intentional—she was socially awkward.
“Yeah, I did.” He scooted back toward his tent and looked at the moons; they hadn’t moved much while he was gone. “Your cat good to keep watch?” Victor knew the answer—Uvu had allowed them to sleep soundly at each of their camps so far, but he figured he shouldn’t take it for granted.
“Yes, he’s very alert. More than either of us could be. Were your friends doing well, Victor?” Valla asked, and he saw that she was pouring herself another cup of wine. It appeared she wasn’t ready to call it a night.
Victor shrugged and dug another honey mead out of his ring. He’d found that, of all the strange alcohols he’d sampled on Fanwath, he enjoyed it the most. “My friends are doing well; thanks for asking, Valla. How’s Rellia? You’ve been sending her messages in the book, right?”
“Rellia is doing well, though she fears the schemes of her family on a constant basis. I wish she hadn’t sent me away, but I knew I was driving her mad with my vigilance. She’s surrounded by those loyal to me and her, though, so I’m not very worried. I wish I could walk to her the way you just did.”
“Do you mind me asking what your affinity is?”
“I have two, three if you count pure Energy: air and iron.”
“Iron? I’ve heard of air affinities but not iron.” Victor took a swig of his ale.
“It’s a more focused form of an earth affinity. I don’t think it’s very common, but it’s nothing too unusual.”
“So it's, technically, an elemental affinity?”
“Correct.”
“That’s pretty cool. Can you weave the two of them for additional effects?”
“Yes, in theory, I could weave a meta-element from them, but my will, well, I’ve not been able to do it yet. I’m working on it, though.”
“I can tell you focused a lot of your attribute points on agility, huh?”
“Yes, I was raised to perform well in combat,” she smirked. She looked like she had more to say but shook her head slightly and took another sip of wine. Victor decided not to push it and sat back, leaning on his elbows and studying the stars while he swirled the thick, spiced mead around in his cup.
“It’s a nice night,” he said, “a good night to talk with friends.” He looked at Captain Valla, and she met his gaze, and though it was awkward, and she quickly turned away, she smiled and nodded.
